Mercury Mind (The Downfall Saga Book 1) (17 page)

They crossed the bridge on the south side of the small island and, skirting around the open air market, headed towards the south gate of the city.

The gate guards held up Eamon, and Donovan gratefully used the time to close the distance. After a small leather purse was passed to the guard, Eamon was allowed through the gate.

As Donovan neared the gate, one of the guard stepped forward and yelled for him to stop.

Ignoring the guard, he feigned to his right before spinning left past the guard. Climbing onto a small cart, he dove overtop of the boy riding the pony pulling the cart. He did a shoulder roll when he hit the ground and came up on his feet in close pursuit of a shocked Eamon.

He kept pace with Eamon as they ran a mile down the road, where the road flowed around a hill and Kendra was lost from sight. Without warning Eamon plunged off the path, wading through waist deep snow towards a copse of trees a half-mile in the distance.

“Stop,” gasped Donovan, wondering if Eamon was armed and wishing that he had a weapon of some sort.

The grueling chase had worn both of them out, and the deep snow finished them off. Stumbling along, so close that he could have poked Eamon with a long stick, they made their way towards the trees. The snow thinned out as they enter the thicket. Eamon tripped over a root hidden under the thin layer of snow.

With a cry of relief, Donovan leapt onto his back, pinning his arms to his sides.

“I ... just ... want ... to ... talk ... to ... you,” he gasped, his breath misting the cold air with each word.

Eamon struggled in vain, but couldn’t break the hold.

A cloaked arm reached down and yanked Donovan off of Eamon. Turning, he saw a man in a midnight black cloak, hood up, with long silver hair and a grey bandana tied across his face, masking his features.

Donovan felt a jolt of electricity penetrate his arm where the figure held him. A wave of weariness struck his body and he nearly sunk to his knees. Shaking his head, he fought off the weariness and landed a solid kick to the figure’s knee.

With a cry of pain, he released Donovan, but before he could follow up with an attack, a pair of arms encircled his waist and lifted him off the ground.

He threw a wild elbow behind him which connected with Eamon’s head causing both of them to fall into a heap on the ground. Donovan’s weight knocked the air from Eamon’s lungs and he got back to his feet just in time for the other man to grab him around the throat.

A freezing sensation spread through Donovan, originating from the hand at his throat.

He tried breaking the grip, but failed.

The cold intensified.

He made a frantic grab for the figure’s face, trying to gouge an eye, but failed.

The cold intensified, his knees grew weak and his vision narrowed.

He grasped for the figure’s neck, his fingers getting caught in a chain around his neck.

The chain broke.

Donovan fell.

Darkness.

D
arkness had fallen. A full moon hung high in the sky, reflecting off the white snow around him.

Donovan felt like a block of ice melting. Closing his hand into a fist, he was surprised to still have feeling in it, and was shocked to feel something hard in his palm. Lifting his head off the ground, he looked down at his hand. He brought his hand in front of his face and examined the necklace hanging from it. It was exquisite in its simplicity. The chain was made of alternating gold and silver links. Hanging from the chain was a tiny dagger wrapped in lightning.

It took him several moments to remember the altercation with Eamon and the other man, his hand becoming tangled in the chain before he fell.

Laying his head on the frozen ground, he closed his eyes and waited for his head to clear.

He heard a sound off to his left, it reminded him of a dog prancing through deep snow, only much louder. Opening his eyes, he turned his head to the side, still resting it on the ground. Blinking twice, his eyes slowly focused on the large creatures moving through the snow.

Rolling onto his knees, he pushed himself back to his feet. Turning back, he confirmed what he thought he saw from the ground. A Clachward plodded its way through a field of snow towards the thicket of trees where he was. Turning around, he saw three other large, dark silhouettes passing through the bright, moonlit snow.

He felt lucky that there wasn’t a Downfall and he didn’t have to worry about them attacking him in their frenzy. Pressing himself against the trunk of an aspen tree, he hoped that they would pass by and leave him alone.

Several minutes of watching told him that he wasn’t so lucky. They seemed to be converging on the thicket, each coming from a different direction, but roughly equidistant from him. He felt that it was more than a coincidence and they must be coordinating with each other, but he couldn’t figure out how they were doing it. He didn’t think that they could see each other on opposite sides of the thicket and he should be able to hear any noises that they made to each other.

Wrapping his arms around the aspen, he began to shimmy his way up its trunk. Ten feet off the ground, he could finally reach branches thick enough to support his weight. Now climbing more rapidly, he made his way high into the tree and nestled himself in a cluster of branches.

Looking down he saw the four Clachwards clustered around the tree, their eyeless faces staring up at him. In unison, they reached up and grabbed branches, attempting to climb. The branches couldn’t support their massive weights and ripped off in their arms.

Donovan began to relax. There was no way that they could climb up the tree to get to him. All he had to do was stay in the tree until the sun rose to save him.

His relief was short lived, as the four of them all moved onto the same side of the tree. Two Clachwards began pushing on the tree trunk, while the other two pushed against their backs. The tree gave an ominous groan as the top of the tree swayed in the air. Donovan nimbly made his way around the tree to avoid getting crushed underneath it if it fell, and continued to stare at the ground in horror.

They heaved again and a sharp crack pierced the air.

Arms and legs tightly wrapped around the trunk, Donovan waited for the inevitable.

Four more shoves and the tree began to ponderously fall, starting to fall slowly, but rapidly gaining speed as it fell. The tree sheared limbs off the trees in its path. At the last moment, Donovan managed to dive free from the tree, deep snow breaking his fall.

