Silbath

Silbath was a drab, ghastly city of mud. I'd call it a village, but there were hundreds of people out- far too many to consider it something so small.

The road we were on ventured straight through the city, though it eventually dipped into a massive puddle that sat directly in the way through. 

Silbath's people wore simple clothes, lacking any color other than brown or black. Even their buildings, far more advanced than Reddon, were colored the same. 

The buildings themselves were all made of stone, brick upon closer inspection in some areas. Our horses had slowed now, a lazy pace as we entered Silbath officially. 

No more than a few heads turned to look, but it was a mere sideways glance they gave us before continuing on with what they were doing. 

Mud clung to everything I could see, years of it permanently defacing the lower halves of the buildings, where life could touch. Their homes were huddled together, leaning in different directions, barely any space between. 

The forest ended right where Silbath began, but small clusters of trees still sprung inconveniently throughout the town's layout. 

I watched from the corner of my eye as Galan visibly shifted in his saddle; he wanted it to be seen. He wanted his intention known as he angled himself just before me and leveled any onlookers with a deadly glare. 

Most of them noticed his attire and looked away without another thought, making it obvious when one did not. Under the protection of an adult oak tree, a man in simple, somewhat wealthy garb leaned against a faded stone wall. 

He wore a white undershirt, a little frilly at the neckline, topped with a button up, satin red shirt. His pants were black, the fabric loose all the way down his legs. Strapped to his hip was an incredibly thin sword, its handle an elaborate decoration of gold.

The stranger's eyes were cold and leveled directly on Galan, his head turning to keep his gaze on him. We were getting closer, and for a moment I noticed the subtle shift to look at me, only for a fraction of a second. 

"Don't look at him," Galan said underneath his breath to me. I noticed now how his hand had subtly moved to the hilt of his own sword; not gripping it, but resting his hand on it. 

When we were far enough away from the man, I asked Galan as quietly as I could. "Do you know that man?" 

"No," he whispered. "But I know what he is." 

"You're so vague," I hissed, regretting that I'd asked. His answers only ever gave me more questions. 

"He's a merchant, and he doesn't belong in Silbath. That sword had Mirin's handle." The way he said it unsettled me, a hint of a sensation down my spine. 

His tone told me it definitely was not good. 

"Is that supposed to mean something?" I asked smoothly, angling my head to take in more of the scenery we passed. 

We were at that puddle now, the horses walking through as if it didn't exist. It wasn't as muddy on the other side of it, in fact I saw some signs of stone pathways, but they were covered in a thin layer of dirt and sprouting grass. 

We must be near the heart of the town; the buildings slowly became more elaborate and well cared for. Empty garden beds bordered in layered flat stones lined a now visible pathway, audible clicks ringing out when our horses carried on. 

"Where are we going?" I whispered, confused as we passed by another large gathering of people. The noise they made was deafening, piercing my ears. 

Rows of stalls lined the backs of tall, well structured establishments. The stalls themselves were beautifully crafted and made from wood, an array of colorful stained and painted banners catching my eye as we passed them by.

None of them paid us any attention, barely acknowledging our presence. The chatter hadn't dimmed a bit, and I spotted several men who looked similar to the one we'd seen earlier. 

They wore different colors than he, but they were obvious nonetheless. They stuck out amongst simple men in simple clothes, quiet and well groomed versus the shouting, muddied people of Silbath. 

"We're going to the other side. Not the slums and not the trade market." Galan spoke louder now, more confident with the growing distance between us and Mirin's men. "These men being here," he continued. "Means that Mirin has taken some interest in Silbath. Apparently not much if he's only sent merchants, but it's enough to have his eye on it." 

"I was under the assumption Mirin didn't care much for Silbath," I muttered, though I knew my displeasure was misdirected. 

"I was too," he huffed, just as upset. His grip tightened on the reins, the mare's head lifting in response as he angled it to the right, diverging from our current path. "Never has before." 

My horse automatically followed his, taking a similar path that led to a seemingly darker area of Silbath. The structures were gray and black here, right on the edge of the small treeline. 

I wouldn't know what to call this area. 

It was a jumble of homes, market stalls, inns and seemingly abandoned places. It was almost completely empty here, except for several stray people that lingered by the fronts of buildings. 

He was leading us down a path that ended, I realized. At the end sat one large building. It wasn't tall like the others, but rather it was incredibly wide, with dozens of simple paned windows lining its sides. 

Double doors made of a red wood swung open, spitting out a stumbling man, dragging a woman behind him. The woman's face was sunken in, void of emotion. I noted as she passed that countless, tiny scars marked every visible surface of her skin.

Galan had stopped by a long stable, already dismounting and landing on his feet with a thud. When he saw my hesitation, he came over and held his hand out to me for the reins. 

I allowed them to drop into his hand, glancing around us to see if anyone was around. No one had appeared, but I knew we weren't alone. Those we'd passed stayed exactly where they were, looking at us, but also not. 

