Avador Book 2, Night Shadows (4 page)

He looked up to see his wife, Fianna's mother, standing in the doorway. "Yes, what?"

Evelina came in the room and took the chair Angus had vacated. "You know what. My daughter! Where can she be? What has happened to her?" She twisted her hands in her lap, and tears brimmed her eyes.

"That's what Kendall and I have been talking about.  My servant hasn't been able to find her. Angus intends to send his servants–spies—to different cities." He smirked. "He thinks she's in Moytura–"

"That far away?" Her face held a look of doubt, but hope, too, as though he'd assured her that Moytura was where they would find Fianna.

"That's what I told him." He smacked his hand on the desk, making Evelina jump. "Ungrateful girl, after all I've–we've–done for her. This is how she repays us."

Evelina bowed her head. "Understandable, really, if she doesn't want to marry Angus." She took a deep breath. "We misjudged her, didn't realize how much she disliked Angus Kendall."

He looked at her as if she'd grown another head. "A wealthy man like that? Powerful, too. She must be out of her mind." He stared out the window. But where was she? 

* * *

Slowly, Fianna came awake, then sat up with a start. Where was she? Ah, yes, inside the cave; the sharp protuberances beneath her back left no doubt of that.  She yawned and stretched as memories flooded her mind, of the tall-dark-haired man who had surprised her last night. She turned and stared toward the inner recesses of the cave, but only darkness greeted her. Had the man returned, and was he sleeping now? Strange that a man would choose to make a cave his home, even temporarily. She thought hard, trying to recall his name. Ah, yes, Gaderian Wade. Well, it was highly unlikely she'd ever see him again, so no point in remembering his name.

She pushed herself to her feet and stretched again, twisting from side to side, relieving sore muscles. Time she was on her way to Moytura, there to seek employment. She reached into her satchel and rummaged around for her gray cotton frock, inhaling the sweet scent of lilacs that wafted from the leather bag. She fingered the cake of soap, and a rush of memories filled her mind, of her happy childhood with her mother and real father, her brother, all the good times they'd shared. Sighing deeply, she dropped the cake back among her clothes and slipped the dress over her shift. She gathered her things together and wended her way down the rocky slope to a nearby stream, blinking her eyes in the early morning light. By the stream, she knelt on the rocky ground to rinse her face and hands, cupping the water in her hands to drink. A golden glow touched trees and bushes, the sunlight a welcome warmth after the coolness of the cave. After she completed her morning ablutions, she plodded farther down the rocky hill, past an outcrop of honeysuckle bushes, to the road that led to Moytura.

Far to the north loomed the
Orn Mountains, their lofty peaks reaching past the clouds. East of the mountains stretched the vast Gorm Forest, a hilly region thick with oaks, pines, and hemlocks, a once mysterious region. The torathors lived there, giants once feared in Avador but now protected by royal decree. These same creatures had helped Queen Keriam defeat the evil assassin and usurper, King Midac, years ago in one apocalyptic battle. [nice]

Miles later, as the ground leveled, she saw the spires of the capital in the distance, the terra cotta roofs of the mansions gleaming in the sunlight. The sight of the capital thrilled her as always, and despite her despondency since leaving home, a feeling of optimism raised her spirits, as though nothing was impossible, as if she held the city in the palm of her hands. Farmers' carts and riders passed her along the way, the road becoming more crowded the closer she got to the city. Dust filled the air, thick and choking, as more riders cantered past, these with a look of importance, prompting her to wonder if they were soldiers or palace officials. She coughed and brushed the dust from the folds of her dress. Trees and bushes lined the road; cottages squatted on small plots of land, and occasional large farms dominated acres of land. The houses became finer as she neared the city, many of these residences having three floors and iron fences, not to mention spacious manicured lawns.

In spite of her excitement, her calloused feet ached as she shifted her canvas bag from one hand to another. Hunger and thirst tormented her, but how could she pay for food or drink?

