Caim ran a hand through his stiff hair. “I guess so. Where's everyone?”
“Dray and Malig went out after noonday. I think they're in a tavern on the east side of town. Horrible place. Egil's shopping for those supplies you wanted.”
“That figures.”
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. What about Aemon? I think he's the one who brought me here, but my head's all stuffed up. I can hardly remember where I am.”
Kit pointed to the wall. “He's in the next room. He's been checking in on you every once in a while. I think he was afraid you might die.”
“The way I was feeling, I might have welcomed a quick end.”
She batted at his chest. “Don't say that!”
As her fingers passed through him, something tickled in the back of Caim's brain. A half-formed memory, but it slipped away. “Well, I feel like a new man. Where's my clothes?”
Kit trailed her fingers up his stomach. “I like you better without them.”
“Kit, you just got done telling me I need to take things easy.”
She poked him in the breastbone. Hard.
“Hey!” Caim rubbed the spot. He'd felt her finger. “That-”
The door pushed open, and Aemon poked his head in. “Hey, Caim! You're awake!”
Caim glanced at Kit. “So it would seem. Can I have my clothes?”
Aemon tossed Caim a package. Inside were his garments, cleaned and neatly folded. Even the holes had been mended. Aemon talked, mostly about the townsfolk, while Caim cleaned up in a washbasin and got dressed.
“And you wouldn't believe some of the things these northern gals say,” Aemon said with a shake of his head. “It's enough to put the steel in your sword, if you know what I mean.”
Feeling almost human, Caim strapped on his knives. “Don't get too comfortable with them. They're still Northmen, same as the ones who killed your kin in Eregoth.”
Aemon lowered his gaze. “I know, Caim. I know why we're here.”
“Now you're talking.”
They left the small room and went down a narrow flight of steps to a tight foyer. None of it was familiar to Caim.
Once outside, Aemon took the lead. Caim breathed in the chill air, letting it wash the sleep from his brain as he followed through the sparse crowd.
“Maybe you should go see one of those mud-men doctors, Caim.” Kit floated beside him. “Maybe they can fix whatever's wrong.”
“Here?” He snorted and kept his attention on Aemon's broad back. “I'll be fine, Kit.”
“You keep saying that, but what if it gets worse?”
“I don't think it's anything a doctor could help with. I think it's tied to…you know…the shadows.”
He closed his mouth, hoping she would volunteer something, a fresh hint about the mysterious world from which his powers sprang. But she just watched him with large, liquid eyes.
“Are you going to tell me what happened back in the room?”
Kit scrunched her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“When you poked me, Kit. I felt it. Not a little tickle, either. You really touched me.”
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“How can you-?”
Caim shut up as Aemon looked back, eyebrows lifted like he'd heard something. When he turned back around, Kit was gone. Caim growled under his breath as he tugged on his gloves.
They entered a crowded street. Raucous voices echoed off the homes and shops. The town, Caim had already decided, possessed no plan or reason; it was just a pile of buildings built around, next to, and over to each other. Every Northman carried a weapon, usually more than one. Here in their natural element they were a loud, lusty people. He hoped Dray and Malig were behaving themselves, but that was almost too much to ask.
Aemon and Caim jostled their way into a great market. Everything was open to the sky. Stalls and wagons lined the perimeter. The shouts of the hawkers combined into a droning cacophony mixed with braying animals and shrill pipes. People mingled about, but most were gathered at the middle of the plaza around a high platform. A row of people, men and women alike, stood upon the stage. It was hard to tell much about them from this distance, except that they were tied together, hand and foot. Prisoners? No. A sour taste filled the back of Caim's mouth as he looked closer. Slaves. One by one they were cut free and marched down from the platform as money changed hands.
Looking at all the establishments around the plaza, Caim didn't know where to start searching for the others. In the end, it was Dray and Malig who found them. Caim and Aemon had paused at a tavern, thinking they would ask if anyone had seen their comrades, when a shout cut through the noise. Dray pushed through the crowd with Malig right behind him. They carried leather flasks and each had their arms draped around a pair of girls, all of them laughing and drinking. The girls looked about sixteen or seventeen. Maybe. Caim looked past his crew, half expecting to see a gang of angry fathers hot on their trail.
“We thought you were dying,” Dray yelled over the crowd.
“Yeah,” Malig echoed. “You don't look so bad now.”
“Where's Egil?” Caim asked.
“Who?” Dray asked.
Malig shrugged. “Haven't seen him since this morning. But look what we found! Eh?” He grabbed a rounded buttock, evoking a squeal and more laughter.
“We got a table,” Dray said. “Follow me.”
Caim allowed the Eregoths to lead him to an outdoor tavern. Dray and Malig sat down and ordered another round of drinks. Caim spotted an empty chair against the wall and claimed it for himself. Aemon started to follow, but Caim waved for him to join his brother.
A bony scullion with copper braids brought Caim a foaming tankard before he even sat down. He pantomimed putting something in his mouth, and she nodded, going back inside. Caim looked around as he sipped the malty beer. It was clear by the variety of garbs and attitudes that several different tribes of Northmen were represented in the square. Most of the men strode about like lords of creation. The inevitable squabbles this caused were quickly decided by blows or a sharing of drinks at the square's plethora of watering holes. The women were almost as brazen, and just as quick to start a fight when they thought they'd been wronged.
Of his comrades, only Aemon was paying the crowd any mind. The others were too involved in getting to know their girls better. The serving woman returned with a trencher of brown stew and a steaming bread roll. Spurred on by the ache in his gut, Caim didn't bother waiting until it cooled before he started tearing off hunks of bread and dragging them through the stew. The meat was lean and chewy. If it came from the shaggy bison they'd seen outside town, he decided he liked it.
As he sopped up the last bits, Caim glanced over at his comrades. Malig and Dray were tossing back cups like it was their last night, but Aemon stared into the crowd. His hands were clenched around his cup as if he wanted to crush it. Caim followed his gaze. In the center of the square, the slave auction continued. A rotund man in gray furs was addressing the crowd. Caim couldn't make it out, but he saw a slim girl standing on the stage. The first thing he noticed was the mane of rich, black hair that tumbled down her pale shoulders, and for a moment he saw Josey on the stage, shivering and frightened. He almost knocked his mug off the table before he calmed himself.
A loud roar rose from the crowd as Northmen thrust their hands in the air. On the stage, the woman's shift had been torn away, leaving her naked before the multitude. She had the smoky eyes and bronze features of a southerner, maybe from Illmyn or Michaia. Caim was digging in his pouch to pay for the food when Aemon stood up.
Caim slapped down a handful of coppers. “Dray! We're leav-” Vertigo washed over him as he stood. He clenched his jaws and tried to shake it off.
