Read Online The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) by James Berardinelli - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Berardinelli
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The heat would continue to sap Vantok’s strength. His army would be ready. The djinn would be tamed. And the threat represented by Sorial would be neutralized. War was coming and there was much to do.
CHAPTER FIVE: THE MAW OF THE CRAGS
Nine days in this inn, pleasant and accommodating as it might be, was more than enough. Alicia yearned to resume the journey, but Vagrum urged caution and patience. Soon, however, their thinning purses would make the decision for them. They had departed Vantok with only a small sum of money - Vagrum’s life’s savings - and The Gateway Inn was eating away at those limited funds at an alarming rate. The self-proclaimed “first and last great resting place of the South” charged rates that would make Warburm envious. To be fair, their rooms were cleaner and more spacious, their ales and beers weren’t watered down, and they doubled as a brothel for lonely travelers.
If Alicia was looking for an optimistic slant to their prolonged delay/stay, it was that they had apparently shaken their shadow. Since the night they had arrived at the dilapidated rest-stop 30 miles down the southern road, there had been no sign of pursuit. That nameless “inn” was open to customers although it offered little more than a welcoming fire in a single, crumbling common room and an innkeeper who, like the building, had seen better days. He had grumbled about having nothing to feed them and no reasonable place for them to bunk down, but for the courtesy of throwing a few extra logs on the fire, he had demanded a couple of bronze studs from each of them. Alicia couldn’t decide whether she had been more comfortable sleeping out-of-doors or lying on the rotting timbers of the common room floor. But with the threat of hunters on their scent, such meager accommodations had been welcome.
No one had come for them that night. The next day, as the weather worsened, there had been no sign of anyone else on or near the roadway except the increasing flow of travelers headed north and south. They had reached The Gateway Inn by nightfall and had been there ever since, watching the skies spill endless cold rain and debating the wisdom of venturing into Widow’s Pass with the weather as variable as it was. Reports argued that passage through the mountains was still possible. Widow’s Pass had been closed two weeks ago following a heavy snowfall but warmer temperatures had allowed much of that to melt. Regardless, passable conditions didn’t mean a journey was advisable; travel into the mountains was described variously as “difficult” and “treacherous.”
Apparently, Sorial hadn’t come this way. They had asked everyone who passed through the inn going north or south, as well as the innkeeper, serving wenches, resident whores, and stableboys. No one had seen anyone matching descriptions of Sorial, Warburm, or Lamanar. If they had used Widow’s Pass, they hadn’t stopped at The Gateway. That left three possibilities: Sorial’s group hadn’t yet reached here, they had elected to travel north using the less mountainous Earlford routes, or they were bound for another portal. The third possibility caused Alicia the most consternation; it was also the one about which she could do nothing. If he had gone in search of another portal, he might be dead by now. She found the notion strange that he could have passed beyond this world without her somehow feeling his death, but that’s the way it was with ephemeral human connections.
Tomorrow, they would go. Unless they awaited the Planting thaw, which was more than a season away, it seemed unlikely conditions would improve to the point where a trip through Widow’s Pass could be called “safe.” In fact, if they waited another week to greet the official onset of Winter and see in the new year, the pass might be buried in snow. It was either go now or turn back, and Alicia hadn’t come this far to turn back. She would travel to the
The heat would continue to sap Vantok’s strength. His army would be ready. The djinn would be tamed. And the threat represented by Sorial would be neutralized. War was coming and there was much to do.
CHAPTER FIVE: THE MAW OF THE CRAGS
Nine days in this inn, pleasant and accommodating as it might be, was more than enough. Alicia yearned to resume the journey, but Vagrum urged caution and patience. Soon, however, their thinning purses would make the decision for them. They had departed Vantok with only a small sum of money - Vagrum’s life’s savings - and The Gateway Inn was eating away at those limited funds at an alarming rate. The self-proclaimed “first and last great resting place of the South” charged rates that would make Warburm envious. To be fair, their rooms were cleaner and more spacious, their ales and beers weren’t watered down, and they doubled as a brothel for lonely travelers.
If Alicia was looking for an optimistic slant to their prolonged delay/stay, it was that they had apparently shaken their shadow. Since the night they had arrived at the dilapidated rest-stop 30 miles down the southern road, there had been no sign of pursuit. That nameless “inn” was open to customers although it offered little more than a welcoming fire in a single, crumbling common room and an innkeeper who, like the building, had seen better days. He had grumbled about having nothing to feed them and no reasonable place for them to bunk down, but for the courtesy of throwing a few extra logs on the fire, he had demanded a couple of bronze studs from each of them. Alicia couldn’t decide whether she had been more comfortable sleeping out-of-doors or lying on the rotting timbers of the common room floor. But with the threat of hunters on their scent, such meager accommodations had been welcome.
No one had come for them that night. The next day, as the weather worsened, there had been no sign of anyone else on or near the roadway except the increasing flow of travelers headed north and south. They had reached The Gateway Inn by nightfall and had been there ever since, watching the skies spill endless cold rain and debating the wisdom of venturing into Widow’s Pass with the weather as variable as it was. Reports argued that passage through the mountains was still possible. Widow’s Pass had been closed two weeks ago following a heavy snowfall but warmer temperatures had allowed much of that to melt. Regardless, passable conditions didn’t mean a journey was advisable; travel into the mountains was described variously as “difficult” and “treacherous.”
Apparently, Sorial hadn’t come this way. They had asked everyone who passed through the inn going north or south, as well as the innkeeper, serving wenches, resident whores, and stableboys. No one had seen anyone matching descriptions of Sorial, Warburm, or Lamanar. If they had used Widow’s Pass, they hadn’t stopped at The Gateway. That left three possibilities: Sorial’s group hadn’t yet reached here, they had elected to travel north using the less mountainous Earlford routes, or they were bound for another portal. The third possibility caused Alicia the most consternation; it was also the one about which she could do nothing. If he had gone in search of another portal, he might be dead by now. She found the notion strange that he could have passed beyond this world without her somehow feeling his death, but that’s the way it was with ephemeral human connections.
Tomorrow, they would go. Unless they awaited the Planting thaw, which was more than a season away, it seemed unlikely conditions would improve to the point where a trip through Widow’s Pass could be called “safe.” In fact, if they waited another week to greet the official onset of Winter and see in the new year, the pass might be buried in snow. It was either go now or turn back, and Alicia hadn’t come this far to turn back. She would travel to the
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