So many sights, sounds, and smells greeted her as she entered the city, although the cobblestones burned her bare feet. Scads of people clogged the streets, men, women, and children wandering from store to store or hurrying along, a look of purpose on their faces. Vendors hawked their wares, and the smell of roasting meats wafted through the air, borne on a light easterly breeze. City sentries in their dark gray uniforms stood guard at certain busy thoroughfares or rode their horses among the busy throngs. Beggars, too, roamed the streets, pleading for handouts, and she regretted she had no money to give them. She feared she might soon be a beggar herself if she couldn't obtain a position. She passed the shoemakers' street, reminding her–as if she needed a reminder–that she must buy a pair of shoes, whenever she had money. Bakeries tempted her with their sweet aromas, intensifying her hunger. Here and there vendors sold cider or lemonade, making her mouth water.

Moytura, like just about every city and town of Avador, had a community tack board, where people seeking jobs or employers who needed positions filled nailed their advertisements. Other notices of interest were tacked here, too, for example, of a fair soon to be held on the outskirts of the city. Many people gathered around the board, each one searching for positions or tacking their own messages, prompting her to continually move aside. Men and women jostled each other to see the signs, and smaller women had to stand on tiptoe as they craned their necks, everyone anxious to obtain a job.

First with optimistic purpose, then with a sinking heart, Fianna studied these messages and found none that advertised for a seamstress. Cooks and scullery maids, yes, but no seamstresses. She read the announcements from all sides, from top to bottom, fretting that she didn't have her own sign to nail to the structure. She pondered her predicament, so exhausted and famished, she was tempted to accept defeat, swallow her pride and head back to Ros Creda. But no, she could never deliver herself to her stepfather's wrath or Angus Kendall's false affection. Never again would she endure her stepfather's leering glances and sexual advances. .

With a heavy sigh, she stepped back, when another sign nearby claimed her attention. "Vampires!" the sign read. "A danger to the kingdom!" She perused the announcement, noting an award of two golds offered to anyone who could bring a vampire to the attention of the authorities. In spite of her depression, she smiled, for it seemed an easy way to make money, if one knew any of the undead. Did vampires really exist? she wondered, for surely such creatures were only a figment of imagination. But if they did not exist, why would the government advertise a reward for their capture? She shook her head to clear it, too famished and exhausted to think lucidly.

Seeking diversion, she recalled again the tall, dark man who had surprised her in the cave last night. Best not to think about him, far better to concentrate on her own situation.

After a walk of several blocks, past clothing stores and jewelry shops, she reached a street, appropriately named Tavern Street, lined with inns and taverns, most of which appeared to be respectable establishments. Mostly men trod this street, but Fianna saw an occasional woman, barmaids, she supposed, on errands for their employers. Across from her a hanging sign proclaimed The Snow Leopard, a stone structure with a wide oaken door and multi-paned colored glass windows. She smiled with faint humor. You always wanted to work as a barmaid, didn't you?  A sudden decision filled her with renewed purpose. If she failed to find employment serving drinks, she would seek a position as a scryer, for people always liked having their fortunes told. And what better place to try this means of fortune telling than in a tavern, with the many people who surely must frequent the place during busy hours? If she couldn't get a job here, she had no choice but to try other places, but for now, she could barely think past her hunger and fatigue. [nice]

Fianna took a deep breath and trudged across the street to the tavern, thankful it was mid-morning now, the place not likely to be crowded at this time. She tugged at the heavy oaken door and stepped into semi-darkness, needing time for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. As she had expected, only a few customers patronized the tavern at this hour, only light chatter to be heard. She noted the deer heads that dotted the walls, the twenty or so round tables that completed the main dining room. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling, not lit yet, and apparently not until darkness fell. The aroma of fresh bread floated her way, her stomach growling in response.

