The Valley of Lies (Lightkeepers #1)

Chapter TWENTY-ONE: Zan

"Woah, there, hoof-foot. Where do you think you're going?"

Zan scoped a look around the wet, rocky road and its adjacent buildings, finding it more difficult than he'd expected to pinpoint the location of the indignant voice. Whoever they were, they were probably up on one of the porches, standing out of the rain.

The nearest building looked like a clothier, its darkened front window stocked with well-dressed mannequins. Past that was a livelier establishment, two floors high. The windows were bright and inviting. Cheerful music mingled with laughing voices and the clanking of tankards and cook pots drifting out from the cracked open doorway, all telltale signs of an inn. Just the sort of place he was looking for.

"I said, where do you think you're going?"

The porches and eaves of every establishment along the street were strung with candles housed in glass thick enough to withstand the weather, but they cast as many shadows as light. Zan still did not see his tormentor, not that he was worried about them. The stranger's voice was deep, but not as deep as a satyr.

"We don't serve your kind in Squallside."

A shadow separated from the dark wall stretching between the window and door of the clothier shop, taking the steps down from the porch two at a time. A man stood before Zan in the pouring rain, large by human standards, with arms like the muscled haunches of an adult antleoch crossed against his barrel chest. He wore a wide-brimmed hat that obscured all of his face except the full red beard covering his jaw.

Zan had assumed the man was middle-aged from the timbre of his voice, but when he cocked his head up to meet Zan's eye, he was years younger. Twenty-five, maybe.

The stench of alcohol was thick in the air. Zan pulled the girl closer to his chest, careful not to squeeze too tightly. "I'm looking for a place to stay, brother, not a fight. Let me pass."

The man's glassy eyes roved Zan's massive body, narrowing in scrutiny as they fell on the unmistakable outline of the girl in his arms. Her cloak covered most of her body and entire head, including her long ears, but her dainty boots peeked out past the bottoms of her gray pants. There was not much mystery as to the sort of load he carried, and it wasn't hard to imagine what the man must have thought had happened to her. Satyrs weren't trusted by many races, and not for nothing either.

"What have you done, savage?"

The man made no effort to hide his hand angling for his pocket, where he must have been carrying a knife. He'd probably been out on that porch waiting for a fight, and here Zan was, delivering his opportunity on a platter. It was fortunate, actually. The human wouldn't hurt the girl, and Zan wasn't afraid for himself. He could squash the man like a bug if he wanted, but he didn't need to. All he needed was one touch. But not yet.

"Are you from this place, brother? Should I know you?" Zan took a careful step backward, his hollow hooves kicking up a puddle between them. "Should your name strike fear in my heart?"

The man snarled, baring his teeth. "Aye, everyone knows me around here. The name's Carsen, and I eat animals like you for breakfast. My family practically owns Squallside, so you'd do well to hand over the child and be on your way, unless you want to be run through and roasted on a spitfire."

Zan grinned. "No, thanks. I think I'll keep mine to myself and have a stay at that inn over yonder. What kind of stew do they serve, if you don't mind my asking? Is it any good?"

"Didn't I already tell you, the Squallside Inn will only serve you on the menu, hoof-foot? Now, hand over the child. And if you've hurt her-"

"I haven't," Zan snapped, losing patience. He'd gotten the information he needed and was tired of wallowing in the rain. He closed the distance between himself and Carsen, adjusting the girl as he moved, until one of his arms was free. Hopefully, her injuries wouldn't suffer from rough handling, but he'd had no choice. Setting her on the ground now was out of the question.

Carsen stared up at him, his hand ready at his pocket. Fear flashed out from behind his smug, freckled mask. Zan chuckled. "I won't hurt you if you stand very still."

"Piss off, satyr-fiend!"

The man lunged, drawing forth a silver blade. Zan was quicker, of course. He caught Carsen's wrist mid-air, squeezing until he heard bones crack. Carsen sank to his knees, crying out in agony. Zan let go before he broke anything unfixable, allowing the human to rise to his feet. It was probably the wrong decision. In his inebriated state, Carsen rushed at Zan. The plan had been to let the pathetic human walk away, then follow him into the shadows and knock him out silently using Yansu finger pressure, but the plan had just changed.

It was a good thing the street was empty. Zan tightened his hand into a fist and punched the human in his bearded jaw. Carsen flew backward, skidding across the wet ground, creating a track of mud. The ground was mostly soft, but the sound of his head hitting the earth made Zan's skin crawl.

"Sorry, brother," he muttered under his breath, approaching the man's limp form. He grabbed both Carsen's hands and dragged him off the side of the street into the treeline, stashing him in a spot that would be difficult to find until morning.

Zan confiscated the man's hat, hanging it from one of his horns, and pulled the tunic over Carsen's head, dropping it on the ground near his hooves. Afterward he set the girl down gently, away from the sprawled, unconscious human. It was undesirable but couldn't be avoided. Zan couldn't transform and hold her at the same time.

"Please don't wake up yet," he whispered, closing his eyes to begin the Change. Reverting to his natural body took no effort at all, and as elves were closely related to humans, Changing into the red-headed backwoods bumpkin was almost painless. Another stroke of luck. Zan hastily covered his borrowed nudity with his traveling bag, continuing to pray his luck wouldn't run out and the girl wouldn't decide it was a good time to open her eyes.

What a sight she would see!

Dressing in the rain was a nuisance and took longer than he would have liked. In the end, it was fortunate he preferred loose trousers. Carsen's thighs were even thicker than his arms. If they had been any bigger, Zan would have had to strip the man completely, and in such violent weather a human might die of exposure before rousing.

Once Zan had dressed and sorted himself, he lifted the girl, resting her head against his shoulder. His newly gained form was big, but not so gigantic as the satyr, and holding her in his arms now felt intimate in a way that heightened his awareness in all the places her soft body pressed into him. Shaking off the unwelcome embarrassment, he took one last glance at Carsen. The man's stilted snore was loud enough to be heard over the din of the storm, and Zan said a silent prayer no one would find him in the next few hours.

He glanced down at the girl's face one last time before covering her with her extra cloak. "I hope you won't hate me when you wake up," he thought to himself, vaguely wondering what color her eyes would be when she finally opened them.