The Mephit's Tales

EIGHTEEN

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The walls of Wafret were not so high or so thick as those of Nordport, but they still formed an imposing ring of stone around the city. The gate was suitably large to pass even the largest merchant wagons, and it was tended by a cadre of vigilant guards. Worryingly vigilant, all things considered.

“Just follow my lead,” Nancy murmured to us as we progressed along the queue. “I have a notion, and I think it’ll make our time a bit easier.” She leaned up against me, curling an arm around my waist.

I’d been amazed enough to see how all of them could shift from an upright, mile-eating march to a slouching saunter; it had changed their entire demeanour in ways I couldn’t possibly hope to emulate. Now Travis and Elizabeth leaned up against one another, with Helen coming up against my other side, and we made our way up to the gates as such.

If not for the circumstances being so dire, it would have been rather enjoyable, truly.

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SEVENTEEN

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“Tell me, Edmond, what was the most curious thing about Bergen?”

“Bergen?” The question was so sudden, so random, that I missed a stride, peering at Helen in some confusion for a moment before hustling back into place. “Why Bergen?”

“Because you’re the sole one of us who’s been there, and the villages of Wafret are well known for being a trifle quirky,” she replied. “Also, because you’ve been much too quiet this afternoon.”

I suppose I couldn’t deny that. I wasn’t still feeling so bleak as the day before, but I was rather overwhelmed by the scope of our task. “Bergen, then. I suppose… I suppose the strangest thing was that the road guard had an actual pike.”

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EIGHT

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Rebecca looked up as I came near her shoulder, her expression unreadable. She turned her gaze back down toward the campfire, and for a moment I thought she wished to be alone; but before I could draw away, she reached over toward me. As I set my hand in hers, she took hold of it, saying, “How are you feeling?”

I sat on the ground beside the stump she was perched on, and answered in the most straightforward and honest way I could: “Better.” With a fresh breath to bolster my resolve, I asked in turn, “And yourself?”

She let out a heavy sigh, leaning somewhat onto my shoulder. “I… heavens, I don’t know. I feel as though I should be feeling more. The city attacked, my home put to the torch, who knows how many of my kin dead… but somehow, I just feel… empty.”

I drew her into the crook of my arm, nuzzling at the back of her head. “I wish I knew what to say,” I admitted.

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SEVEN

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Waking up wasn’t the most comfortable experience in the world, but I was much better for however much rest I’d had. The darkness suggested I had been asleep for quite some time, at least; what I also noticed, though, was that most of the pain had faded to a dull ache along my back.

Attempting to move was perhaps not the wisest thing I’d ever done; that soreness translated to such a stiffness that I could barely convince my arm to budge. But with the sounds of hushed activity coming through the canvas all around, making my highly aware that I was probably the only person here not being useful, resting in one place was about the last thing I wished to do.

I’d been sore before. I dealt with it now as then: moving carefully, but most definitely moving, pushing against that resistance not with a sharp jerk, but with persistent effort. I convinced my limbs to move, and then I kept them moving, letting the blood flow a little more freely.

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SIX

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Shouts in the night roused us from an otherwise restful slumber. I was first to hear them, I think, perhaps not resting so soundly for my earlier worries; but even as I strained to lift my head and tilt my ears toward the window, Rebecca shifted atop me, mumbling in the way the just-awakened do.

The window was closed against the November rain, but I could still hear cries of alarm. And in one sudden burst of noise, one of those words came through.

“Fire,” I repeated, throwing the furs back. Rebecca scrambled off of me before I could make another move; I rolled off the bed, striding over to my closet and seizing two robes. One I tossed over to her, and the other I shrugged into myself, saying, “We might be able to see where it is from the cupola. If it were anywhere near here, someone would be around to rouse us already…”

I wasn’t sure we would actually be able to see where the fire was. Unfortunately, I needn’t have worried; as soon as we emerged from the ladder, it was painfully obvious.

Weston House was ablaze, from one end to the other. Screams rose into the night, shouts of panic, precious few voices trying to bring order, to fetch water.

“Good heavens,” Rebecca breathed, staring out over the rooftops at the flickering light. “You were right.”

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