Brightly Woven(18)

“What are the hedge communities like?” I asked.

“Tightly knit, highly secretive,” he said. “Though I’ve never seen one myself. I’ve only come across one male wizard who grew up within a hedge community, and he wasn’t forthcoming with details.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Who do you think?”

I stared at him. “Dorwan…?”

North nodded. “Explains quite a bit, doesn’t it?”

“How do you know so much about him?” I asked. “He doesn’t seem the type to share.”

“I met him when we were both still young,” he said. “Look, Syd, it’s not something I’m proud of. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Did you train with him?” I asked. “Did he have the same magister?”

“No,” he said. “When I was with my magister, Oliver was the only other student he had.”

“Who in the world is Oliver?”

North gave me an exasperated look.

“He’s the current second-in-command of the Wizard Guard, ranked number two just behind the Sorceress Imperial, who is ceremoniously ranked number one. He hates tea, enjoys moonlit walks through Provincia’s palace, and is a spectacular git,” he said. “Now that we’ve played twenty questions, would you mind dropping it?”

The thin scrap of wood covering the moat could barely support our combined weight. It dipped dangerously beneath us as we crossed into the silent, dark city. There was no one around, save for the two guards on either side of the entrance. Both were fast asleep and snoring in high, extended wheezes.

From the outside, except for the demolished bridge, the city had seemed unspoiled, marred by age and hedge witches, but no worse for wear. Inside the walls, however, it was a very different story. The outer ring of buildings had sizable pieces of roofs and entryways missing, some completely torn away and left as rubble on the ground.

North led me through the streets, and slowly the buildings began to appear whole again. The sounds of actual life in the distance reached my ears.

“It won’t be as bad once we get farther in,” North said, as if sensing my thoughts. “The people here gave up waiting for repairs and just moved farther inside, where it was harder for the hedge witches to reach them. We just passed the streets with all the glass blowers.”

“So you come here often?” Somehow, I wasn’t surprised.

“It’s gotten worse over the years,” he admitted. “The king neglects—neglected—this part of the country for far too long, and now it’s fallen into this mess.”

If my mother had heard him say such a thing, she would have boxed his ears for being so disrespectful. I bristled on her behalf.

“I’m sure that wasn’t the case,” I said. “It might have been the fault of his advisors, but not the king.”

After blocks of dirty, broken-down buildings and uneven streets, the light of the inner city was like a beckoning fire, a fire that became rowdier and louder and drunker the closer we got. One entire block was made up of pubs and taverns; we saw drunk patrons thrown out of one pub only to stumble into another right next door. There wasn’t a place of worship in sight.

“We’re going to get something to eat,” North explained, as we stood beneath a wooden sign that read THE STUBBORN DRAGON. “I’m hoping my friend is here tonight.”

“Please don’t drink,” I begged, but he didn’t hear me. Instead, he pushed a path for us through the crowd inside. Someone was banging an unidentifiable song on an out-of-tune piano. Occasionally North would recognize someone and give a curt nod or a smile. He reached back to take my hand, but instead I slipped it into the pocket of my dress.

“Waaaaayland, I thought you had abaaandoned us!” a woman purred. “Where did you find such a precious little doll? Got a sitting gig?”

“Just a friend, Anna,” North said in a smooth voice. “Speaking of friends, I heard a rumor that Master Owain has been around these parts. Has he been in tonight?”

“Why do you want to talk to him?” She pouted, sliding off our table.

North smiled. “Business. You know how it is.”

“I’d know if you told me more about—” she began, but never had a chance to finish.

“If it isn’t Wayland North, finally back to make an honest living!” came a voice behind us, a deep baritone. “That is, if you’re really here for business.”

The man was a great mass of muscles and stringy blond hair. He looked to be twice my age, with the beginnings of a beard, uneven and slightly darker than the hair on his head. A shirt of old, rusted chain mail covered his broad chest. He wore mismatched metal wrist guards that scraped along his side and snagged the frayed bottom of his wrinkled undershirt. When he grinned, his teeth gleamed in the faint light of the tavern like a wolf’s. If his eyes hadn’t betrayed how overjoyed he was to see North, I might have thought he was ready to devour us both whole.

“Honest is probably not the word I would have chosen, Owain, old friend.” North clasped the other man’s hand, and Owain pumped it up and down enthusiastically.

“Hah! So you haven’t heard yet!” Owain crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve gone straight. Only good, clean jobs for me now.”