Brightly Woven(20)

Owain coughed lightly, but it was North who answered.

“Mostly, yes, but there’s a small number still lingering here and there.” Seeing my expression of horror, he added, “But the giants never existed, just the dragons.”

“It’s a few miles west of here in Farfield,” Owain said. “They’ve promised a hefty reward for the first wizard who shows. Most of your kind have already moved on to the capital to prepare for war. The people are desperate, from what I hear.”

“You have to destroy it,” I said, and both men turned identical looks of astonishment on me. I turned to face North. “It’s your responsibility, the reason Astraea gave the wizards magic.”

Owain let out an uncomfortable laugh. “This lass is one for the myths, then.”

“It’s not a myth!” I said, gripping the table, unable to stop myself now that I had started. “It’s the reason Astraea inherited the world from her father, the Great Creator. She gave the gift of magic to her people, and it was only because of that that they were able to defeat dragons and all wicked things! It’s why she has supremacy over her sister goddess, Salvala. You have to do it, North; it’s your responsibility.”

I knew the Wizard Guard had been established for that very purpose. When it became clear no common sword would be strong enough to cut through dragon hide, the wizards’ mastery of the elements made them the only weapon the kingdom needed. North refusing to do it was like a slap in the face, both to tradition and to our faith.

“I would have rather had a sword,” he grumbled, reaching for his pint. “The amount of magic this will take…”

“Then go worship Salvala!” I said, standing up so quickly that I knocked over my chair. I still couldn’t shake the way the thin wizard had looked at me, like he wanted to eat me alive. It was too much: the heavy, suffocating pipe smoke, the stench of alcohol, the buzz of noise. I refused to sit there and let our goddess be mocked in such a way.

“Where are you going?” North asked. I saw his cloaks swirl around his feet as he stood.

“Outside, to pray for your black, withered heart!” I pushed North’s hands away and picked up my things. “What do you care? Just leave me alone!”

“I’ll go with you, then,” North said, matching my glare with his own.

“I’m just going to find us a place to stay!” I adjusted my bag’s strap on my shoulder.

“Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you then, lass?” Owain said unexpectedly. “Food won’t be here for quite some time, anyway.”

I didn’t protest. I just wanted to get away from North’s dark eyes.

Outside, Owain did most of the talking. He told me how he and North had met—an almost brawl when they had both been out of their minds with drunkenness—and went into even greater detail about the beautiful, fair-haired Vesta. It took me several minutes to work out that Vesta was a horse, and Owain was possibly in love with her.

“Finest girl a man could ask for, I tell you,” Owain swore, pounding his fist against the stone wall. “Ever been on a horse, lass?”

“Once,” I admitted. “The horse threw me.”

Owain let out a long whistle but said nothing.

“Is there a place we could stay tonight?” I asked him. “I’d rather not go back in.”

“Of course there is! Just depends on how much you’ve got.” Owain leaned down.

“We don’t have any money,” I said, resting my hand against my forehead. “He came here looking for work.”

Owain tilted my chin up with two large fingers, and his green eyes bore into mine. “I’ll get him to take the dragon job, lass. I almost have him convinced. The two of you can stay with me for the night. Nice place—clean and safe. We’ll all go slay the dragon together.”

“I don’t understand how you can be friends with him,” I said.

“You mean Wayland?” Owain clucked his tongue. “Aw, lass. He’s just like a stallion. Wild and kicking on the outside, but a heart as soft as satin on the inside. Just waiting for the right girl to break him in.” As if the implication of his words wasn’t enough, Owain gave me a big wink.

“Your friendship was built on ale,” I reminded him, pulling my bag over my shoulder.

“And what a fine friendship it is!”

The section of the inner city Owain took me to was several streets behind the row of taverns, and the blue building stood out like a flower among dead, rotting trees. I was surprised by the interior; fine carpets and flower vases were scattered around, brightening up an otherwise dark setting.

A small, old woman was sitting at a desk by the entryway. Owain introduced her as Mrs. Pemberly, whispering as we went upstairs that her kindness was the only reason he could afford his room. Apparently, there was some sort of trade between the two of them. He cleared out any “bad sorts,” and she let him live there at an extremely discounted rate.

“Bless the lady’s heart,” Owain said, fumbling with the lock on the door. “Cleans my room and everything. You can go to her for anything you need, lass.”

“Thank you,” I said, dropping my bag to the floor. “Will you tell North where I am?”

“Course! Poor ol’ lad is probably tearing out his hair with worry, thinking I’ve stolen you away for myself!” Owain laughed.