ASH POV
The Silvan's words, still echoing in our minds, cast a long shadow over our journey. We rode in a tense silence, the rhythm of the horses' hooves the only sound against the backdrop of the whispering woods. As the sun climbed higher, the air grew thick with the humid warmth of the day, and the thought of a proper meal became increasingly appealing.
"I'm starving," I admitted, breaking the silence. "I could eat a whole roasted boar right now."
Nyxara glanced at me, a hint of amusement in her silver eyes. "You and your appetite. We packed some dried fruit and jerky, if you're interested."
"Jerky? Again?" I groaned, pulling a face. "We've been living off that stuff for days. I'm craving something... fresh."
Nyxara arched an eyebrow, a sardonic smile playing on her lips.
"Oh, my apologies, your Majesty. I didn't realize we were packing a traveling gourmet kitchen. Perhaps next time, I'll remember to bring along a personal chef and a wine cellar. Or maybe, you should learn to hunt, and then we could eat what you kill."
"Very funny," I muttered, reaching into my saddlebags. "Just saying, a little variety wouldn't hurt."
"Variety," she echoed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "In the middle of a forest, while being hunted. How delightfully quaint your expectations are."
We stopped by a small stream to water the horses and rest for a bit. The cool water was a welcome relief from the heat, and I splashed some on my face, feeling a momentary surge of energy.
"So," I said, leaning against a large oak tree, "what do you think the food will be like in Alderbrook?"
Nyxara considered for a moment, then shrugged. "Probably edible. Unlike our current fare. Though, knowing our luck, it'll probably be some sort of gruel served by surly innkeepers who'll charge us a fortune for the privilege."
"I'm hoping for some hearty stew," I said, my mouth watering at the thought. "With thick chunks of meat and vegetables, and maybe some fresh bread."
"Oh, absolutely," Nyxara said, her voice laced with irony.
"And while we're at it, let's request a performance by a troupe of dancing bears and a serenade by a choir of angels. We're on a quest, after all. Everything should be perfectly picturesque. Or maybe, you want a golden spoon to eat with."
"Don't get your hopes up too high," she cautioned, her tone laced with playful cynicism. "We don't know what kind of reception we'll get in Alderbrook. Besides, we have to be careful."
"Careful? About food?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"About everything," she replied, her voice serious, but with a hint of her usual bite. "We're being followed, remember? And we don't know who we can trust. Especially not the cooks. They could poison us with badly made stew, or maybe add a love potion, and make you fall in love with a pig."
" Or fall in love with you. Do you think we'll find an inn when we get there?" I asked, as the first stars began to appear.
"Hopefully," Nyxara said, her voice dry. "Unless, of course, they've all been mysteriously turned into toadstools. Which, frankly, wouldn't surprise me. Or maybe, the inn is a trap."
"Me too," I agreed. "A warm bed and a roof over my head would be nice."
"And a hot bath," Nyxara added, a rare hint of longing in her voice. "Without any suspicious bubbles or floating eyeballs. Or maybe, a kraken in the bath."
"Definitely a hot bath," I said, chuckling. "And maybe a mug of ale, too."
"We'll see," Nyxara said, her voice laced with her usual brand of skeptical amusement.
"But first, we need to find a safe place to stay. And by safe, I mean relatively free of homicidal furniture and possessed cutlery. And hopefully, without any ghosts."
As we approached Alderbrook, the lights of the town twinkled in the distance, a welcome sight after a long day of travel. The air was filled with the sounds of a town preparing for the night, the distant murmur of voices and the occasional clanging of metal.
"It looks busy," I observed, as we drew closer.
"It's a trade town," Nyxara said. "There's always something happening. Which means more opportunities for trouble. Or overpriced trinkets."
We entered the town through the main gate, the guards giving us a cursory glance before waving us through. The streets were bustling with activity, merchants closing their stalls, and townspeople heading home for the night. The smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble.
"See?" I said, nudging Nyxara. "I told you there would be good food."
Nyxara rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips. "Let's find an inn first," she said. "Then we can worry about food. Or avoid it, depending on the inn's hygiene."
We found a small, unassuming inn on the outskirts of town, called "The Weary Traveler." The innkeeper, a stout man with a friendly smile, welcomed us warmly and showed us to a couple of rooms.
"We'll be down for dinner shortly," I told him, as we unpacked our bags.
"We'll have a stew tonight," he said. "Hearty and filling, just what you need after a long journey."
"Perfect," I said, my mouth watering. "We'll see you downstairs. As long as the stew isn't made from rats."
Nyxara, inspecting the room, added,
"And hopefully, the bedding isn't home to any particularly large insects."
The innkeeper, a bit startled, laughed. "Of course not! We keep a clean establishment."
As we settled into our rooms, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. The room, though small, was surprisingly clean. A simple wooden bed, a small table, and a single chair comprised the furnishings. Nyxara, ever vigilant, ran a hand along the dusty windowsill, her silver eyes narrowing.
"Dust," she declared, her voice laced with disdain. "And not even the good kind. Probably just ground-up beetles."
"Oh, come on," I said, rolling my eyes. "It's not that bad."
"Not that bad?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. "It's practically a breeding ground for… whatever unspeakable creatures lurk in the corners of inns."
I sighed, unpacking my bag. "Look, we're here for one night. Let's just eat, get some sleep, and figure out our next move in the morning."
