nervous about confronting someone alone in the middle of nowhere, she edges off the road and hides behind a hill as the rider approaches.
When the rider comes into view, she sees it’s the same soldier that had stopped her as she was leaving the keep. Hurrying down, she rushes to the road before he has a chance to race past.
“Stop!” she hollers to him as she reaches the road after he passes by.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he sees her there and brings his horse to a halt. Turning around, he comes back toward her. “What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asks once he’s come close to her.
“Going to the next town up the road,” she tells him. “Can I ride with you?”
Giving her a grin, he asks, “Thought you already have someone?”
“I do,” she replies. “I’m going to the next town to meet him.”
Considering her request a moment, he reaches a hand down to her and says, “Sure.”
Taking his hand, she swings up behind him. Once she’s in position, he turns his horse back to the north and breaks into a gallop.
Chapter Twenty Six
“Would you stop your pacing?” James asks in exasperation. Ever since coming to Yerith, the first town north of Kern, Jiron has been on edge due to his worry over Aleya. James lies in bed in their room at the first inn they came to when they reached town. Exhausted from his magical endeavors, all he wants now is simply to rest. But the nervous pacing of Jiron makes it impossible for him to be able to relax enough for that to happen.
“What could’ve happened to her?” Jiron asks for the hundredth time. Maybe not that many but it sure seems that way to a tired James. Going to the window, he looks out over the road where it enters Yerith from the south, hoping to see her coming. “She should’ve been here by now.”
“Jiron,” begins James in a tired voice, “it was very chaotic as we came through the lines. She’ll be here.” Pulling the covers over his head, he tries to block out Jiron’s nervous pacing.
Turning to him, he asks, “What if she doesn’t come? What if she’s been taken as a spy from the Empire? She could be undergoing torture right this very minute!” Worry and concern are etched across his face as even worse fates run through his mind.
James peeks from under the covers to gaze at his friend and watches as he reaches for his knife, pulls it out a few inches and then slides it back into the scabbard. He does this several times as he turns back to the window and looks for Aleya’s return. “If it’s bothering you so much,” he finally says, “why don’t you go back down the road and look for her?”
“Do you think I should?”
“Yes,” he assures him. Anything to get a little peace and quiet.
“Will you be alright?”
“I should be fine,” James replies. “We’re in Cardri after all.”
“True,” admits Jiron. He again looks out the window and then abruptly turns for the door. “I think I may just ride back down the road a ways.” He looks over to James but his eyes are already closed.
Opening the door quietly, he slips through to the hallway and closes it behind him. Practically running down the stairs, he makes it to the stable and quickly saddles his horse. Mounting, he bolts out into the inn’s courtyard and turns toward the road.
Once on the road, he kicks his horse into a gallop just as he hears, “Thank you, I’ll be fine from here.” Bringing his horse to a sudden stop, he looks back and sees Aleya dismounting from behind a man wearing the uniform of a Cardri soldier.
“Aleya!” he hollers as he turns his horse toward her.
She turns and sees him there, a smile breaking out upon her face. “Jiron!” she replies back. The soldier moves his horse away and continues down the road as Aleya moves toward Jiron.
In his excitement at seeing her, he vaults off his horse and lands next to her. Grabbing her in his arms, he gives her a big, warm kiss.
Smack!
Jiron’s head snaps back as her fist strikes the side of his face. Letting go of her, he stumbles back in shock as he gazes upon the grim expression she’s wearing. “What did you do that for?”
“You never, EVER, do that again without my permission!” she yells. With the enwrapped bow and quiver under one arm she stands there and glares.
“I was just so worried…” he begins and then trails off. “And when I saw you, I just…”
“Just what?” she asks her demeanor not softening in the slightest.
“Oh, never mind.” Grabbing the reins of his horse, he begins walking dejectedly back to the stables.
“Jiron,” he hears her say, her tone somewhat softer.
Not turning around, he replies, “What?”
“You have my permission,” she says in a soft, caring voice.
He stops in his tracks and glances back to her. She comes forward and takes him in her arms. Pressing her lips to his she begins to give him a kiss. This time, he’s the one who breaks it off. “What’s wrong?” she asks as she looks him in the eyes.
“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you,” he begins. “But…”
“But what?” she prompts him.
“But my face hurts where you hit me,” he admits.
She just stares at him for a moment and then they both start laughing.
He gives her a hug and then says, “Let’s go up to the room, James is sleeping but I think he’ll want to know you’re back.” With his horse’s reins in one hand, and his other around her waist, they walk back to the inn.
Epilog
He makes his way down the darkened street on his way to the inn. This far into the Empire, he needs to be extra careful, their agents are everywhere. He has just come from a meeting, that should its agenda be known, would surely mean his death. But he’s played this game far too long to let a little thing like death be an obstacle.
Many people know him by many different names, here he’s simply Kir, a traveling musician who makes his way by playing at various inns. This persona has blonde hair and slightly darker skin than he’d originally been born with, a result of just the right mixture of dyes and other solutions. The overall appearance is that of someone from the southern region of the Empire.
Lately, the other players in the game have begun to suspect him, as the last attempt on his life proves. How many more effective years he may have has yet to be seen, but through his long years as an agent, he’s learned the art of disguise and misdirection well.
With his instrument over his shoulder he continues down the street to his current engagement at the Wallowing Swine. A none too classy establishment, its environment fits in well with what he’s here to accomplish.
As he approaches the inn, several people standing outside the Wallowing Swine wave to him as he draws near. He’s a favorite around these parts, many wonder just what brings him back to this same inn time and again. They’re sure that a singer of his talents would be welcome in any of the finest inns in the city. When asked about it, he just replies that he likes it here.
A slave dressed in the regular slave garb, loin cloth and nothing else, stands at the door and opens it for him. “Thank you,” Kir tells him. The slave gives him a grin as he passes by. Kir is one of the few people who treat slaves decently, most don’t even acknowledge their existence, which has earned him their help in various ways.
The smoke filled common room is crowded, always is on nights he’s performing. He makes his way through the crowded room to the stage, many people call out to him or offer hellos. Returning their greetings, he finally
