A Paladin's War Ch. 13

At that, he gathered himself and leaped up and forward, sailing over Immelanle's head and higher, until he cleared the tallest of the trees. His view was thrown out over the jungle, a rolling carpet of green shining in the late afternoon sun. A hundred feet in the air, he reached the peak of his leap and felt that brief moment of weightlessness before starting the drop, plummeting until he crashed through the canopy and hit the ground a quarter mile from where he'd leaped. In three jumps, he'd cleared the jungle proper and was well on his way southwest, aimed at the place he had once called home.

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Mari Sunblade wove through the cobbled streets cautiously, her bonnet hiding her face from anyone who wasn't looking right at her. She hated these bloody bonnets - they looked ridiculous - but she was grateful at the protection they offered. Not that she needed it; nobody in the city knew who she was. Tall buildings of brick or stone lined both sides of the street, the night held back by the wrought-iron lamps on the sidewalks. The smell of horse dung was thick in the air, as was wood smoke from the thousands of stoves and fireplaces burning inside homes.

The clopping of hooves behind her made her press to the side of the street as a horse and carriage passed, the driver in a smart dark coat and high hat. He gave her a half-hearted wave as a token gesture of thanks, but did not look her way.

A procession of Heralds appeared up ahead, rounding a corner and heading in her direction. She turned down a side street, careful not to quicken her step first, despite the urgent instinct to run at the very sight of them. The Heralds had almost found her in Korrin, the village she'd raised Aran in, then again in Senna, near Maralon. She hadn't dared flee to Maralon after hearing about the entire city being searched top-to-bottom on the mere rumour a Paladin was inside the walls.

Her decision to ride north as far as she could may yet turn out to be a horrid mistake, but she couldn't think of any place better to hide than here in the Northguard, the apex of Herald strength and influence. This was the last place they would think to look for her.

With luck, it was the last place Aran would come looking for her, too. She wanted nothing more than to see his face, to put her arms around him, though she dreaded what would happen if she did. What would spill from her mouth. Mari was the only one left alive that knew the truth.

Her shoulders unknotted as she crossed the threshold of a tavern, blinking in the much brighter light of the staid yet pleasant establishment. She did a quick scan of the tables and the bar, but no yellow cloaks were visible. Heralds did not often drink, and when they did, it was not at the Lonely Star.

She crossed the room and took a seat in a corner where she could see both the door and the bar. The slender dark-haired girl behind the bar gave her the briefest of nods before turning to serve a patron. Friends of the Order could be found almost anywhere. Even here. Belledra didn't know who Mari really was, of course, only that they shared a common loyalty.

The tavern was perhaps half full of men having a quiet drink. Women rarely patronised taverns in the north. It was not a crime, exactly, though it was deemed the next thing to it. Mari would have visited no other place than this one.

A man played a lute on a small stage in one corner, though his songs were soothing rather than lively. After a few moments, Belledra deposited a small mug on the table in front of her and scooped up the coins Mari put down, hurrying off to her next job without so much as a word. Belledra knew how to be discreet. Surreptitiously, Mari slid the mug to the edge of the table in front of her body and gave the appearance of staring into the wine as if deep in thought, her right hand gripping the handle. Her left snuck up and pulled free the slip of paper hidden beneath the mug.

She opened the folded paper beneath the table with one hand, her eyes scanning it quickly before stuffing it into a pocket. The note simply read: Thirty-three. Was that the number for just this city, or the whole Northguard? Gods above, she hoped it was the former. Mari's gut wrenched; the number grew higher almost every day.

Carefully not looking at Belledra, she waited a few minutes to pass a suitable amount of time while sipping the wine, then stood and left the tavern. Outside, a light rain had begun to fall. She barely noticed, for her mind was elsewhere. For the love of Aros, she prayed silently, please don't look for me here, Aran. If he did, that number might become thirty-four, and Mari did not think she could survive that.

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END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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