Stranger (The Aevyanthis Chronicles, Book One)

Chapter Seventeen

Thomm had woken to the sound of the horses whinnying, the chimes that hung from the ceiling jingling as the caravan drew to a sudden stop. He poked his head through the front of the canvas, his sleepy eyes focusing on Wren and the others talking amongst themselves.

"What's going on?" he asked. He had reached for his spear, but Wren raised a hand to stop him.

"The drawbridge has been raised," she explained. "It seems no one is to enter the Citadel for now."

They had parked the caravans not far from the road, on the edge of a vast, unused field. Further up, beyond the crowd of caravans and travellers that had gathered, he could see the grandiose structure that was the Citadel. He had only visited the city twice in his lifetime, each time to escort Lord Torr to the council meeting that occurred each spring. It was as glorious as he remembered, with its storm quartz walls glittering in the sunlight, the merry chatter of the marketplace echoing in the distance. He could already imagine the colorful banners fluttering in the wind, and the smell of spice and sweat and dirt lingering in the air.

While Thomm set up camp, he overheard Oric and Jak talking to another merchant named Sedrick. The man owned a large caravan that sold trinkets and rare jewels from the mines in South Gate, and had brought his two young daughters to the Citadel for the first time.

"I swear it was a demon," he was telling them. "I overheard one of the soldiers rattling on about it. It snatched a young woman last night, poor thing. Flew right over the wall like it was nothing."

Thomm's stomach dropped. Another attack? He thought of the warlock, with his taunting eyes and wicked laugh, and the still tender wound on his chest began to ache.

"Could've been a harpy?" Oric suggested.

"Maybe. Either way, I'd rather wait until they've made sure the damned thing is gone." Sedrick took a swig of mead. "They're growing stronger, I tell you. The Citadel is supposed to be the safest place in Agon. If a demon can stroll through its streets without anyone noticing, what chance have we got on the road?"

Thomm moved away as the conversation began drifting to Lothlonde, busying himself with watering the horses until Wren caught his eye. She was wandering through the nearby field like a daydream, her dress hitched up and a basket hanging from her forearm. He could almost hear the bells in her hair tinkling as she gathered herbs and flowers for her craft, smelling each one before smiling and adding it to the basket.

Thomm didn't realize he had been staring until Jak cleared his throat beside him; he wasn't sure how long he had been there, leaning on the caravan with his arms folded.

"What are you up to?"

"Horses needed water," Thomm mumbled. "Thought I'd make myself useful."

Jak grinned. "Sure, if you say so."

That night they supped with Sedrick's family, pooling whatever food they could manage for the pottage. With winter less than a moon away, the nights had become harsh, and already ice was beginning to form on the ground. They had arranged the caravans in a rough square to protect the fire from the wind, although it howled around them like wailing banshees, making the night seem even colder.

Sedrick's daughters had taken an immediate liking to Wren. They looked like twin, porcelain dolls as they sat beside her, listening as she explained what each herb did and how to prepare it; both wore pretty dresses tied with white ribbon, their brown curls framing round, curious eyes. It would have been impossible for anyone to tell them apart, Thomm learnt, were it not for the handmade hair pin each wore: Cenna wore a sapphire butterfly while Floren wore a ruby rose.