She stood for several minutes, looking around in indecision, when a man in a black tunic approached, two empty beer mugs in his right hand. Tall and thin, his brown hair sprinkled with gray, he gave the impression of quiet confidence. She assumed he was the owner.

"Madam?" he asked. In dismay, she saw his gaze drift down to her bare feet.

She offered him her most winsome smile, too well aware it would gain her nothing to wear her troubles on her sleeve. "Sir, I'm seeking employment, perhaps as a barmaid."

Setting the mugs on an empty table, he shook his head. "Sorry, I can't help you there. We have all the barmaids we need."

Now was her chance. What would he say? Only one way to find out. "Sir, it occurs to me you might benefit by offering your customers a little extra service, besides food and drink. You see, I can tell a person's fortune by looking into a dark glass. Even my friends–"

"And I'm king of Avador," he said with a smirk. "Madam, my customers are satisfied as it is. We serve excellent food and drink. This is a respectable establishment, not a place that cheats its patrons with dubious diversions."

Hurt anger heated her cheeks, but she sought serenity. "Nothing dubious about my skill, sir. If you give me a chance, I can prove it to you." From the corner of her eye, she saw the few customers were staring at her and the owner, although she and the tavern keeper spoke in low tones. "I can look into my mirror and tell your future." She shifted from one aching foot to another, hoping her stomach didn't rumble to reveal her hunger.

He pulled out a chair for her. "Very well. I'll humor you, since we're not busy now. Sit down and tell me I'll win a million gold pieces."

Fianna hesitated. "Sir, is there another room we can use? I need absolute quiet in order to scry."

For a moment, she feared he'd refuse, his face revealing doubt and impatience. He jerked his head. "Follow me." He led her from the main dining room, down a long hall to a room on her left. He opened the door and ushered her inside a small room with a wide window, where sunshine poured in. Dust motes floated through the air, although the room appeared well-tended. A large oaken table dominated the room, with chairs flanking each side. A ledger and papers cluttered the table, definite distractions, but she decided not to complain, fearing she would try his patience too far.

Again, he pulled out a chair for her. "Now, tell my fortune."

She resolved to do her best, despite the distractions. Settled in her chair, she drew the black mirror from her bag and placed it on the table. As she leaned over the mirror, her long locks fell forward, veiling her face. She closed her eyes for a few moments, breathing deeply to seek inner peace and a trance like state, a process that did not come immediately. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, but she suppressed her emotions and concentrated on her skill. Opening her eyes, she stared into the mirror for a long time, then waved her hand across the black surface and waited. Within her peripheral vision, she saw the owner change his position, a look of displeasure on his face. She waited a while longer.

"Ah." Power built within her, slow but certain. Images began to appear, at first vague, just out of reach. "I see a woman, perhaps forty years of age, with dark hair tinged with gray."

"My wife!" he exclaimed, then snorted. "But anyone who knows me could have told you what my wife looks like. Indeed, she serves here at busy times, such as market days."

Still in a semi-trance, she raised her eyes to his. "Sir, I am new to the city. I haven't spoken to anyone who would know your wife."

"So you say." Still, the smirk disappeared, replaced by a look of interest.

She stared into the mirror again. "I see her giving birth. I see–"

"What! Say that again!" He sat forward, a steady gaze on her.

"She is giving birth." Fianna continued staring into the mirror. "She holds a baby boy in her arms."

"Oh!" The tavern owner leaned back in his chair, breathing a long sigh. "All these years we've been married. All these years! And we have tried to have a child, alas, with no success. No one else knows this. I have told all who know us that we are happy as we are, just the two of us." His eyes brimmed, and he brushed his hand across them. "A boy, you say?"

"Yes, sir. No mistake."

Lips pursed, he narrowed his eyes. "But you could be making all this up." His expression hardened. "If you are . . ."

"Sir, I don't lie." After all this time, all this effort, what if he didn't believe her? Did he think she was a charlatan, raising false hopes inside him?

He folded his arms across his chest. "Tell me my wife's name."