His Ancient Heart (15 page)

"Umbert!"
 

The woman's quiet admonition seemed to sway him.
 

"Fine, Essie, let's get out of 'ere. We'll 'ave to find the General some other way."

Essie started walking away from the tree, but not before her head tilted and she looked up. Eryn felt herself freeze, hoping that the woman wouldn't spot them there. She must not have, because she continued her retreat a moment later.

They stayed in the tree, listening as the would-be recruits abandoned their search. They could hear the movement through the woods, fading as the party got further away. Eryn also noticed the torches now, flickering in and out of existence when their carriers passed between trees or brush. They were still some distance away, though they seemed to be edging closer.

"They're following them," Eryn whispered. She felt something in her mind, a hint that made her ears tingle. "They have a Mediator with them."

Fehri was silent. He had his eyes closed. Listening.

"We need to help them."

He didn't move when he spoke. "No. They made too much noise. It was their mistake. Let us not compound it. We'll use the fighting as a distraction to get ourselves away from here."

Eryn felt herself tense. Those people were commoners, not soldiers. All they wanted was a means to fight back. The chance to be part of this. "Amman says that we should tend to the meek."

"They came out here to fight. To do war. Maybe not today, but one day. There is nothing meek about that."

"They're going to die."

Fehri nodded again. It was clear to Eryn that he wasn't happy to leave them behind, but he knew there was no other choice.

The shouting came a few minutes later, followed by the ring of steel. It echoed through the forest, falling into Eryn's ears and causing her to shiver.
 

"Come," Fehri said, climbing down the branches as though he had been born in a tree. He was on the ground before Eryn had made it to the first branch. "Jump. I'll catch you."

Eryn stared down at him. It was ten feet or more. What if he missed?

"I have a sister back in the Marshes who isn't much smaller than you," Fehri said. "I won't drop you."

Eryn took a deep breath, and jumped.

He caught her smoothly, sweeping his right hand up when she reached him to shift her direction, supporting her legs with one arm and her back with the other. She felt the warmth of his hand slide up her leg beneath the skirt and onto her bare thigh as he slowed her to a stop in his arms, their faces only inches apart.
 

"There now," he said, lowering her to the ground. "I told you I wouldn't drop you."

Eryn swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to find her legs, while Fehri quickly snatched up his sword and the pack. Then he reached back and took her hand, pulling her swiftly through the woods, taking advantage of the sounds of battle to disguise their escape.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Eryn

They reached Ember early the next morning. Eryn was exhausted by the time Fehri paid the tax at the outer gates and brought her into the town as his wife, Nila. She slumped against him while they entered, in part to play along, and in part to allow him to hold her up. She was impressed with his strength and stamina. They had been on the move all night, determined to reach the town once they knew there would be no rest outside of it. He hadn't slowed, hadn't wavered, despite the weight of the pack.

"I've never gotten into a town so easily," Eryn said, once they were onto the main street. They walked towards an inn known simply as 'The Inn at Ember', located somewhere out ahead of them.

"A complaint, my Lady?" Fehri asked. "We can go back and tell the guards who you really are. I'm sure that will be beneficial for both of us." He smiled at his humor, through a face that was clearly as tired as she was.

"Amman does value honesty," she replied, surprised to find herself smiling back at him.
 

"Amman asks us to pray on our indiscretions. He does not ask that we have none."

"Do you have other indiscretions you want to confess?" Her playfulness surprised her, especially after the night they'd just had.

Fehri smiled and pulled a small bit of rounded paper from a pocket, showed it to her, and returned it. "Sacha."

"What is it?"

"A plant." He tapped his head. "Calms the nerves. It's against
his
laws to have it."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I suppose because it can make us soldiers a little less alert. It's a bad habit I picked up from my brother, Amman, and I haven't been able to shake it."

"Your brother's name is Amman?"

"Yes. If you hadn't guessed, my parents are very strong believers in Amman. They named my brother after him in hopes that He would favor him."

"Does He?"