"Fine," Nyxara conceded, though her tone suggested she was far from convinced. "But if I wake up with spiderwebs in my hair, I'm blaming you."
We made our way downstairs, the aroma of the stew filling the common room. The inn was bustling with travelers, merchants, and locals, their voices creating a low hum that filled the space. A large fireplace crackled at one end of the room, casting a warm glow over the scene.
The innkeeper, his face flushed from the heat of the kitchen, greeted us with a smile.
"Ah, you made it. Take a seat, take a seat. I'll bring your stew right over."
We found a table in a quiet corner, away from the boisterous crowd. As we waited, I scanned the room, noticing a few suspicious characters lurking in the shadows. Nyxara, as always, seemed to be doing the same, her eyes darting from face to face.
"Don't stare," she murmured, her voice low. "It's rude."
"I'm not staring," I protested. "Just… observing."
"Observing potential threats," she finished, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Of course you are."
The innkeeper returned with two steaming bowls of stew, along with a basket of fresh bread. The stew was thick and hearty, filled with chunks of meat and vegetables, just as I had imagined. I took a bite, savoring the rich flavor.
"Not bad," I admitted.
"For stew," Nyxara replied, taking a cautious sip. "It's… tolerable."
We ate in a comfortable silence, the warmth of the stew and the crackling fire lulling me into a sense of relaxation. But even in this seemingly peaceful setting, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched.
"Do you feel that?" I asked, lowering my voice.
Nyxara nodded, her eyes narrowing. "Someone's watching us. But I can't pinpoint who."
"Maybe it's just my imagination," I said, though I didn't believe it for a second.
"Or maybe," Nyxara said, her voice laced with a hint of danger, "it's time to give them something to watch."
She stood up, her movements fluid and graceful, and walked towards the bar. I watched as she engaged in a casual conversation with the bartender, her voice low and persuasive. After a few minutes, she returned to our table, a knowing smile on her face.
"I have a feeling," she said, her eyes gleaming, "that we're about to have some company."
Just then, a group of men, their faces grim and their eyes filled with malice, approached our table.
"Well, well, well," one of them sneered, his voice rough. "What do we have here?"
Nyxara raised an eyebrow, her expression one of bored amusement. "Trouble, it seems."
"You're right about that," the man said, his hand moving towards the hilt of his sword. "You're coming with us."
I looked around and found a serpent eating its own tale on the badge of the man who spoke. Hmm. That's the flag of Kadia
I moved my hand and the staff came to me.
"Don't think of that. This place is completely surrounded by our highness son Prince Magnus and unless you want everyone in this inn to die, you surrender." The soldier said quietly.
"Do you think that threatening the inn keepers and everyone here will make me surrender?. You know me better that that Commander Louise." Nyxara said. Seems like they know each other.
"Yeah. I do but your friend here doesn't want innocents to die."
Nyxara looked at me and I looked at her back and it seemed like a silent understanding passed between us. We were going to surrender. Nyxara winced.
"Okay Louise we surrender." The inn's warm glow was now a distant memory. We stood in the cold, moonlit street, surrounded by Kadian soldiers. Louise, the commander of Kadia's army, stood nearby, his expression a mask of cold efficiency. They had bounded us with ropes that blocked a mage connection to the elements.
Magnus, his youthful face a study in arrogance, paced before us, his gaze locking onto Nyxara. But his eyes held a flicker of something else when he looked at me—a mix of resentment and thinly veiled fear.
"Nyxara," he began, his voice laced with a hint of mockery. "Back in Kadia. How… unexpected."
"I left when I saw the evil that was coming," Nyxara said, her voice firm, the chill in the night air mirroring the chill in her tone.
Magnus shifted his gaze to me, his eyes narrowing. "And you, Ash. The mage who, despite all odds, somehow managed to best me."
His voice carried a tight, suppressed anger.
"I defended myself," I said, meeting his gaze.
"A temporary victory," Magnus sneered. "One my father will rectify. He sees you as a threat. A threat to his plans."
"His plans to release the relics," Nyxara interjected, her voice laced with venom.
"Precisely," Magnus confirmed, his eyes gleaming. "The relics hold the key to unimaginable power. Power that will reshape the world. Power that my father intends to wield."
"He'll destroy the world," I said, my voice filled with dread.
"Perhaps," Magnus shrugged, his expression indifferent. "But that's not my concern. My concern is ensuring that Zaroth's plans proceed without… interference. And that means eliminating you, Ash. A task I will ensure is completed."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You see, Ash, you embarrassed me. You showed me up in front of my own men. That is something that cannot be forgiven."
"You won't get away with this," Nyxara said, her voice filled with defiance.
Magnus laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Oh, I think I will. You see, I have ways of ensuring compliance. And in Ash's case, my father was very clear. He needs to be eliminated. Permanently. And personally, I am looking forward to it."
He gestured towards Louise. "Take Nyxara. She will be questioned, we will find out what she knows. As for Ash…" Magnus paused, his eyes gleaming with a cruel light, "take him to the edge of the woods. See that he is dealt with. Quickly and quietly. And make sure it is done properly this time."
Louise nodded, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. He signaled to his soldiers, who began to drag me away, while others took Nyxara, in the opposite direction.
"Ash!" she called, her voice filled with worry.
I was pulled away, the lights of Alderbrook fading into the distance as I was dragged towards the dark edge of the Whispering Woods. Magnus's words echoed in my ears, laced with a personal vendetta:
"Quickly and quietly. And properly."