He reached out without thinking and drew the boy close to him, the youth burying his head in Jayson’s chest, snuffling loudly. The murmurs that had started up as soon as Ara returned with the stew stilled again, and Jayson looked up to find that Ara herself had drawn back a step in horror, one hand raised to her mouth.
“Who?” she asked. Then, with more force, “Who attacked Gray’s Kill?”
Jayson shook his head. “I don’t know. We never made it back to the village. We were attacked by creatures on the road, and then the dwarren came-”
At mention of the dwarren the people in the tavern gasped and broke into excited conversation, the sound cutting Jayson off. An elderly man spat to one side and muttered, “I never did trust those earth-diggers. Bunch of sneaky bastards, they are.” A round of general agreement passed through the room, Ara looking on in disapproval, hands now on hips.
The anger that had been stirred might have escalated if the door hadn’t opened and one of the Legionnaires stepped into the tavern, followed by Carl.
Dressed in armor, he blocked the door, although he wasn’t a bulky man. His gray eyes swept the room, taking in everything with one glance, his gaze settling on Jayson and Corim with a frown. He held himself with a stiff, military bearing, head high, shoulders back, feet placed firmly. Yet when he took the few steps from the door to their table, removing his helmet, his motions were smooth. One hand fell casually to the pommel of the sword strapped to his side as he cradled the helmet with the other. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Jayson.
“You wished to speak to the Legion?” he asked gruffly. His eyes measured both Jayson and Corim. “If it is about enlisting, there’s a general call held every-”
“It’s not about enlisting, Gregson,” Ara cut in sharply. “He says Gray’s Kill has been attacked.”
Jayson wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Gregson straightened where he stood.
“Attacked,” he said, the word sharp but hesitant. “By whom?”
Jayson opened his mouth, but Ara beat him to it. “He doesn’t know. Creatures, he said, and the dwarren!”
Gregson’s frown deepened. “Is this true?”
“Yes.”
The Legionnaire glanced around the room, at the avid faces of the other patrons, then sighed. He set his helmet on the table. “May as well question you here,” he muttered, “rather than risk rumors running rampant after we leave.” He pulled the chair up opposite Jayson and Corim and seated himself, his armor making his position awkward. “Now, explain what happened.”
Jayson drew in a deep breath to steady himself, then launched into the story, relating everything that had happened from the moment they stepped out of the mill to arriving in Cobble Kill. Corim added a few comments when asked directly by Gregson but otherwise remained quiet. The rest of the patrons were silent except for an occasional snort or gasp. Ara listened attentively, but kept everyone’s mugs of ale full, even bringing Gregson a cup, which he did not drink.
Gregson said nothing at first when Jayson finished. He leaned back in his chair and regarded both Jayson and Corim intently. Then: “Let me see your arm.”
Jayson shifted forward and began unwinding the hasty bandage he’d placed on the wound. The recitation of the attack had numbed him, his motions slow, even though the stew had restored some of his strength. He grimaced when the last few lengths of torn cloth pulled at the cuts.
The claw marks were reddened, swollen, and crusted with scabs. A few fresh dots of blood welled up where the removal of the bandage had reopened the wound.
He held his arm out for Gregson, who grunted as he leaned forward to examine it, taking Jayson’s arm and twisting it this way and that in the lantern light. Ara craned over his shoulder, then tsked and disappeared into the back room again. She returned before Gregson had finished, fresh bandages hung over one arm and a squat jar of unguent in one hand.
“Those are some serious wounds,” Gregson said as he finished. “Not from any animal I’ve ever seen.”
“One of them caught my leg as well.”
Gregson’s eyes dropped to his leg. The skeptical note had faded from his voice.
Ara had already begun attending to his arm. He hissed as she slathered the first layer of unguent across the cuts, the thick paste stinging, but he held still as she began tying fresh bandages across it.
Gregson appeared to reach a decision, standing and taking up his helmet. “We’ll need to see Gray’s Kill before I send someone to Hartleton or Temeritt. Rest up here, if Ara’s got the rooms to spare-”
“Of course I do,” she said succinctly, looking to Jayson and then Corim with a smile.
“-and I’ll gather together some of the Legion. I’d like you to accompany us, if you would, Jayson.”
Jayson frowned as Ara tied off the last bandage and patted his arm, even as relief flooded through him, the burden of responsibility lifting from his shoulders. He had intended to return once he passed on the warning. He needed to find out what had happened to Lianne.
“I’m coming, too.”
Both Jayson and Gregson turned at Corim’s quiet declaration. The youth had said little on the trek to Cobble Kill, sunk into a state of shock. But now something had sparked in his eyes. He sat up straight in his chair, his face haggard and exhausted, but lined with determination.
At Gregson’s frown of disapproval, the apprentice turned toward Jayson. “I can’t stay here. I need to find my parents.” His voice broke slightly, but he crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly.
Jayson grimaced and turned to Gregson.
The Legionnaire settled his helmet into place. “He’s twelve, of age. He can come if he wishes.”
Gregson appeared early the next morning with three other members of the Legion and two additional horses. Ara stood beside both Jayson and Corim outside the tavern as they rode up from the eastern road. The youngest appeared to be no more than eighteen.
“Gregson is a good man,” Ara said, “and a better Legionnaire than he believes himself to be. You’ll be safe with him.” She patted Corim on the shoulder, then stepped back as the group of Legion approached.
Gregson motioned to the three men who accompanied him. “This is Terson, my second, and Curtis and Ricks.” Terson gave them a curt nod; both Curtis and Ricks smiled. “I’ve brought you mounts.”
Jayson glanced at the two animals skeptically, but stepped forward. He’d ridden before, of course, but not for long distances and never on horses as fine as these. He helped Corim into the saddle first, the youth tense with fear and excitement, petting his mount’s neck after situating himself in the saddle, then Jayson swung himself onto his own horse.
Gregson kicked his mount into motion and the rest followed with little prompting.
They rode out of Cobble Kill, a rock promontory that Jayson had not seen in the fading light the night before jutting out of the forest over the town to the north. Trees closed in immediately after they crossed the stone bridge, sunlight dappling the road beneath as the leaves rustled in a faint breeze. Dust danced beneath the foliage above the undergrowth to either side, passing from shadow to light, but Jayson found himself paying more attention to remaining on his horse than the scenery. The pace was swift.
They rode throughout the day, pausing often to rest the horses and once to eat. As they drew closer to Gray’s Kill, Gregson slowed, to Jayson’s relief. After taking the northern fork when the road split, he dropped the pace even further.
As they rode toward the break that would lead toward the barge, Jayson found himself scanning the edge of the road, watching the shadows beneath the forest. His gaze darted from side to side, toward the shivering bush as a squirrel shot away with an annoyed chatter or the flutter of a bird startled from its branch. Sweat broke out across his shoulders and his breath quickened.
He nearly jumped out of his saddle when Ricks sidled closer and said in an undertone, “Relax.”
Jayson turned toward him, caught the confident grin on the younger man’s face. A wave of shame slicked through the apprehension in his gut and he straightened slightly.
“I don’t know what we’re going to find in Gray’s Kill,” he said.
Ricks frowned at the tone of his voice, pulling back slightly, but before Jayson could explain Gregson slowed to a halt and motioned Jayson forward. Corim remained behind, his horse skittish, picking up on the apprentice’s unease. He saw the youth’s eyes flick toward the shadows beneath the trees.
