Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) (9 page)

Moira hugged me as I stood with her on the porch of The Silver
Goose and then she handed me a square of linen tied around a bundle of food.
She turned and pointed a stern finger at Gideon and shook it. “You take care of
her.”

He tried to look contrite, but I doubted that humble
expression existed anywhere among his vast repertoire of grimaces and scowls. “Do
my best, ma’am.”

“You’ll do better than that.” She turned and looked at me
with an open and caring face, motherly. “And you don’t go giving him any
trouble, m’lady. I’m hoping to see you again one day.” She patted my hand one
last time before dropping it and stepping back.

“I hope to see you again, too.” I dropped a brief curtsey.

Moira waved as we turned toward the boarding stable. I waved
back, sad for having to leave her already, but compared to the other things I’d
recently lost, leaving Moira was a minor sting. When we reached the stables, I
stowed my gear and arranged Nonnie’s saddle and bridle. The stable boy set
Gespenst’s things in place while Gideon haggled over the fee with the hostler.
By the time they agreed on a fair price, the two horses and I were ready to go.

I had brought Nonnie a dried apple from the inn’s larder,
and she plucked it from my hands and mashed it between her big back teeth. Then
she nuzzled me again, searching for another. She knew me too well. I fed her a
second apple, stroked her nose, and climbed into the saddle.

We left town at an ambling pace. Gideon walked beside his
horse for the first mile or so, not wanting to make his injuries obvious. I
accepted the fact that this would be a long, slow day. We didn’t speak except
out of necessity, and then only perfunctorily. I had only my thoughts to listen
to, and there were many to ponder.

I thought of Father and considered again the possibility he
wasn’t the ideal man I believed him to be. Maybe I could take some blame for my
ignorance, though. I had led a comfortable life and never felt the need to
challenge my circumstances or ask how they came to be. Father explained the
basic structure of how he ran his kingdom, and I never questioned the fairness
of it.

Of course, not all people lived like me—I knew that much.
The few acquaintances I could call by name outside Fallstaff’s walls lived in
modest homes, but they had seemed content. I never associated with our farming
tenants, at Father’s urging. My knowledge of the villagers were mostly formal
encounters, and that had suited me as well. Nonnie and the people living and
working at Fallstaff were all the friends and family I had thought I needed.

Where had they all gone since my escape? Had any of them
suspected what was going to happen? How many had survived, and how many were
dead? A sick feeling bubbled up from deep in my belly. What if there were
traitors in my own household? If I could count Terrill as a member of my
household, then I guessed there were probably others like him. I shoved the
thoughts aside. They were too unpalatable. My frustration mounted at the
unending circle of questions and lack of answers. Expecting Gideon to explain
was like squeezing a rock, hoping to get water.

For the rest of the ride, my mind bounced between those
problems and flashes of memories from the prior afternoon with Jackie. No one
like him lived in Fallstaff, or in Glennich for that matter. Girls my age, when
I found reason to be around them, spent much of their time discussing romantic
prospects in the village. I never participated in these conversations because I
never saw what they saw—or felt what they felt. Father and I had mutually
avoided discussion of my future marital prospects, but I had a feeling he would
have discouraged dalliances with the local village boys.

After my encounter with Jackie, however, I understood what
the girls had meant when they spoke of fluttering hearts and hopes for stolen
kisses. Jackie had given me those same feelings, but the chances of seeing him
again were slim.

Late in the afternoon, Gideon interrupted my thoughts. “Looks
like we’ll have to spend another night under the stars. We won’t make it to
Braddock before nightfall at this pace. I hope Moira was right about the ship.”

I shrugged again. Now that the inn was gone, self-pity had
settled in for a long visit. If I had to leave Inselgrau, then I didn’t much
care where I laid my head anymore. I suspected it would be a long time until I
found a true home again... if ever.

Moira had packed enough food to alleviate the need for
setting snares. I saw to the horses and a few minutes of solitude for myself
while Gideon built a fire. Once the horses were settled, and I had seen to my
own personal needs, I returned to our camp with heavy feet. Gideon, being the
strong and silent type, let me sulk in solidarity as we picked through the food
bundle. I chewed on a hard roll and a bit of cheese, mostly for something to
do. My appetite had dropped off at the southern border of Thropshire along with
my good mood.

