Dreisterne

CHAPTER 22

The first sensation Nathan felt was cold. Icy fingers of river water clung to his soaked clothes, and his skin prickled beneath the chill wind that slid between the trees. He coughed and blinked his eyes open, groaning as he rolled onto his side on the pebble-strewn bank. The moon was high, casting silver shards across the water's rippling surface.

He tried to turn to his back, and he froze. A lump pressed against his spine. Cold terror surged through him, images of shattered bone flashing in his mind. He held his breath, heart hammering, until a tug of leather brought him back to earth. It was just his rucksack, still bound across his shoulders even through the fight with Headmasher before his tumble down the river. His low-light lantern, also somehow still fastened to his belt, clicked as he shifted, and only then did he notice the weight still dragging at his arm: his sword, clenched in his sodden hand. He smiled fondly at Mr. Eriksson's remade old sword. Apparently, even unconscious, he'd refused to let it go.

Thanking the powers that be for this little miracle, Nathan performed his fingertip candle spell, his cold fingers slightly relieved thanks to the gentle warmth, to light his lantern before unclipping it and turning it to himself. Nothing seemed broken. Bruised, certainly, and his ribs ached with every breath, but his limbs responded, and there was no bleeding to speak of. He even took some time to check the contents of his backpack, relieved to see most of the contents almost bone dry, and his share of the party's gold florins still intact in the hidden compartment. He sheathed his sword into the scabbard strapped to the bag and put the bag on, letting the familiar weight settle on his back as he tightened the straps. He thought he was amazed at the bag's workmanship when Harald introduced all three of them to the party back in Trevorton, but now he can see its true worth.

Nathan got back to his feet, turning the knob and sliding up the cover on his lantern to brighten its light before he started probing around the area. "Keith!" he called, his voice rough. "Harald! Are you there!?" Only the murmuring of the river answered him. He called again, louder, but still no reply. Gritting his teeth, he swept the lantern across the riverbank. He saw stones, driftwood, perhaps a glimpse of some fish swimming just beneath the surface, before he found a single splintered fragment of Dreisterne's carriage wheel, half-buried in silt.

The lone freelancer's jaw tensed. The current must have taken his friends and everything they owned to who knows where, and he could only hope Harald and Keith would wake up before the wildlife here, or worse, found them. He turned downstream and began walking, boots squelching through mud and grit, determined to find his friends.

After some distance, a pale light flickered in the corner of Nathan's eyes, freezing him in place. It was a soft, golden hue shining just beyond the trees. Lantern light, he thought. The glow came from a cosy-looking cabin, tiny wisps of smoke rising from its chimney to lend an inviting air, yet his instincts bristled. Every cautionary tale he'd ever heard from freelancers and caravan guards sprang to mind: stories of traps and illusions set by highwaymen or barely sapient creatures, luring lost travellers into a false sense of security before they vanished forever. Even so, he dimmed his lantern, snapping it back on his belt before edging closer, curiosity overcoming caution. The modest abode was half-swallowed by ivy and sheltered beneath a thicket of elder trees, its walls long-weathered by time. Even if whoever lived there was harmless, Nathan feared he might bring danger to them, recalling Headmasher and his men who could still be prowling Sherketh Forest. But then his stomach growled. The river had stolen everything not strapped to him, and now the night wind clawed at his wet clothes with a vengeance. Hunger and cold warred with suspicion, and hunger won. Before he realised it, his knuckles were rapping against the wood. For a moment, nothing. Then, the door opened with a soft creak.

"Excuse me," He said. "I am so sorry for intruding at this time of night, but I am lost, and...ah..."

Nathan's breath caught. The woman in the doorway had long golden hair that shimmered even under the modest lamplight. Her skin was porcelain-fair, unblemished, and her eyes, vivid blue, bright as emerald glass, searched his face with wide concern. There was what looked like an undersized golden necklace with a teardrop-shaped emerald she wore around her head like a circlet, but that was not as distracting as the swell of her chest modestly covered by a simple gown that clung softly to her generous figure. It took the young man quite an effort to tear his eyes away from them as he blushed furiously.