The Weaver's Source

Chapter 64

The path to the Lord Master's manor was long. Grigore and I were guided through winding streets and up so many wooden and stone steps I quickly lost count. The smoke of the smithies and smelters grew thicker with every step I took, clogging up my throat even when the wind blew hard. Eventually we reached the bottom of a very steep and narrow run of stone stairs that spiralled up through rock and weed until it reached a great narrow stronghold.

I paused at the bottom for a moment, eyeing the shadow of the Lord Master's home with distrust. I didn't like the fact he was dragging us all the way through this horrible storm when I had been so close to sleeping in a warm bed. But I had chosen to come with Grigore. I didn't want him to face this man alone, not if it could be a trap of some kind. Not everyone we'd come across had been kind to Grigore.

"You're being paranoid." Grigore murmured to me as he held me close, helping me up each slippery step at a time.

"I might not be."

"The people here a used to Weavers. All northern cities live side by side with magic and one with a huge mining company would often be harassed by monsters they disturb. They come to appreciate my kind, not hate or fear us." He said, glancing down at our hands when I tightened my hand as I nearly slipped, sending my heart into a racing mess. "He doesn't intend us harm."

"He could've waited until the storm passed and we got some sleep." I grumbled and swallowed thickly. Feeling Grigore grasping my waist and hand did help with the terror of tumbling backwards to my death but it didn't kill it entirely. I was just thankfully it was less steep than that horrible road outside the city.

"Which makes me worried." Grigore replied. "The man needs a Weaver and doesn't feel he can wait."

"If he's a Lord then he probably just feels entitled." I said grudgingly.

Grigore shrugged, a sign he agreed with me but wasn't fussed either way.

Slowly we climbed the wonky steps and I breathed a sigh of relief once we reached the top. Now drenched and shivering, I stared up at the home of the Lord as we stepped beyond the cobbled walls that surrounded it. The manor didn't look too big now I was closer but the city itself wasn't large either, but still, it was impressive. There were spires, tall narrow windows and snarling gargoyles all along the curved old walls. Guards littered the bare and barren grounds, watching Grigore with distrust.

The guard, Edd, marched up to the front doors which swung open quietly before him. Light spilled out into the dark evening, making my eyes flinch a little as we entered the pristine hall. Carpets covered the large entrance hall and candles flickered in every corner. It wasn't blissfully warm like Milcent's inn, instead it was cool with as the wind howled through crevices, making the walls sound like they were whistling, and the air was chilled. But the storm couldn't touch us now at least. My skin still stung from the hail that had been pelted at me for a while.

"Come this way." Edd ordered, not even offering us a change of clothes or to let us warm ourselves by a fire.

Grigore kept me close still as he followed Edd up the cracked steps and through a long narrow corridor. Beyond it stood a large hall. It was warmer in here and quickly figured out why when I saw the most massive fireplace I had ever seen with a raging fire roaring away in its hearth. As I observed the long table, the furniture, the wall-hangings and other strange objects, Grigore dragged me towards the end of the grey hall where a chair, intricately carved from stone, stood. Within its arm sat a heavy-set man with skin looking as if it was stretched too thinly over his bones. His hair was thick though, covering his face with black and grey whiskers and a mane that was tied firmly back. His eyes glowered at us with a glare I didn't like. It wasn't like Grigore's, which always held passion or rage. It was cold. Cold and hateful. It made me not like the man instantly.