The Rowan and Amethyst Chronicles

They made it back to the room, clean and scrubbed, apart from their clothing. Zar had brought a bucket of the hot water up with them.

“Take off your clothes and get in bed,” she instructed Syra. “I’ll wash them, they’ll be dry by morning.”

Syra obeyed. Zar turned away respectfully. When she turned back, she saw that pool of spent clothes on the ground and the girl laying in the bed. Zar moved forwards and blew out the candle on the bedside table. Then she removed her own clothes. She washed them all, kneading them as best she could in the scalding water. Then she wrung them out their window and hung them to dry. Completely naked, she curled up in her cloak on the hard floor. She heard Syra’s deep breathing, the sound she knew meant the girl was truly asleep. She supposed this lady would sleep like a babe tonight.

She couldn’t help but feel restless herself. She hadn’t slept indoors for many months, perhaps a year even. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last inn she had stayed in. She felt paranoid, far more so than when she slept outside. In the open air of nature, she could scout her surroundings, choose her lodging and even set booby traps if she was in a particularly vulnerable stretch of wilderness. She could feel when something was amiss, the air, the forest sounds, and the shadows were like a guide to her. Here in this room, it was hard to tell what was going on. Several times she sat bolt upright, her hand going to her blade beside her, expecting some sort of attack when in reality, it was probably only another guest moving to their room.

She listened to Syra sleep mostly. The girl was strangely comforting. Her soft breath intermingled with occasional snuffling and moans gave Zar something to focus on. She must have dozed off some time after midnight, for the next thing she knew, she was blinking in the light of dawn, a soft breeze playing through their window and a bird chirping outside. She yawned and stretched, turning over and glancing at the bed just above her. Syra was lying sprawled upon her stomach, her breathing deep and long. Her back was rising softly in time with her breath and her hair cascaded gently down her neck. Zar felt a strange sense of affection and protectiveness for the human sleeping so peacefully in that moment.

She stared at her for several long moments, trying to staunch these unbidden feelings before turning firmly away. The last thing she needed was to start to feel some sort of loyalty and friendship for this girl. For she desperately wanted this to be over. She wanted to leave this inn and outpost of Seletre far behind, and also this burdensome girl who had so suddenly and unexpectedly invaded her life. She hadn’t wanted this responsibility, hadn’t asked for it. On top of all the misfortune she had been dealt this past month, this was far from what she had needed.

She sat up, making her decision there and then. If she left now, she was forgoing her promised payout from Syra for staying with her. But she had seen the girl to safety at least. She could feel some satisfaction from that. And from the fat reward that the stolen ring would yield her, she reminded herself, she would have plenty of silver even without the extra coin Syra had promised her.

She got up stealthily and glanced around. Most everything she needed was already packed and ready to go. She donned her clothes and replaced the last few items she needed into her pack. She had done her part. The girl would have to figure the rest without her. Never the less she folded the girl’s laundered clothes on the bedside table for her and placed her remaining coin next to these. Then she paused and fished around in her pack for a second. She lay a tiny shell next to the coin, a beautiful iridescent piece she had picked up at the winter camp last year, a token she had kept around for no particular reason. Then she crossed to the door as silent as the crawl of dawn and opened it carefully. She looked back before she left. The girl was still prone upon the bed, her hair glistening in the light. She sighed and closed the door.

She exited the inn quickly and walked until she found the blacksmith’s station. She needed to find a good appraiser, not the man they had haggled with yesterday but a real trader who knew their wares. This town was full of unworthy traders and sorting through them could be a job, but she knew from experience the best places to inquire. A large ruddy man was standing there, instructing a boy that looked to be his son to add more wood to the fire so they might begin their work for the day.

“You got an order?” he asked her gruffly as he moved a heavy anvil into position.

“A question,” Zar said. “Who in the town knows metalwork and stone best?”

The blacksmith turned to observe her. “That’d be my father. He’s a jeweler just up the street. Red door on the corner.”

“My thanks,” Zar said.

She found the suggested door and knocked. A call came to enter from inside. She did so and headed into a small room with many heavy metal chests lining the walls. Inside, Zar suspected, were many beautiful trinkets. The man who sat at the counter inside was thinner than his son, but also ruddy and strong looking. A cross bow sat fully loaded in one corner, clearly ready to shoot if any funny business came about.

“How can I help you?” he asked, taking in her bow and arrows, her knife, and finally her hooded appearance.

“I’ve a trinket I’d like appraised,” Zar said, fishing in her pocket for the ring. She handed it over to him.

He examined it for some time, pulling out a monocle to get a closer look. Finally he handed it back to her. “Pure gold, with an authentic cloud amethyst inlaid into the center. This is fine work. A family heirloom perhaps?”

He was looking at her with deep suspicion and Zar almost balked. But then she said, “a gift from a friend for a great service.”

The man nodded slowly. He folded his arms, observing her for a moment. “I’d give you a sum of a thousand silver for such a piece.”

