Stranger

"I'm certain it'll be fine," Sylven said. He glanced towards the door as a group of men barged in, and headed towards the counter. "Stay here. I'm going to get us some food, and a bit of information."

Cyrus nodded, and Sylven slipped back to the counter, striking a conversation with two of the men. While waiting, Cyrus sipped from his mug. The mead tasted of honey with a hint of blueberries. 

'Quite the interesting blend,' Cyrus thought. He set his mug down as Sylven returned, carrying two platters of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes. "Learn anything?"

"A bit," Sylven said. He slid Cyrus his plate, and sat. "There was an avalanche about two weeks ago, which blocked the mountain pass. The citizens of Mourtop have spent the time since clearing it, and freeing the caravans trapped within."

"Will we be able to get through it?" Cyrus asked. He spoke between bites.

"It's traversable, but still dangerous. They advised us to wait a few days, until they're done clearing it out," Sylven said. 

"What do you think?"

"I think we should take a look for ourselves. I'd rather not waste more time here than we need," Sylven said. He waved his fork. "First thing in the morning, we'll head to the stables, and purchase horses. Then get out supplies, and head out."

"Sounds good," Cyrus said. 

When they finished their food, the tavern owner showed them to their room. There were two cots inside, separated by a shuttered window, and a dresser in the middle. A dim lantern illuminated the layer of dust which coated the furniture, and the trails of dirt spread across the floor.

Cyrus curled his lip. "Looks like I was right. I can't believe this cost seventeen copper."

"It could be worse," Sylven said. He glanced through the door with a sly grin, then raised his hands. "We could be here without magic."

"Wait, what are you doing?" Cyrus asked. He hurried to shut the door, then whirled back to Sylven. "Won't the owner be suspicious if he checks the room tomorrow, only to find it clean?" 

"Don't worry, I'm only fixing the cots, and just enough that we could have cleaned them by hand if we wanted to," Sylven said. The air rippled before his palms. "Eraveil, Denete."

Cyrus stepped back as a gust of wind swirled through the room, buffeting the blankets and sheets. He shuddered as a cloud of dust and dirt rose from the covers, thick enough to darken the room, before it funneled through the shutters, and disappeared into the shadows behind the tavern. 

Sylven lowered his hands, and examined the cots. "There. Now we can sleep without worry."

"Perhaps you can. I think I'm going to have nightmares," Cyrus said. He tossed his pack beside the dresser, and climbed onto one of the cots. Choosing to ignore the array of stains, he leaned against the wall. "Gods above, I hope we can get through the pass tomorrow."

"Do you wish to return to sleeping outside that badly?" Sylven asked. He unhooked his sword, and dagger, and lined them neatly on the dresser, before settling on the opposite cot, and retrieving a whetstone from his pack. Unsheathing his dagger first, he ran his finger down the blade.

"It beats sleeping in a hole like this," Cyrus said. He watched in fascination as Sylven flipped the dagger around, and nimbly worked the whetstone along the edge. "Say, you're quite skilled at that. Did Myrel also teach you swordsmanship?"

"No, I learned this from someone else, long before Master Myrel and I moved to Galeden," Sylven said. He eyed the blade, then resheathed his dagger and drew out his sword. The silver metal gleamed in the lantern's light. "This was a gift from him, and I've done my best to keep it in good shape."

"I can tell. I'll need to find a weapon once we reach Phislock," Cyrus said. He kicked his boots off, and stretched out on the cot. The prickly wool itched at the back of his neck so he raised his hood.

"Indeed. We'll need to see what type of sword fits you," Sylven said. He slipped his dagger back into its sheath, and set it on the nightstand. "Do you mind if I blow out the lantern?"

"Go ahead."

Sylven unpopped the lid, and blew out the flame, sinking the room into darkness. Outside, the chirp of crickets hummed into the night, while the flutter of bats whooshed past the window. A wave of exhaustion washed over Cyrus as he stared up at the rafters, and he soon found his eyes falling closed.

…

The room was pitch black when Cyrus awoke to someone pressing their hand over his mouth. His eyes jolted open, and he struggled to break free, only to freeze when the pale gleam of a dagger flickered in their other hand.

"Stop struggling. It's me."

Cyrus frowned, recognizing the voice as Sylvens. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the other bed to be empty. He furrowed his brow, and relaxed a bit, though remained on guard. Slowly, Sylven pulled back his hand, and held a finger to his lips. 

"What's wrong?" Cyrus whispered. He slipped out of his bed, and followed Sylven to the door. 

"I think there's someone out there," Sylven said. He cracked the door open, and peered into the hallway beyond. 

Cyrus peeked over his shoulder, and scanned the dim corridor. A figure in dark robes stood near the end, muttering something beneath their breath. As they raised their arms, Cyrus caught sight of a purple amulet dangling from their robes. 

"Wait, I recognize that pendant," Cyrus said. He stepped away from the door, and Sylven quickly shut it. "There was a priest at Galeden. He was preaching to a crowd about the dangers of magic. I think I also saw him when I lost control of my magic in the market."

"Are you certain it's him? I heard rumors of a new religion spreading through Delahost, but I didn't think much of it," Sylven said. 

"I'm certain. I wouldn't mistake something like this."

"In that case, we need to leave. Now," Sylven said. He hurried to his bed, and donned his pack, before fastening his sword, and pushing open the window shutters. "Grab your stuff. We're going out the window."

Cyrus slipped into his boots, and hoisted his pack over his shoulder. Beside him, Sylven jumped onto the dresser, then climbed out the window, and dropped to the ground. As Cyrus followed suit, the patter of footsteps stopped just outside their door.

He barely had time to duck before the door creaked open. A series of muttered words followed, strange and twisted. Cyrus felt the blood drain from his face, and his chest tightened. There was something sinister about the words, as though they were corrupted.

Then, the door creaked shut, and the footsteps faded down the hall. It took a moment for Cyrus to realize that Sylven was shaking his shoulder. 

"Hey. Are you alright?" 

"We- we need to get out of here," Cyrus said. His body shook as he climbed to his feet. "We can't wait until the morning."

Sylven studied Cyrus, then nodded. "This way. The mountain pass is just up there."