"I think the ladies favor him too much for there to be any room for Amman. Or maybe it is just His sense of humor, that I spread His Word while my brother spreads his seed." He glowered at the thought, obviously not in favor of his brother's choice of lifestyle.

The town had yet to wake, and it left them almost alone on the cobbled street of brightly colored storefronts that split at the Constable's office in the center. The building sat in the middle of a huge square, and a few merchants were already out with their pushcarts, setting up their stalls for the day's business. The smell of baking bread was thick in the air.

"You've been to other towns," Fehri said, noticing how Eryn looked on everything with a sense of freshness.
 

"Always running, always hiding. Always disguised. Never like this." For a few minutes, she could let all of it go, and just be a lady walking down the street. She looped her arm around Fehri's. "I almost feel normal."

"I'm sorry it isn't meant to last."

Eryn considered for a moment. "I'm not. If Amman gave me the power to fight for the Cursed, then I am happy to do it."

Fehri nodded. "I admire your courage, and your outlook. There's the inn."

The Inn at Ember was smaller than Eryn expected. Smaller than Waverly's, though that was hardly a fair comparison since Patmos' inn was the largest she had ever seen. This one was pressed between two other buildings, three stories high, with a hitching rail instead of a dedicated stable. A servant waited at the door, and he ran down to them once he realized they were headed his way.

"Take your bag, my Lord?" he asked Fehri. He was young, eleven or twelve, small for his age, in black breeches and a clean white shirt. "My Lady." He bowed to them both and held out his arms to take the pack.

"No, thank you," Fehri said. "I'll carry it myself. Your master should be expecting us, Felip and Nila Dornier, from Portsmouth."

The boy looked them over, not sure if he should believe Fehri's insinuation that they were merchants or traders of some kind. Eryn could only imagine how they looked. Especially her. Between climbing the tree and walking through the dirt, she must have been a mess.

"A question, young man?" Fehri asked.

"No, my Lord," the boy said, caught. His face reddened, even as he turned and ran back towards the inn.

"I need another bath," Eryn said. She had taken a swim in the river before they left, while Wilem stood on the shore facing away from her and keeping watch. It was sweet how he wouldn't take the opportunity to look at her, even when she knew she had given him chances. A day later, and she was filthy again.

"You will have one," Fehri said. "I hope you don't take offense, I had to book the room for the two of us."

"I'm not offended. Sil... Talon entrusted me to you. I trust you."

"Thank you, my Lady."

Eryn stopped and turned to face him, putting a finger to his chest. "You've seen up my skirt, and had your hand on my thigh. If you call me 'my Lady' again, I'm going to punch you."

Fehri's face turned bright red, to Eryn's amusement. "Yes, my- Eryn. You are a spirited girl."

She kept her finger on him. "Don't call me 'girl' either. I'm not that much younger than you are. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

Younger than she had thought. "And you're a Captain?"

"My father teaches young men who want to trial for a place in the army. I grew up with swords, and with him bellowing orders. He taught me everything he could, most importantly confidence, while Amman granted me the gift of compassion. I have been fortunate, because Overlord Prezi values these things more than most in
his
upper echelon."

"Your father was a soldier?"

"No. His father. He didn't want me to join the army. He wanted me to take over the business, to train young hopefuls. Amman had other ideas."

"Amman the God, or Amman your brother?" Eryn asked, smirking.

Fehri laughed loudly at that. "Perhaps a bit of both. Shall we go inside?"

The inside of the inn was warm and bright, with yellow walls and a light wood floor that had been recently polished. There were a half dozen tables squeezed onto the floor of the common room, made of light wood with impressive and expensive glass tops. Silver accents ran along the base of both table and chair, adding to the opulence. Brightly colored painted landscapes lined the walls, and a huge tapestry hung behind the bar in yellows and reds and greens; a field of flowers on a riverside.
 

It was intended to lift the spirits of those who came in, weary from travel. Instead, Eryn was reminded of the stark reality of the Empire. Of the severe lack of color that made the room such a contrast in the first place.

