Plans settled, Evylin tied her horse to Deckard’s while they determined that Auden and Ilain should ride with Emmaas and Ethenn flanking them. The two Warrior men would stagger their positioning at the rear to ensure additional space so the Calders’ horses didn’t bump into any wandering guards or travelers, potentially alerting them to the riders. A shroud hid objects from view; it didn’t block them from any of the other senses. The Calders and Evylin would have to be as silent and contained as a unit as possible.
Evylin felt Deckard’s ribs expand as he took a deep breath. A tingle spread through her arms, wrapped tight against his abdomen, the sensation heralding the accessing of his magic. Then she watched as Auden, Ilain, and herself grew hazy, their forms increasingly faint as the shroud covered them.
Isla surveyed the seemingly empty space where they had once been visible. “Impressive,” she remarked, then turned to Jarrad. “Lead the way, Hoult.”
“With pleasure, Freye.”
Jarrad spurred his horse, circumventing the rest of the party to take the front. Isla remained at his side, the rest of them falling in line. They continued down the road to the line of people waiting to enter the dark stone walls of Mouroc. Dozens of carts, wagons, horses, and individuals made slow progress as the city guards thoroughly questioned and searched them.Blount’s writ had been effective and widespread, forcing their troop to stay clear of settlements for the last few weeks. They’d only managed to make it through the border crossings due to possession of the Night Relic and Deckard’s unexpected magic.
Now, Evylin could feel the faintest thrum of power as they inched closer and closer to the gates. Guards in dark gray uniforms with the deepest amethyst accents milled all around the muddy entry point. Made of wood and metal, the hulking gates were set into a stonework frame.
When their turn came at the gate, Evylin felt Deckard’s frame tense. She looked over her shoulder, watching as Ilain and Auden cautiously worked to keep out of the path of the guards. Knowing how hard he was working, Evylin leaned deeper into him, trying to transfer her focus into him by sheer physical contact. He drew in a sharp breath through his nose but otherwise showed no sign of recognizing her attempt to assist.
At the front, Jarrad and Isla came to a stop as the guards approached. “Highlord Hoult,” said the lead guard. “Didn’t realize you’d left the city.”
“Had some business for the lady,” Jarrad said casually. Then he withdrew a hand from under his cloak, tossing something to the guard. “Birde sends her regards.”
The guard weighed a small pouch in his hand, grinning. “Always a pleasure to do business with the lady.” He stepped back and waved them through. “Welcome back, milord.”
“It’s good to be back, Vauster,” Jarrad said, nudging his horse through the gates.
Moving past the guards, Thom leaned nearer Deckard to mutter, “If they were just going to bribe them, why have you go to the trouble of...?” He wiggled his fingers in a mock of magic.
“Because I don’t imagine they had one hundred fifty gold pieces to cover the bounty on our collective heads on them,” Deckard replied, an edge to his tone. “A bribe can stop asearch only so long as the recipient doesn’t see a more valuable alternative.”
“Right,” Thom muttered. “And even the hint of an Ephrian woman or two redheaded siblings would draw attention.”
“Exactly.” Deckard’s jaw tensed as he murmured, “Though I’m not comfortable with their incessant use of bribery and violence.”
Thom furrowed his brow. “It isn’t as though they have much choice,” he whispered. “Would you rather they had left us to Blount?”
“Of course not,” Deckard said in a firm tone, annoyance creeping under the surface of his reply.
His irritation was, no doubt, caused by his impeccable scruples. While Evylin didn’t necessarily find bribery to be altogether honorable, she did accept it as a useful tool. However, she understood that Deckard wasn’t likely taking issue with the bribe and the violence used to facilitate their escape so much as the gray morality shown by the Alliance in their limited acquaintance. This was the group of individuals they were supporting in the takeover of their government. Deckard was an upstanding Allorian; he would desire to serve an authority beyond reproach. But Evylin had to wonder if an organization with his impeccable moral standards could even exist. Was such a governing body possible in the face of such a ruthless adversary?
Unable to speak for fear of being heard by others, Evylin brushed her thumb against Deckard’s stomach, hoping to soothe his concern for the moment.
Immediately, he grabbed her hands and jerked them higher on his torso. “As much as I appreciate such affection,” he whispered, the words rumbling against her chest, “that’s making it a bit difficult to focus.”
Looking over his shoulder, Evylin could only see a slight flex of his jaw beneath the reddish-brown stubble. She only had to wonder at his reaction for a few spare seconds before realizing how low her hands had unintentionally drifted. Her cheeks heated even as she fought to maintain her poise.
“My apologies,” she breathed against the hood of his cloak.
The city was a buzzing hive of sound and activity around them. Hundreds of people milled about the dirt-packed streets, running, pulling carts, shouting, laughing, slamming doors, hammering, cheering, arguing, buying, selling, and living their lives. Evylin found the scene jarringly similar to the hustle and bustle of Trollenston on market days, albeit on a far grander scale. Jarrad and Isla led them through the first sector, evidently the poorest one if the ramshackle houses and citizens’ dingy clothing were any indication. The narrow streets made it so that Ethenn and Emmaas practically had to herd Auden and Ilain’s horses to ensure strangers didn’t jostle them.
Shortly, they arrived at a secondary gate. The guards there knew Jarrad too. This time, he didn’t bother to toss them coins but exchanged a quick word with the head of the outpost. Evylin wondered if their easy passage was because they were friends or if the man was a member of the Alliance too. She assumed it could be both.
The next sector of Mouroc was nicer, though infinitesimally so. The houses were of a sturdier build, and the streets weren’t as narrow, but the residents looked little better off. On they went, through the next gate—Jarrad did toss out another bag of coin there—and into the third sector.
The improvement was immediate. Fewer people crowded the streets, which, though unpaved, were in much better condition. The buzz of noise was deadened to a pleasant hum. The houses gradually rose in size and respectability. All the buildings were arranged in groupings, with small alleyways cutting alongsideeach one. Business began to cut in amongst the abodes, reminding Evylin again of Trollenston but on a far grander scale.
Then they reached the center of the sector.
The buildings grew tall, rising three and four stories above their heads. Their gray stone and brick façades were designed with a sense of refined architecture, giving the groupings the appearance of a single massive structure rather than individual premises. It looked remarkably like the Loclight District in Ephria City, and Evylin gaped with wistful awe. She thought back to the townhouse she and Deckard left behind, three barren stories that they intended to make a home. She wondered if they’d ever get that chance.
Jarrad led them to their final stop in front of a four-story triangular building that appeared to be a conglomerate of businesses. The light rain still pattered against the iron-cased windows. Trees and vining vegetation climbed portions of the tall walls. People drifted in and out of shops on the far end while a young boy sprang forward from the shadow of the alleyway. “Aye, yeh needin’ stablin’ fer yer herses?” the lad said in quite a fierce Waulden accent.
“Aye,” Jarrad replied good-naturedly.