The sky stayed clear and starry, the temperature comfortable.
Without the need to pool our body heat, Gideon and I slept separate from each
other.
Thank the heavens for little mercies.
My rocky feelings, and the rocky
ground beneath me, made for a fitful night of sleep interspersed with short,
vivid dreams—weird, mixed up visions of my father, fire and smoke, and angry
mobs of people with outstretched hands that grabbed and ripped when they closed
in on me. I must have mumbled or cried out because I came awake to Gideon
shaking me.

“Evie, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled and rolled over, putting my back to him.
He was silent for so long, I assumed he went back to sleep, but then he spoke
from the other side of the low campfire. “Nothing bad will happen to you as
long as I’m around. I promise.”

I gave no indication I heard him. What could I say? Thank
you? It seemed hardly enough.

***

In the morning, Gideon either sensed my bad mood and kept
his distance, or appreciated my silence and the reprieve from my plague of
questions. He mounted Gespenst with less discomfort than the day before and, to
accommodate his injuries, shifted between walking and riding in short spurts.
Both caused him pain if he stayed with any one activity too long. As much as I
dreaded the finality reaching Braddock represented, I looked forward to getting
there for his sake. A ship might cause him less grief than the jolt of
horseback riding or prolonged walking.

We entered the bustling port town of Braddock near noon and
Gideon pointed out a steamship he recognized. He told me the
LaDonna’s
crew and commission came from Espiritola, a country south of Galland known for
the spicy temperament of both its food and its people. The ship’s captain
certainly validated the stereotype. I presumed he was the captain because of
his important looking tri-corn hat, and also because he was the only
leather-skinned, dark haired man wearing a coat. He stood on the dock below us,
arguing in Espiritolish with a gentleman who had arrived before us. The captain’s
words rolled over his tongue like the waves rolling along the sides of the
boats.

Finally, after much yelling back and forth, the gentleman
shook the captain’s hand, handed him a heavy pouch, bowed, and departed. Then
Gideon and I took our turn with the captain.

“Captain Barilla,” the sailor declared with a mighty thump
to his chest.

To my surprise, Gideon replied in the captain’s own tongue.
His command of Espiritolish was further evidence of the many things I did not
know about my guardian. He was well educated and frighteningly lethal. Had my
father known, or had Gideon kept these skills to himself? What were his
secrets, and how would I ever convince him to tell me? Knowing I would get no
immediate answers, I turned my attention to my surroundings.

The small harbor exuded a distinctly fishy odor. Actually,
fish, sea weed, salt, and unwashed men combined into a cacophony of maritime
stench. It was all a bit thrilling. From what I had read in books back home,
the port at Pecia, in Galland, was almost three times the size of this one.

Braddock had slips enough for maybe four or five small ship-to-shore
vessels and, at that moment, the harbor gave port to two ocean-going crafts.
Three tall smoke stacks and a side paddlewheel accompanied
LaDonna
’s
sails. She was the larger of the two ships anchored that day. My heart raced
and my breath shortened as I thought about boarding the hulking, steel
contraption.
Try to think of it as adventure, instead of escape.

Captain Barilla’s raised voice recaptured my attention.
Gideon elevated his to match. I snickered at the notion that Barilla believed
he might intimidate my guardian. They yelled a bit more and shook hands, reflecting
what had happened with the previous transaction. Perhaps yelling in a foreign
language was standard protocol for booking passage on a ship.

Gideon gave Barilla a small purse of coins, and bent his
neck in a casual bow. Barilla bowed back, and Gideon took me by the elbow and
dragged me back to the horses. He removed our meager baggage and tossed them to
an awaiting ship hand. He didn’t let go of me when he grabbed our horses’ reins
and stalked off toward the central part of town.

“Gideon, stop, you’re hurting me.”

