There were animals in the fields between us and the village. Monstrous abbans, larger than any I had seen before, chewed away at clumps of grass, ignoring us as docile beasts are like to do. I counted ten of them, each with a shaggy coat of hair and six legs, making them all female. I wondered where the bull might be and squinted to try and make out a four-legged abban amongst the others, but it was likely kept away from the females until time came to mate. I must admit, I have a taste for abban steak, cooked only slightly more than bloody and dripping with gravy. It has been a favourite meal of mine since I first arrived at the academy. As we passed those beasts, my mouth began to water as I remembered the taste. It had been a long time since I'd had abban steak and I dreamed of the inn serving it to us, of the meat melting in my mouth… Hardt brought me out of my reverie with a sharp finger to my ribs.
"You were drooling," he said with a smile.
"Was not." I wiped at my mouth just in case. I honestly can't remember if he was right or not, but I like to think not. Memory is such a fallible thing.
A shepherd watched us pass, leaning on a heavy staff and squinting against the sun. Hardt called out a friendly greeting but she ignored it and kept watching. I noticed a small horn hanging from her belt, no doubt to call a warning to the village should any of us think of causing trouble. We continued and the abbans hooted at us as we passed, each one raising their head in turn and blasting out a single note. We saw more farmers as we neared the barn, three men loading up a cart while a trei bird, as big as a horse and just as flightless, clawed at the ground and squawked at us, small jerky motions of the head keeping us in sight. Eventually one of the farmers pulled the bird away and started fixing a harness to its chest. It was the first time I had seen a trei bird put to a use other than racing or war. They make for excellent mounts; swift, vicious, and deadly.
I felt eyes on my back after we left that barn behind. That familiar sensation crawling between the shoulder blades.
They know what you did. Murderer. They'll turn you in.
I tried my best to ignore it, but Ssserakis was insistent and eventually I turned, yet there was no one watching.
No one you can see.
The village of Low Haven was quite large as far as villages went. At the time it sported a single tavern and a single shop, the rest was given over to homes, workshops, a blacksmith, and a sawmill. Most of the villagers traded what they needed amongst themselves and we later heard, on good authority, that strangers were rare, other than the logging caravan that passed through three times a year, and the odd trader. We earned quite a few suspicious glances walking into the village mid-morning.
"We'll see if we can find a store." Hardt stooped and lowered his voice to a whisper.
"And a tavern," I added.
"What do we need a tavern for?"
"Somewhere to sleep, somewhere to eat. Somewhere to drink?" I grinned up at him and Hardt frowned back and shook his head. "I have never been to a tavern, Hardt. I want to go."
"They're not like you think."
I fixed him with a cold blue stare then. "How would you know what I think?" I could have been a bit less of a bitch, but I've always played to my strengths. "We're going to a tavern." I made my decision and Hardt was never one to deny my orders.
He was right about that tavern; it was not how I imagined it. There was no bard, no music, no merriment of any kind. The place was empty so early in the day, save for toothless old men sitting around a table playing at some game with a board and stones coloured black and white. Hardt used what little money we had left to buy us a meal, vegetables and small chunks of meat in a watery broth, and a drink. It was the first time I had ever tasted ale and I must admit I found it bitter, sharp, unpleasant, and oddly moreish. I ordered another once I was done, and another after that.
That was the first time I ever tried beer, but far from the last. One thing I have learned over my years is that taverns in cities tend to water their ale down, to allow the drunkards to drink all day without passing out, and to keep the flow of coin steadily moving one way. Taverns in villages, however, are not so devious. If ever you want a good strong beer it is best to find a village to visit. I can recommend Low Haven, if it's still there.
I'm afraid I remember very little about the rest of that day, only flashes of things said and boasts made. I would tell you of them, but I find them far too embarrassing to recount. I can't explain how thankful I am that Hardt has never told me the full extent of my foolishness that night. Tamura, I hope, has already forgotten.
I woke to an earthquake. The world was dark and shaking so violently I thought a Geomancer had decided to bury the whole damned village. Then I opened my eyes and found there was light streaming in from a nearby window and the world wasn't shaking, rather, Hardt was shaking me.
Kill him. Ssserakis said sullenly. It appeared I wasn't the only one suffering from my hangover.
"Up, Eska. Now." His voice was strained, urgent. There was fear in his eyes and I could taste it. That was about all I managed to make out before the headache and nausea hit. I feel it's a certain kind of malfeasance that I barely remember the first time I got drunk, but I remember the morning after so fucking well, even thinking about it now, so many years later, makes me feel ill.
Hardt kept shaking me. It wasn't helping the situation. It dawned on me then that I was on a bed, surrounded by four walls with light streaming in through a window. Hardt had hired us a room for the night. My first time sleeping on a bed in almost a year and I couldn't even remember it. I think I silently swore to myself then and there never to drink again. One of many promises I have broken in my lifetime. I shoved at him feebly, trying to free myself.
"We're leaving," Hardt said. "Now, and quietly."
It was a great effort rolling out of the bed and even greater one standing up without falling over. My new boots were lying in the corner of the room and I wondered if I had pulled them off or had it been Hardt. I also wondered if I had crawled into the room and bed, or if he had carried me there. I have never asked and Hardt has never told. I think I prefer to keep it that way.
Hardt dragged me down the stairs of the tavern and we found Tamura waiting in the common room, our meagre belongings already packed. My stomach growled at the thought of stopping for breakfast, but Hardt gave us no time to eat. We were out of the tavern within moments and already on our way north. The sun had only just risen and still hung low. I looked up and saw the twin moons fading away against a light blue sky, Lokar almost entirely devoured by Lursa. There is an old shepherd's tale about seeing Lokar and Lursa in the morning. I can't remember the rhyme that goes with it, but the gist is that if they appear in the morning then their embrace will be violent. It is a warning about moon showers.
The light hurt my eyes and my aching head made every step a misery, but I soldiered on. Eventually Hardt pulled us off the road, once he was certain no one was following us. We moved east in an attempt to lose ourselves in the hills, or maybe just lose anyone who might decide to try tracking us.
It was then that Hardt decided to tell me what had happened. The men I had killed had indeed been from Low Haven and their disappearance did not go unnoticed. A search party had been sent out early in the morning, just before Hardt roused me from my hangover. By midday the bodies would surely be discovered and after that it wouldn't take much of a leap to connect us to the deaths.