Reorienting himself after the plunge, he frantically dug himself free from the snow. Swimming out of its depth, he started wading towards the road. He risked a single glance behind him and saw the Clachwards following behind.

Nearing the road, he tripped in a shallow ditch, his right leg becoming tangled in something beneath the snow, causing him to fall face first into the snow. Panicking, he thrashed about thinking that a Clachward had grabbed his foot. Feeling some give in whatever held his leg, which doesn’t exist in the Clachwards indomitable grip, he twisted around and saw that the Clachwards were still ten yards away and slowly closing in.

Calming himself, he dug away the snow surrounding his foot to reveal a bundle of brown weeds twisted around his foot. Resolutely he continued his attempt to free his foot, frequently glancing up at the approaching Clachwards. They were less than five yards away when his foot came free. Backpedaling until he reached the road, he got to his feet and headed towards Kendra. Worn out from chasing Eamon and still feeling half frozen, he could barely manage a stumbling walk, barely outpacing the Clachwards.

Thankfully different guards were on duty at the gate, and seeing the pursuing Clachwards, they allowed him inside the walls with only a cursory glance.

Asking the gate guard for directions to the closest inn with rooms that were, at least, somewhat clean, he headed to the inn, too tired to even bother reading the sign, he asked for a room and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Waking late, he headed back to the music shop. Jaslynn was waiting behind the counter when he entered.

“Good morning,” she said. “Donovan, right?”

“Yeah. Do you have a package for me?”

She took a minute to look him up and down before responding, “I’ll go get it.” She disappeared into the back room and came back a moment later carrying a coffin shaped case, which she gently set down on the counter. “He asked for a new case which I just finished this morning.”

“Did he give you a name?”

“Eamon.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“Nothing, really. He was all business. He dropped it off in an old, worn case and asked me to fit it to a new case. I recognized his description of you from when you were here earlier and was worried that you’d come back before I was finished.”

She stood there expectantly, the case laying between them.

Donovan reached out and slid the case towards him. The case was shaped like a coffin, long and slender, and covered in smooth black leather, which was freshly oiled and waxed. He gently ran a finger over the leather before unhooking the clasps and swinging the lid open. The inside was covered in rich blue velvet, soft but resilient. A lute was firmly nestled inside.

He gently removed the lute, turning it over lovingly in his hands. It was old, but well cared for. It had a spruce soundboard and a polished ebony back. Donovan just stood there staring at it, listening as if it was singing to him.

“The case is banded in metal to keep it light, yet strong,” she said. “You could stand on it in a pinch, but I wouldn’t recommend it. The lid fits tight enough that it should keep out the rain, but I wouldn’t drop it in water.

Donovan gently stroked a string, and the lute whispered back.

“You know where to find me if you have any problems. Before I forget, he left you a letter in the bottom of the case.”

“Thank you for your help. What do I owe you?” Lute cradled in one arm, he withdrew the envelope and slipped it into a pocket on his cloak.

“Eamon took care of everything. Well, aren’t you going to play something?”

“Maybe later,” he said, laying the lute back in the case and shutting the lid. “You did a fine job on the case with so little time.”

“Think of me every time you see it,” she said with a wink.

“I’ll treat it right. Don’t you worry.”

He walked out of the shop, case firmly in hand.

With nothing to keep him in Kendra, he stopped by the bakery to buy cookies for his roommates, then started his journey back to Haven while it was early enough that he didn’t have to worry about being accosted by Clachwards.

He waited until he was well out of the city before digging the envelope out of his pocket. Ripping it open, he withdrew and unfolded a letter, written in the same language by the same hand as before.

He carefully put the letter back in the envelope and tucked it away in a pocket. He thought about its contents the whole trip back to Haven. It was clear that Eamon cared about him, but he wasn’t free to do what he wanted. Thinking about the dark man in the woods, he worried that his rashness had put Eamon in danger. As much as he wanted to take Eamon up on his offer over the summer, he was afraid that the wrong kind of people could be waiting for him. He was starting to climb the winding path up to the gate when he finally made up his mind. It was time to be honest with Osmont and share the letters with him.

It was early afternoon when he entered his room. Kort was sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and Delaney poked her head around the curtain to give him a smile when he entered.

“I brought cookies,” said Donovan, setting the bag of cookies on the table.

Delaney scampered over to the table and picked up a cookie in each hand. She gave him a quick hug before fleeing back to her bed.

Donovan looked over at Kort who was heading over to the table, eyebrows raised in shock at the first sign of affection that any of them had received from Delaney.

“What’s that,” he asked with a mouth full of cookie.

“This. It’s a lute.” He opened the case on the table, and pulled it out.

“Do you play?”

“Apparently, but I don’t remember how.”

“You don’t remember learning to read, but you still can. Maybe music’s the same.”

“I can’t”

“Come on. You might be really good.”

“Or embarrassing.”

“How can you talk to me about embarrassing after that dinner?”

“I suppose that it couldn’t be any worse than that. Fine, you earned a performance after what happened with the Queen. A private performance.”

Kort smiled broadly. After dwelling on the dinner for so long, he was glad for the distraction. “So, where are we going? Outside?”

“It’s too cold out there. My fingers would freeze, and the cold can’t be good for it. Everyone should be done eating by now. Let’s go and see if the hall’s empty.”

They each grabbed a cookie to eat on the way, and headed for the basement.

“You know this is stupid?” said Donovan, as they were climbing down the stairs. “Even if I can miraculously play, I don’t know any songs.”