He dropped my elbow like a hot poker, but continued his
march up the sloped street leading away from the water. How did his injuries
withstand the abuse? He seemed not to notice, so I refrained from mentioning it
because his mood had turned even darker than usual.

“What were you and the captain yelling about?” I asked. He
ignored me and increased his pace. “Gideon, what’s the matter? Where are we
going?”

His head jerked around, but did not stop his quick strides,
and looked at me with a blackness I hadn’t seen for our entire journey, not
even the day before when he was so mad about me having gone out on my own. I
tugged his arm in an effort to make him stop, but might as well have tugged on
an oak tree. I gave up and tried my best to match his distance gobbling
strides. When we finally stopped again, I leaned against Nonnie and panted
until I caught my breath.

Gideon and I stood before a boarding stable. He stared at it
as if staring at his greatest enemy. “Stay here, Evie.”

“What are you doing? And why are you so mad?”

Moments later, he returned in the company of a tall,
skin-and-bones man who wore his greasy black hair pulled back with a bit of
string. After roaming his watery blue eyes first over the horses and then over
me, the man spat in the dirt near my feet. I tried not to form an instant
judgment of him based on his looks and manners alone, but then he opened his
mouth and I had no choice but to hate him.

“I’ll give you fifty for the both of them,” he said.

“Fifty?” Gideon caressed Gespenst’s rump. “This one’s worth
eighty alone.”

“Yep, but you gotta get rid of ‘em
now
, don’t you?
You’re in no position to bargain.”

Gideon clenched his jaw. “I’ll find someone else who’ll give
me a better price.”

“Not in this town you won’t. Everybody here knows I got
first say in all horse trade. How ‘bout I give you sixty?”

The words sank in, but I refused to accept their meaning. “Horse
trade? Gideon, what is he talking about? You aren’t trying to sell Nonnie, are
you?”

Both men turned and looked at me as if surprised to find me
there. I grabbed Nonnie’s reins and laid a possessive hand on her neck. Gideon
looked down and kicked at something in the dirt. When he raised his eyes back
to mine, my heart froze. His face revealed his regret, his anger, and his grief.

“No, Gideon. She’s not for sale.”

“The captain won’t take them on the ship. There’s no room.”

“Then we won’t go. We’ll wait for another ship.”

“No, Evie. It’s too late.”

“You can’t take her. She’s mine and she is
not
for
sale.” I stepped back, pulling Nonnie with me. “Look, sir,” I said to the horse
trader. “There’s been a misunderstanding, and I’m sorry.”

The stableman’s gaze slid to Gideon, awaiting his reply, but
I didn’t give him time to form one. I stepped into Nonnie’s stirrup, threw my
leg over her back, and dug my heel into her side. She protested with a sharp
whinny, but followed my command. I had no destination in mind, but I left the
stables at a full gallop.

People on the busy street scrambled out of our way. Nonnie
and I nearly knocked over a full produce cart when we cut close between it and
a carriage. We ran until Braddock fell behind us, and the open road stretched
before us. Then we ran some more.

Gideon caught up to us not far beyond town. No surprise.
Nonnie couldn’t keep that pace for long, and Gespenst was built for long
distance running. He cut over, pushing Nonnie off the road, and forced us to
slow down.

“You can’t have her!” I screamed at him like a crazed
banshee.

“You can’t run from me forever.”

“I can try.” Yes, I had reacted childishly, but the
situation was ridiculous, and losing Nonnie was more than I could bear. On top
of everything else I had lost, she was one that broke me.

Gideon reached over and wrenched the reins from my hands. With
superior skill, he managed to stop both horses. My fight drained away. Like a
tidal wave, grief overcame me, and I didn’t resist when he pulled me into
Gespenst’s saddle, moving without regard for his injuries. He stroked my hair
and whispered unintelligible, soothing things into my neck while my tears
erupted in body-wracking sobs.

I cried forever before my well ran dry. Only then did I
realize I was sitting almost in Gideon’s lap. His shirt collar was drenched,
and he held me unusually close. I shifted, meaning to break away from him, but
he tightened his grip. “Promise me you won’t run.”