The Knife's Edge

Chapter Twenty-Eight

NAMELESS

With Ayva and Darius at Gray’s side, they reached the inn by way of a back alley. He noticed the cobbled street was rutted with two well-worn tracks from the use of many carts. A merchant’s lane, Gray suspected.

“You two stay here,” Ayva ordered. “I’ll be back with the horse and cart from the stable.” The alley was narrow and the stone walls were lined with big oak barrels stacked high. A door on the far wall led into the inn. All of it was lit by the ripe moon.

Darius shuffled next to him, looking guilty with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Gray glanced up when he heard the clopping of hooves on stone. Ayva returned leading a horse and cart. With her instruction, he started to load the heavy casks. The rogue begrudgingly helped. Soon the cart sank under the weight.

“You two can handle the last two. I’ll be back in a moment. I’m just going to explain the situation to my father,” Ayva said and then bit her lip. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Gray said.

Ayva smiled and disappeared through the inn’s door.

He turned to Darius, and then glanced to the last barrels. “Shall we?”

Darius grumbled under his breath. Together, they picked up the oak and iron-strapped barrel. Gray’s muscles strained. “These are heavy,” Darius groaned. “Why are we doing this again? I feel like I’m a part of some sort of charity.”

Gray replied with a wry laugh. “I think someone had the brilliant idea to get in a fight.”

“Bah, I was merely the victim of circumstance.”

“A victim of greed, more like,” Gray mumbled beneath his breath.

Darius snorted, “Don’t blame me for being clever at dice.”

He shook his head, figuring that arguing with the rogue was futile.

“If someone sees me right now, there goes my hard earned reputation,” Darius griped. “I’ve got an idea. If someone does see us and asks, we’re stealing these, and not helping, agreed?”

“I’m not aiding your ill-famed reputation. I’m sure you’re good enough at that on your own,” he said as they picked up the last barrel. Darius slipped, nearly dropping the cask. “Watch it!” He said, struggling with the bulk of the weight. The rogue picked up his slack, but still his eyes were riveted to the roofs around them.

“Did you hear that?” Darius whispered.

“I didn’t hear anything. What was it?”

“I’m not sure,” the rogue said, shaking his head. “Must be my imagination.”

“Too much ale?”

Darius chuckled, but something in his face still looked troubled.

They threw the last barrel in, closing the latch on the cart to prevent the load from rolling out, and as they did, something brushed his shoulder. His muscles tensed. In the corner of his eye he saw the look on Darius’ face and he nodded. “I felt that,” he whispered.

“Maybe it’s just the wind,” the rogue replied, backing up.

Gray reached for his blade and realized it wasn’t there. “I don’t think so,” he said. From a hidden pocket, Darius extracted a broad arrowhead dagger. Together they watched the shifting shadows. “Stay close,” Gray commanded.

Silence filled the alley.

“I think it’s gone,” Darius said with a breath of relief.

As he spoke, a black mist formed in the air on the nearby rooftop. Then, in a flash, the dark mist vanished. They twisted as it reappeared on the black-tiled roof to their right, then again to their left, too fast for the eye to follow.