He stood abruptly. “Without you, I am so much more, Enach.” He fished into his pocket and deposited coins on the table. “For my share. Jess, Mal, I wish I could say it was good to see you, but I won’t, for I fear you might take it as an indication that I desire to spend time with you again.”
“Ainsworth! Sit down,” Enach commanded, while Jess quipped: “Well, I never…!” and Mal turned a ghastly shade of gray.
Ainsworth just smiled. “No, I won’t. I am leaving, Enach, and we are finished. To be honest, we were finished when I left for Mount Vengeance. And I am departing for there once again.”
Then he turned and strode out of the room, the curious, barbed gazes of the other diners following him.
He was genuinely surprised when he felt a tug on his arm.
Enach had followed him out.
“How dare you embarrass me like that!” Enach growled. “You will get back in there andapologize—”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Ainsworth said calmly as he pulled his arm away. “We are done. And I am leaving.”
People slipped past them like a stream, creating a wide berth around the pair as they stared each other down. Enach, his face darkening like the evening sky around them, briefly wore an expression that Ainsworth had not seen before. He did not think itpossible for Enach to look as though he had been struck—to see a flash of loss in his eyes and the temporary slackening of his jaw, with no words to be found.
But in less time than a click of the fingers, it was replaced by something else: triumph.
“Very well, then, Ainsworth, but how do you expect to get back there when I have barred your passage to the Wenslykirk and Mount Vengeance Transportation Circles? And I have no intention of undoing it.”
If Ainsworth had felt any glimmer of regret, guilt, or grief for the love he thought he had shared with Enach, it vanished in that instant. For such an act was so like him—to keep Ainsworth away from friends, from family, from his own success independent of the proud elf who stood in front of him. Ainsworth had been torn through that circle, feeling sick and wretched, and all the while Enach had been tampering with the magic he set up as the route’s administrator so that Ainsworth would not be granted passage again. Oh, he could appeal to the transport office about Enach’s abuse of power, but that would take weeks to rectify and he would not let Enach win. He would not let Enach keep him in Hinslyth any longer than he had to. For he had Lyria’s permission, and a burning, suddenly clear purpose to get back to the inn—
To take on Mount Vengeance himself and finish his book with his own account.
So he did not let Enach feel any hint of satisfaction. He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and shrugged. “That is no matter. I have made my way on foot once before, and I will do so again. Farewell, Enach. I wish you all the best, I truly do.”
Enach clearly did not return the sentiment.
Chapter 27
Before he departed,Ainsworth drafted a brief outline of his ongoing research for Lyria—she was his supervisor, after all—and, riddled with errors and smudges as it was in his haste, he still knew she would be delighted to hear his plans. Primarily, his return to the field. He scribbled a quick, informalthank youin the bottom corner, hoping she would understand that he gave his thanks not for looking at his work but for setting him on the right path all those moon’s turns ago.
In his room, he rearranged his trunk and packed, discarding some of the fine silks and tunics he had not worn at the inn but had insisted on taking with him on that first journey. He kept a few fine shirts and trousers, though. He liked them beyond their practicality and knew pretending otherwise would be lying to himself—and he very much planned to stop doing that now.
Though his heart bemoaned the additional weeks to his destination, he would merely retrace his original journey—four weeks of walking, eating hunted and foraged meals, and getting used to life outdoors again. It would be good preparation for tackling the mountain itself, he reasoned.
After a restless sleep, he headed for the bank the moment it opened, skipping breakfast in the Scholar Quarters and instead opting for a bag of aiknuts from a vendor on the high street. The mix was not quite as good as Wickon’s, but he had no time toventure south of the river. At the bank, he withdrew a sizable chunk from his savings and then went immediately to the armory. He paid for a rather fetching gambeson in his favorite forest green for his travels—it probably was not the best defense against a dragon or the beasts of Mount Vengeance, but it was better than what he had worn on his original trip. Plus, he had seen quite a few adventurers wearing them and was giddy at the prospect of fittingin.
Next, he purchased supplies of dried meat, cheese, and fruit from the grocer, and then went on to the fletcher for the first weapon he had owned since he was a boy. “Do you know how to use that?” the boy behind the counter asked, bravely gesturing to Ainsworth’s antlers.
Ainsworth laughed. “Yes—or at least, I used to. I was taught to hunt from a young age. I may be a bit rusty, but I’ve got time to practice on my journey. I promised myself to never bring down a stag, though.”
The boy grinned. “That would be weird.”
“It would indeed.”
He purchased a flexible bow after trying a few in the shop, and as many arrows as he could afford. As he organized his purchases, he scoffed at the Ainsworth of that first journey who had not even thought to bring something to hunt with, or to defend himself if needbe.
When he had everything he needed, his trunk once again levitating alongside him (he could not bring himself to transport his manuscript and other materials in anything else), he left the Skarrow Library again with little fuss or fanfare—only this time he slipped letters under the doors of the few people he considered true friends to explain his lengthy absence, and that he would write to them this time if they’d allow for it after he had so neglected their friendship. He also slipped his pocket watch under Enach’s door. He knew the gesture would convey, stronger than any words, that Ainsworth wished never to hear from him again.
He had not the coin to buy a horse outright (he did not even know where he would buy such a thing!), nor did he wish to spendwhat he had remaining of his own money on hiring anyone to take him onward. He had his grant money for his accommodation, but he wished to save as much as possible to pay for a lengthy stay at the Misnich Inn this time around. He was not looking forward to returning to Hinslyth, and he had yet to even set foot on the road that would lead him out of the city.
When he finally left Hinslyth’s borders, following wandering merchants, adventurers, and performing troupes, he felt as though he could breathe again.
A small part of him worried he might not be welcome back at the inn. He had let Enach walk in and be rude to them all, then had left them behind without a second glance…and now would be late in returning. They would assume, during his weeks of travel, that he was still at the Skarrow Library, working away at a project that would not exist without them, and not sending anything in the way of correspondence. Hecouldtry to send them a letter via a wildeshifter runner. But again, expenses. And what would he say? The events of the past few days, hisfeelings,were better explained in person.
So it seemed his best course of action was to get there as quickly as possible. Overtaking the merchant and his donkey in front of him, Ainsworth put his head down and began the trek to Mount Vengeance.