Her heart flew into her throat. She could hardly contain her excitement. This was really happening!

“That is if I was to buy such a piece.”

Her hope faltered.

“That amethyst is inscribed. There is a tiny mark placed on the side of it. A royal seal. That is an amethyst of the Amethyst Kingdom’s royal family. Any stone inscribed with such is nearly priceless and as such, to deal with this and to be discovered would mean a crime against the Kingdom, and certain punishment. A royal would never willingly part with such an item.”

Zar blinked at him. What on earth? A royal seal?

“I don’t deal in such treachery. And I can assure you that no one else in this town would give you even a small percentage of this item’s worth. Now please leave my shop, thief. And get you out of town.”

His hands strayed close to the crossbow and Zar raised her hands quickly and backed out. The moment she was on the street again, she stared around, at a complete loss. A royal amethyst? That could mean only one thing if it was indeed a family heirloom. Syra was of a much higher class than she had let on. What had she said? That her family was from Melnore and they were pretty well known? It sounded more like her family ran Melnore and the Amethyst Kingdom! If she was from the royal family, that meant she was a princess, and perhaps one of the heirs to the Amethyst Throne. Zar didn’t know what to make of this new information. She supposed that asking the girl a bit more about herself might have been prudent. She supposed too that the girl probably wouldn’t have wanted to reveal her true identity. That information would make her a valuable target for kidnapping.

For a brief moment, Zar entertained the possibility. She could lead Syra back to the Robber’s Roost and with the help of her fellow Robbers, they could take her as a hostage. They might be able to extract a much greater sum that a thousand silvers in this way. Not only would she pay off her debt handsomely, but she would win great renown for such a clever plan.

Her grip tightened around the ring. Such an item was basically useless to her now until she came to a much larger town or managed to find a less scrupulous trader. If she couldn’t fetch the whole price for it, then what was the point of selling the thing for a pittance?

She shook her head. What an incredible mess this all was. A mess but also an opportunity in some ways. If she played her cards right, could she not use the situation to her advantage? On the one hand, she could leave Syra behind and be free of many responsibilities, free like she preferred to be. On the other hand, she could see a great payout coming from using Syra one way or another.

She decided to go for a walk to organize her thoughts and come up with a plan. She was hungry and so she paused at a food stand erected on the street corner. She might as well grab a slice of corn bread for the road, should she be leaving. She had a few coins stowed away and she might use one or two. She joined the que outside of the stand.

While she was waiting, she noted two large ruffian types coming out of the nicer looking inn across the way. They paused nearby to have a smoke, excitedly conversing.

“It’s a sweet bag of silver I heard. I just hope this princess is as pretty as they say,” one man said, leering up and down the street.

“Aye. They said she was to be returned unharmed. But if you ask me, that lord will do anything for the little tart. We could ask twice as much for her, and maybe amuse ourselves a bit with her while we wait for the cash.”

“She’s got to be close,” the first said. “This is the only road to Melnore. She’ll come through here sooner or later. My friend, we are about to be rich men!”

Zar’s heart sank. There was no doubt who they were talking about. So, news of Syra’s absence had been circulated and a reward had been posted for her safe return. That was bad news. That meant that every bandit between Seletre and Melnore would be on the lookout for her. And nearly all of them would have the same idea to double or triple the prize money for her by getting a ransom instead. How many others had the same idea? News of this sort would travel fast, faster even depending on how Syra’s father, presumably the King of the Amethyst Kingdom had advertised his reward.

She stood, balanced on the unpleasant decision before her for several long moments. Was she to go and abandon this girl to a fate which could be quite unpleasant, or ought she to stay and return the girl safely to her father, unharmed and unblemished and claim the reward for herself?

Zar knew the answer before she truly put the question to her mind. She purchased two cornbreads and then raced back to the room that she had very nearly left the girl at. She threw the door open unceremoniously.

“Wake up,” she said, drawing the blinds on the window enough to peer through them. “We have to go.”

“Huh?” Syra asked blearily, just stirring from sleep.

“Up, now,” Zar said, hating the fate that had brought her back here but unable to walk away from it with a clean conscious. “Plan has changed.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, staring all around her.

“I was at the food stand just now and I heard men talking. There’s been a price been put on your head.”

“What?” Syra gasped, sitting bolt upright.

“We need to go, now,” Zar reinforced, placing a piece of cornbread on Syra’s bedside table. “That’ll be breakfast. Get dressed and do what you need to do. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Syra stared from the proffered cornbread to Zar’s serious face and then her eyes fell on the pile of clothes and coin by her bedside.

“Move!” Zar urged and the girl reached for the clothes and began to don them while Zar turned away to look outside. When she turned back around, she saw that the girl was holding the shell.

“What is this?” she asked uncertainly turning it over in her palm.

