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“I was,” Andry answered instead, swallowing hard. His pulse thrummed in his ears.
The old warden grinned, showing missing teeth, and Andry sighed in relief. But it was short-lived.
The wardens waved the Companions forward, but not to pass through. They eyed their strange number with confusion, noting everything from Dom’s size to the blade on Corayne’s back to Sorasa’s tattoos to Sigil with her smiling ax. Only Charlie and Valtik escaped scrutiny, both of them plain enough to the passing eye.
Andry bit his lip, his stomach twisting with unknown dread. He knew what a strange sight they made—and how distinct they all were.
“What is your purpose in Vodin, travelers? Yours is a strange number,” the warden crowed, stroking his beard. With his free hand, he kept a tight grip on his spear.
Not that it would be of any use. Dom or Sigil could easily snap the warden in two.
The immortal opened his mouth to answer.
But before he could say a word, Charlie slipped neatly in frontof him, a perfectly rolled scroll of parchment clutched in one outstretched hand. He fixed the two wardens with a winning smile, his cheeks red with cold, his brown eyes bright in the midday sun.
“We’ve been summoned here by Prince Oscovko himself,” Charlie said, matter-of-fact, without so much as the hint of a lie.
Andry felt the falsehood on his cheeks and he lowered his brow, trying to hide the blush creeping over his skin. It hid his smile too.
The wardens balked, looking between each other and the scroll, then at the Companions assembled before them.
“If I may,” Charlie said, clearing his throat. He casually unrolled the scroll and held it out for all to see.
“‘I, Oscovko the Fine, Blood Prince of Trec, do summon the carriers of this scroll to Vodin, where they will treat with me at my seat in the Castle Volaska. Let no man or beast waylay my friends in their journey, for it is of dire importance to the safety of Trec and the survival of the realm. Signed, Oscovko the Fine, Blood Prince of Trec,’ so on and so forth,” Charlie added, his voice trailing off, one hand tracing circles in the air.
Andry could barely contain his glee as the fugitive priest waved the scroll again, displaying the signature and the seal on the bottom of the page. Orange wax, stamped with the outline of a howling wolf. Charlie even held out the scroll for the two wardens to examine, so confident was he in his work.
Both old men drew back, shaking their heads. Andry doubted they could even read, let alone identify a skilled forgery.
“What does our prince want with the likes of you?” one sneered, tugging on his beard again.
Andry moved without thinking and sidled up to Charlie, drawing himself up to his full height. He remembered the knights of Ascal and the courtiers too. Not just the gossip, but the pomp and pride they displayed without even trying. He made his best effort to feel the same in himself, digging it up from somewhere deep. Pursing his lips, he took the scroll from Charlie.
“That’s the prince’s business, unfortunately,” Andry said, heaving a weary sigh. As if seeing the crown prince were a chore. “We must meet with him, and soon.”
The crowd around the gate continued to grow, and a few travelers shouted at the delay, begging to enter the city. It felt like the first kindling to a roaring flame.
Andry made a show of surveying the unruly crowd, letting their frustration do the work for them. “Well, sirs, can we pass, or shall we summon the Prince of Trec to his own city gate?”
The wardens grimaced at each other. As much as they distrusted the Companions, they clearly feared their prince all the more. One of them cast a final glance at Sigil, sizing her up, before he relented and stood back from the gate. The other followed, inching backward to let them pass into Vodin.
“Well done, Squire Trelland,” Charlie chuckled as the gate swallowed them up.
“Well done, Priest,” Andry whispered back.
They followed the gate road straight between the twin hills of Vodin, with the castle to the left and the grand church to the right. Both watched over the city, the king and the gods standing in equal measure.
After weeks in the wilderness, the Treckish capital was jarring, but it reminded Andry of home. Vodin was a far cry from Ascal, but still busy, the city streets crowded with stalls, storefronts, and people wandering in every direction. The clatter of hooves, the shout of merchants, hammers ringing in a blacksmith’s forge, a brawl spilling out of a gorzka bar—it was all achingly familiar. And yet so different at the same time.
Comforting as the streets were, they were a danger too. Still silent, Sorasa looked like a snake coiled in the saddle. She watched the streets and buildings, scanning every single face and cart.Looking for assassins,Andry knew.
Back on her horse, Corayne fished through her saddlebags. After a second, she pulled out a corner of dried meat and tore it in two, handing a piece to Andry without a word. She leaned against the flank of her horse, shuddering against its warmth. Andry’s flush receded as he bit into the jerky, enjoying the savory burst of salt.
“Notice anything?” Corayne asked after a long second, casting a glance down their line.
Andry followed her gaze. Something like dread settled in his stomach. “Valtik’s gone again?”
Indeed, the old Jydi was nowhere to be seen. When she’d disappeared or how, Andry had no idea.