"Welcome, welcome." A tall, thin man in black pants and a bright yellow vest came over to them. He had a long, sparse beard that trailed from his chin to his chest, and a crooked smile that made him more frightening than welcoming. He had the look of a northern islander, with golden skin and large eyes. "My name is Shiri. I am the proprietor of this fine establishment. Ahh... newly wed. How exciting. How is Portsmouth these days?"

"Damp," Fehri said, returning the innkeeper's smile.

Shiri laughed too long and loudly at that. "Of course, of course. Well, I see my boy hasn't taken your bag. Boy!" He spun around, looking for his servant.
 

"I told the boy I would carry my own bag," Fehri said. "If you don't mind, my wife would like to get cleaned up. It's been a long journey already."

"Of course, of course. Only one bag, though? You certainly like to travel light. Where are you headed again?"

"My aunt is a seamstress in Varrow," Fehri said. "She owns a shop there. Nila is going to apprentice under her, and then we're going to return to Portsmouth and open our own business. My uncle should be along soon with some fresh clothes, he was to meet us here today."

Shiri clapped his hands together. It was obvious he didn't listen to or care about Fehri's response. "Ah, wonderful. Wonderful!"
 

He was too animated, too boisterous. He was fake, and Eryn didn't like it. She also didn't like the way he repeated his words.
 

"Is our room prepared?" she asked, anxious to be rid of him.

Maybe too anxious. Shiri glanced over at her, and then back at Fehri, raising his eyebrows. He didn't say anything, but she could guess what he was thinking. They were playing at being wed, so she supposed such guesses weren't too far from the typical truth.

"Right this way, right this way," he said. He led them through the common room to a narrow staircase that had been painted in a rainbow of colors. They climbed all the way up to the third floor, exiting out into a hallway with three doors along its length. Each door was painted a different color. Theirs was red, and it was the only one on the northern side.

"Welcome, welcome," Shiri said again, reaching into his vest pocket and producing a key. "Our best room. I call it 'The Empire Suite'. Please, please, get settled." He reached into his pocket again and handed Eryn a familiar metal disc. "If you need anything at all, press on this once and the boy will come running."

He gave the key to Fehri, and retreated back down the stairs.

"I couldn't be rid of him fast enough," Eryn said. She held up the disc. "And where do you suppose he got this?"

"Black market, I would guess." Fehri stuck the key in the door and put his hand to it to push it open.

"There's a black market for artifacts like these?"

Fehri shrugged. "There's a black market for everything if you know who to ask. Many people aren't afraid of death, the mines, or the Historians when there is profit to be made."

"The Historians. I've heard of them before."

Fehri's expression grew dark. "General Spyne. I only crossed his path once, but just the sight of him made my whole body cold. From what Talon has said about the Generals." He paused and shook. "I hope to never cross his path again."

They were silent while they let the moment pass. Then Fehri tapped on the door.

"I suppose we should see what the Overlord arranged for you," he whispered, his face brightening again. He pushed the door open.

The room was as big as it could be in the small inn. A large bed sat in the corner near a window, with a soft sofa and table in front of it. A wardrobe was against the wall, and the floor was lined with soft, thick furs. Draperies and paintings hung everywhere, in the same bright colors that brightened the rest of the inn, while more finery rested on small tables or on the floor, giving the room a richness that Eryn had never imagined. In the corner opposite the bed was a large dais made of more of the polished wood, the steps lined with furs. Resting in the center of that was a sunken tub, the top of which was flush with the dais. It was already filled with water hot enough to cast steam off its surface, and scented strongly enough that she could smell the lavender from the doorway.

She turned to Fehri. "This is my room?" She didn't have much use for the richness of the furnishings. The bath was a different story.

Fehri seemed as shocked as she was. "I suppose it is."

"Well?" She said, looking at him.

"Well, what?"

"You are my husband, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am." His face began to turn red, because he wasn't sure what she was hinting at.