Zar grimaced and cleared her throat. “It’s…a good luck charm. My people use it on long journeys. I thought you should have it.”

She hoped this would satisfy the girl’s curiosity, but Syra’s gaze was now resting on Zar’s pack, which was still on her back.

“Why did you take all your stuff with you when you got breakfast?” she asked suspiciously.

Zar swallowed. “A traveler never leaves their belongings,” she explained defensively.

Syra hesitated. Zar could tell she was making her own conclusions but thankfully she didn’t inquire further. She gathered her coin and sparse belongings and nodded to Zar.

“Here,” Zar said, handing her a piece of twine. “Tie your hair up. It’s too much of a giveaway.”

Syra did as she was told, gathering her hair into a loose bun. This didn’t entirely detract from her looks but she was at least less prominent.

Zar led the way out of their room. They bypassed the dining hall and headed straight out the front door. Watching every angle covertly, Zar led them quickly along the road and to the nearest patch of forest. They had almost reached it when Zar noticed three men, but not the ones she had seen before, making beeline straight for them. These men looked more seasoned that the previous two and this concerned her. She examined the choice of whether to make a run for it or to take a stand but before she could decide, the men made the choice for her. One of them drew a bow and fitted an arrow into the string. Zar ensured her hood was covering her head well and yanked Syra behind a large cottonwood tree.

“Stay here,” she muttered before she notched one of her thick arrows in her own bow and walked forwards to greet the men. When they were ten yards away, they paused. For a time, they merely stared at her and she at them.

“Tell me traveler,” one of them said at last in a clever, jeering voice. “You don’t happen to know where we can find the princess of Melnore, do you?”

“Nope,” Zar said calmly, deepening her voice so it sounded more masculine.

“Really?” the man inquired coolly. “Because I thought maybe that girl you have with you might be the princess.”

“Jus’ my sister,” Zar grunted, trying to use a peasant accent. “We travlin’ home.”

“Oh, I see,” the man said, fingering his sword hilt. “Well, you wouldn’t mind selling her to us anyways?”

Zar tightened the grip on her arrow. “Leave now. I’ll give you one minute.”

The men all hooted with laughter. Zar examined them carefully. Two were only armed with swords, the archer had his bow, a quiver of arrows and an ax. She took careful aim.

“Come on then lad, why don’t you just admit you’re overmatched. Give us the girl and no one will get-”

His last words were cut off by the twang of a bowstring. Next second the archer fell to the ground with a garbled shriek, an arrow in his throat. His own arrow shot randomly into the ground about three feet to the left of her as he fell, writhing. The other two men stared at Zar as she reached for another arrow. Both backed up several paces and then several more. Zar kept her bow on them until they were far up the street. A small group of onlookers were now standing observing the scene. Zar moved forwards swiftly and yanked the arrow from the dying man’s throat, ignoring his agonized moans. She paused just long enough to note the tattoo of a snake’s body and a raven head.

She flitted back to Syra and yanked her forwards. They moved at a run through the trees but Zar pulled them up before they got far, pausing behind a ridge.

“Shit,” she swore under her breath.

Syra was gazing at her wide eyed. “You just killed that man,” she said slowly, as though a mythical beast had just walked in front of her, which wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Yeah,” Zar panted. She was less concerned about the brigand’s life than about the fact that he was a member of the Carrion Cult. She did not want to go up against them again. “We need to get to the other side of the road. A lot of people just saw where we went. We need to throw them off the track.”

Syra, however, did not appear to have moved past her latest revelation. “You killed someone and left him to bleed out in the street,” she exclaimed as though administering morality to a young child.

“You want to know what he would have done to you if I hadn’t killed him?” Zar snapped, grasping the girl’s wrist.

Syra pulled back. “No!” she said, staring at Zar with wild animosity. “You’re a murderer! How can you do such a thing?”

“Look Syra, you have to make a choice now,” Zar said, turning and looking at her full on, gripping her shoulders painfully hard. “Come with me or don’t, it’s very simple. Sometimes I have to kill people to protect myself or others. I’ve had to do it all my life. That might not be the world you grew up in, but that’s how the real world works. I gave that man a choice as well. He didn’t leave so he got what was coming. If you want to take what’s coming, feel free to walk back there and hand yourself over. Maybe you’ll make it back to you father. Maybe they’ll have their way with you and kill you. I’m not good at betting, maybe you’re better than I am. So what’s it going to be?”

Syra stared at her blankly for a long time. Zar could see tears welling in her eyes. Finally she just nodded her head, going limp in Zar’s grasp. Zar released her and turned away.

“We need to cross the road,” she said as though there had been no interruption. “That man I killed belongs to the Carrion Cult. They are a very powerful gang. They’re the ones that attacked your caravan. If they’re interested in you than there’s only one way for us to get to Melnore without being caught.”

Syra looked up at her. “What is it?” she asked.

Zar smiled despite herself. “We’re going to have to travel into the Wicked Woods.”