starve during this journey.”
Kariayla would have admitted that she was hungry, too, but her support might just be enough to send the Markanturian to voice his complaint. “I’m sure we will have to stop soon,” she assured him. “They will need to rest the horses.”
“Bother the horses. We will have to consume the beasts, which will be counterproductive to our travel.”
There was a pause where Kariayla decided whether or not to introduce her questions. She was not so concerned about furthering his aggravation as afraid that her logic would burst the dream. Her situation was too wonderful to be true. To be free of Belorn, free of slavery, traveling with the luxuries of shelter, food, and company—how could she dare tempt fortune with a question?
Before she could say a word, however, Arcturus sighed and eased back against the cushioned bench. “I suppose I should inform you of my purpose on this journey.” He made a strange face before pulling free the bag he had crushed. “Oh dear. I had forgotten...” From the bag he pulled out a bundle that looked like a smashed pastry. It was, in fact, two smashed pastries.
Kariayla tried not to smile. “A terrible waste,” he said dryly, “and in our greatest time of need. We must salvage what we can. I am sorry, my dear.”
She thanked him and tried not to devour the cheese tart too eagerly.
“As I was about to divulge, my purpose is to meet with a tracker who calls himself—” He made another face. “‘Hawkwing.’ He is to take me to meet an old friend of mine, a wizard by the name of William.” He took another bite of the pastry. “Now that I consider it, this is a rather convoluted quest, and I am not entirely certain of my level of enthusiasm. If this is one of William’s ruses, I will be incredibly cross when I see him.”
“William is not in Valesage, then?” she asked.
“I have no notion of where William resides,” Arcturus said with a scowl. “And his letter revealed no destination. I know only that Hawk— the tracker —is to take us to him.” His expression softened. “Though as far as I am concerned, my dear, his invitation has been extended to you. It is the least he can do to accommodate his guests on such hasty notice.”
Kariayla swept the crumbs from her lap. “I didn’t think wizards lived outside Mystland.”
“William is always the exception to traditional thinking.” He reached for his costrel and took a drink. A slight smile spanned his face.
“May I please have a sip of water?” Kariayla asked.
“Oh. Yes, of course,” Arcturus said, though he hesitated to hand the vessel to her. “It—er—is not water.”
A fermented fruity fragrance reached her nose when she took the costrel. He brought wine? She was thirsty enough that she drank it anyway. The sweet liquid warmed its way down her throat and into her chest. Presently she felt her face bloom with a rush of heat. She handed the costrel back with her thanks.
“It is good, is it not? It is one of the finer gifts this world has to offer, if it is indeed of any quality.”
Kariayla found him gazing at her thoughtfully.
“Have you given any thought as to what you will do with your freedom?”
Her spirits fell, if just a little, and she shook her head. I am hoping the opportunity will come for me to prove myself. In all of Secramore, there must be someone I can help, some way of earning back my life.
“Do not fret, Kariayla. We have plenty of time for such considerations.”
No sooner than he had spoken, they felt the wagon lurch to a halt. Kariayla peered out the back to find Jaharo approaching on his horse. He is like a giant knight from one of the old Human tales I read in the library. Ardrix the Great or Sir Norbert of Dalanthos. He must have traveled everywhere, to know even my people. It is hard to think of him as a cartographer, sitting at a desk and drawing maps. His hands are bigger than my head.
She found Arcturus had come up behind her. “I
Kariayla would have admitted that she was hungry, too, but her support might just be enough to send the Markanturian to voice his complaint. “I’m sure we will have to stop soon,” she assured him. “They will need to rest the horses.”
“Bother the horses. We will have to consume the beasts, which will be counterproductive to our travel.”
There was a pause where Kariayla decided whether or not to introduce her questions. She was not so concerned about furthering his aggravation as afraid that her logic would burst the dream. Her situation was too wonderful to be true. To be free of Belorn, free of slavery, traveling with the luxuries of shelter, food, and company—how could she dare tempt fortune with a question?
Before she could say a word, however, Arcturus sighed and eased back against the cushioned bench. “I suppose I should inform you of my purpose on this journey.” He made a strange face before pulling free the bag he had crushed. “Oh dear. I had forgotten...” From the bag he pulled out a bundle that looked like a smashed pastry. It was, in fact, two smashed pastries.
Kariayla tried not to smile. “A terrible waste,” he said dryly, “and in our greatest time of need. We must salvage what we can. I am sorry, my dear.”
She thanked him and tried not to devour the cheese tart too eagerly.
“As I was about to divulge, my purpose is to meet with a tracker who calls himself—” He made another face. “‘Hawkwing.’ He is to take me to meet an old friend of mine, a wizard by the name of William.” He took another bite of the pastry. “Now that I consider it, this is a rather convoluted quest, and I am not entirely certain of my level of enthusiasm. If this is one of William’s ruses, I will be incredibly cross when I see him.”
“William is not in Valesage, then?” she asked.
“I have no notion of where William resides,” Arcturus said with a scowl. “And his letter revealed no destination. I know only that Hawk— the tracker —is to take us to him.” His expression softened. “Though as far as I am concerned, my dear, his invitation has been extended to you. It is the least he can do to accommodate his guests on such hasty notice.”
Kariayla swept the crumbs from her lap. “I didn’t think wizards lived outside Mystland.”
“William is always the exception to traditional thinking.” He reached for his costrel and took a drink. A slight smile spanned his face.
“May I please have a sip of water?” Kariayla asked.
“Oh. Yes, of course,” Arcturus said, though he hesitated to hand the vessel to her. “It—er—is not water.”
A fermented fruity fragrance reached her nose when she took the costrel. He brought wine? She was thirsty enough that she drank it anyway. The sweet liquid warmed its way down her throat and into her chest. Presently she felt her face bloom with a rush of heat. She handed the costrel back with her thanks.
“It is good, is it not? It is one of the finer gifts this world has to offer, if it is indeed of any quality.”
Kariayla found him gazing at her thoughtfully.
“Have you given any thought as to what you will do with your freedom?”
Her spirits fell, if just a little, and she shook her head. I am hoping the opportunity will come for me to prove myself. In all of Secramore, there must be someone I can help, some way of earning back my life.
“Do not fret, Kariayla. We have plenty of time for such considerations.”
No sooner than he had spoken, they felt the wagon lurch to a halt. Kariayla peered out the back to find Jaharo approaching on his horse. He is like a giant knight from one of the old Human tales I read in the library. Ardrix the Great or Sir Norbert of Dalanthos. He must have traveled everywhere, to know even my people. It is hard to think of him as a cartographer, sitting at a desk and drawing maps. His hands are bigger than my head.
She found Arcturus had come up behind her. “I
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