Betrayal - A BrightStone Saga Novella

-Breedas-

The howling wind blocks out all other sounds as its icy tendrils bite at the smallest patch of exposed flesh. Crisp, fallen leaves turn to miniature tornadoes flanking the uneven dirt road leading to Breedas. The usually bustling town sits on the border of Kankor and Greygar sandwiched between the Annora river to the west and the Glara cliffs to the east.

With few lights to lead the way, a cloaked figure trudges through the elements kicking up browned leaves as they go. The crunching underfoot only slightly audible over the howling wind, giving the only sign of movement in the stark deepness of the night.

The cloaked figure stops suddenly as the edge of Breedas comes into view. A sharp gust catches the figure off guard blowing back the hood to reveal an elegant, smooth face with high cheekbones, deep hair the colour of night pulled up in a tight ponytail and bright emerald eyes that almost glow in the darkness.

"Damn wind," she curses under her breath. "Maybe I can get a bed for the night?"

Freya pulls at her hood covering herself from the next gust and trudges on towards the ever brightening border town. She studies the layout as she nears, the first building is a mere hut for holding feed. Then a smithy, quiet at this turn of the night but the furnace still glowed a deep red, illuminating the hammers, tongs and various other implements hung up on hooks around the workshop. She moves past, tugging at her hood once again, eyeing the slanted houses that begin to rise up around her. Their mix of wooden beams and dried mud make up the lower half and most have straw roofs with a few larger houses roofed with slate. Most windows are dark bar a few showing a lit candle. Freya moves past, her eyes searching.

There you are. By the Gods, I never thought I would be so happy to see a run-down tavern in this life.

"You there," drawls a voice.

It stops her instantly, her hand moving to her dagger sitting at her hip.

Pay attention, she chides herself half turning towards the gruff voice.

"You there, what you doin out this late, eh?"

Her eyes take in an old man with dirty locks of hair straggling around his shoulders. His clothes are ragged and full of holes, and he carries a walking stick in his left hand which he stands leaning heavily against.

"You deaf?" the man asks, a hint of impatience in the tone.

Freya clears her throat, making it deeper and attempting to disguise her broad Kankorian lilt. "Sorry. Lookin for the inn, The Dead Crow?"

The old man stares at her through the greasy straggles of hair, his beady eyes fixing on her before he grins, showing a toothless mouth. "Ah, it be that way," he points. "Hav a drink for me, eh," he snorts. "Caw, caw. Caw, caw. Ha, ha, ha."

"My thanks," she says, pulling at her hood again and starting in the direction he had pointed. Moving past the houses, she scans the doorways, the roofs, windows and the small spaces between. Her heart races as her sore and aching legs carry her forward. Moving around the edge of a house slightly grander than the rest, the street opens up to the town square, the centre of which has a raised platform with torches lit at each corner high up on man-height posts. They blaze in the night, illuminating the square for all to see. But she stands alone without a single soul in sight, only darkness.

A distant howl breaks the silence, and her resolve. "By the Gods!" She shakes herself, wrapping her cloak tighter against the bitter wind. "Just keep moving, Freya." Her eyes flit this way and that still on guard. She strides past the square and into another street, this one more homely but chaotic at the same time. The houses are decorated with bright sashes and lanterns are hung on almost every door. Marvelling at the sudden burst of colour, she smiles. The expression creates dimples as it tugs at her cheeks. But then her focus is pulled away at the sound of merriment and drunkenness.