The Chronicles of Onyx: Book 1

Chapter Twelve

The trio rode towards the town once more, this time, with the intention of entering a grand village. The rhythmic sound of hooves echoed against the cobblestone road. The village unfolded before them, its towering structures and bustling streets standing in stark contrast to the smaller settlements they had previously visited.

They rode in with high hopes that they would come across an ally. Yet, Onyx kept her expectations low, she knew many lived in constant fear of Queen Demeter. And she knew it would be hard to find those willing to take the overwhelming risk of death. She constantly kept her mind in the harsh world of reality, less chances of getting hurt. Or so in theory.

Onyx followed behind Oldren and Rok, they had taken the lead for the day. And as Onyx suspected, no conversation was made. She supposed Rok was disappointed and fearful of the fact that she exposed herself to Oldren. And it seemed that Oldren was still processing it. She could only hope that Oldren would choose to stay with them. For, he now knew her true identity, and it would be catastrophic if he betrayed them for coin. Even still, she knew that just as easily she exposed herself—she could disappear.

They rode on the path that ventured through the village to the other side. The sun had found its place high in the clear sky. Tormenting with its blinding rays and suffering heat, causing little beads of sweat to form on her forehead.

Before her, Rok halted his horse and patted the chestnut's bulging neck. Oldren followed suit, and looked at Rok with an impatient look, "Out of all of Druzatria, and you stop here, in the middle of the street?" he grumbled with his characteristic gruffness.

However Rok paid no mind to the Dwarf's complaint, as he dismounted from his horse and nodded toward Onyx to do the same. With a light tug she pulled back on the rains, causing her steed to a halt as well. With a practiced motion, she swung her leg over and dismounted, still holding the reins in her hand.

"Where to?" she asked softly, her tone gentle, her gaze seeking to reassure Rok.

"There's a stable across the street," he replied to her while conveying a look that silently read, 'we'll talk later'. Before he continued saying, "We'll lead the horses there and find an inn, stay for a night," he paused briefly before finishing "And we'll move onward"

"Aye! Sounds like a good plan," the dwarf remarked, though it was hard to tell whether he was being sarcastic or not.

Rok took the lead with Oldren and Onyx close behind. Hastily but swiftly crossing the busy cobblestone street—dodging pedestrians and merchants with practiced ease. Onyx's senses were on high alert as she observed the villagers going about their daily lives. It was clear that life in the village wasn't entirely easy—lines of worry etched on faces, weary expressions, and a pervasive air of caution. The Queen's influence cast a long shadow, even here.

As they approached the stable, the smell of hay and horses filled the air. A young lad with dirt-smudged cheeks and a worn apron, hurried over to assist them. He looked to be an elven boy—with long auburn locks and bright green eyes that conveyed a shy, timid expression. Rok handed over the reins of his horse and exchanged was a few quiet words from the boy, arranging for their steeds to be cared for. The boy disappeared with Rok's chestnut steed—vanishing the one of the many stalls the stable held.

-ooooo-

Rok sat cross legged on a soft bed. They, or rather he, had found an inn to stay for the night. At least for one night they would understand the comforts of not hiding like rouges, in the woods. For one night he could cherish the comfort of a bed, something he missed. Yes, furs laid on dirt were fine, but uncomfortable—and torturous. So for one night he could sleep luxuriously in a real bed, with a soft pillow.

"Rok, what are you doing?" he heard onyx call out from the doorway of their borrowed room.

"Or not," his thoughts flashed. Leave it to Onyx to find a way to stay busy, leave it to her to keep things—exciting.

He stood up and turned to her, a smile painted upon her face. She sensed he was angry, and he was. He was angry and disappointed at onyx, for she had taken a risk by telling the Dwarf about her true identity. Regardless, Oldren knew about himself—but he admitted he didn't know whom Onyx was. He had no clue whom Onyx was nor what she was capable of.

"Good" he had thought, "Onyx is safe" but she didn't remain so for long, no—she just had to be a child, and tell Oldren who she was. She was alert, watchful, fast, and calculating—but she was also young and eager—and that would be her undoing if she wasn't careful.