The people in this part of Silbath were shadows on the walls, visible only for a moment before returning to hiding. I could feel them- they lurked, watching behind stained glass that couldn't reveal their faces.

I turned my head just in time to see that same drunk-like man open the door of a busted store, its windows shattered and boarded closed. The door screamed in protest as it opened, and the man quickly disappeared into the inky blackness that waited inside. 

The woman lingered at the doorway, but she didn't seem hesitant. She was scanning the surroundings, seeing if others saw. "Claudia," Galan whispered, quiet enough for only my ears. "Do yourself a favor and don't stare at anyone here. Looking like you do, you will only invite bad things." 

"Looking like I do?" I was quick to whip my head back around, brow raised in threat. "What does that mean, Galan?" My tone held a level of caution, and if he were wise, he'd follow it. 

"I mean that you're an attractive woman with no common sense and no understanding of the world you stepped into." He wasn't cruel in his tone, he actually sounded worried. "Don't stare at anyone, for any reason." 

Something within me reared its ugly head, whispering dark urges into my body. How dare he tell me to do anything? 

My heart panged, and it actually hurt. 

Hand rubbing at my chest, I released the anger that consumed me now. It wasn't mine, and I wouldn't hold onto it. Purposefully, I drew one long breath in, expanding lungs that had collapsed. 

This didn't hurt, and it didn't fuel my body the way it once had. I didn't need air, but I could still breathe it if I wished. I found that breathing still grounded me, though, as it once had. 

"Alright," I said, instead of the venom I wanted to spew earlier. "As you say. I won't stare at anyone here." 

Galan's eyes shifted from side to side, staring into mine, searching. After a long moment he nodded his head once and led my horse over to his. 

I still snuck a quick glance at the woman, only to find she was gone. 

I'd turned my head back in time for Galan to not see. He led my horse into the stall next to his, and was already eyeing me. "I assume you need help getting down as well?" 

I felt a rush of heat in my cheeks, embarrassed. Instead of denying it this time, I nodded my head. I wouldn't say it, for his satisfaction, but I would agree to his help. 

His head dipped to where I couldn't see his face, clearing his throat. Lifting his head, his gaze met mine once more, completely serious. The garter was still pulled down, hanging loosely around his neck now. 

"Give me your hand," he said, holding his own out for me to grab. I eyed it for a heartbeat before relenting, giving him my hand. His fingers tightened around my palm, his other arm reaching for my waist. 

He was gentle, surprisingly. It took me a moment, but I started putting my weight into the foothold of one side of the saddle, lifting and swinging the other leg back around. 

Just like that, I was back on the ground. 

The stone felt unnatural beneath my feet, disconnected from the earth. "What is this place?" I murmured, nodding to the wide building we were in front of. 

"Greasy Dog Inn," he said, with all the same seriousness. I could feel my face scrunch in automatic distaste. Who, and why, would anything be named that? "It's the only place you will be welcome, I can tell you that." Instantly, my problems with the name were quelled. 

"What am I to do here?" I wasn't looking at him anymore, I was looking around us, back down the street, where I could still see bits of the marketplace. 

He didn't have an answer for that. Of course not; it wasn't his job, I reminded myself. 

As much as it seemed Galan might be able to help me figure out what I am and how to live from here, he was only following orders right now. I knew that as soon as I stepped foot in the Greasy Dog Inn, Galan would turn on his heel and go right back to Reddon. 

Any light-heartedness I'd been feeling was gone, a small flame doused by the ocean. "I'll go inside," I said to him. 

I wasn't too far from those red doors, and I closed the gap in seconds. I didn't want to hesitate, not in front of Galan. He'd completed his stupid job and it was time to let him go. 

I didn't want him in the first place. 

But was that true? 

I didn't want to admit it, but Galan had provided a level of comfort, safety. He was the reality between my muddled thoughts of human and. . . vampyr. 

To my shock, Galan came right up by my side as I reached the doors, pulling one side of the rounded doorway open for me to walk through. My heart stirred for a moment, and it was completely jarring. It felt like a flutter, a spark of something I thought I'd lost. 

Ignoring it, I dipped my head and entered the strange structure. Inside, the inn had grand ceilings in its entry room, beams of dark wood running across them. 

Benches ran across the walls, rows of bookcases in between. 

There was nothing in this room other than a grand desk, directly opposite of the front door. A man leaned over the counter, his focus entirely on a book he'd splayed open on his desk. 

The room was lit by several standing candelabras, dozens of slanted candles burning at different heights. Square glasses hung on the tip of this man's nose, nearly about to fall from his face. 

Galan strolled past me, taking the lead once more. Why was he still here? 

He made it to the desk before I did, and I watched as the man lifted his head, one hand moving to keep the book open and the other to push his glasses back up. His eyes squinted at Galan, looking him up and down before doing the same to me. 

He was old, white hair and frail limbs. The hunch I'd seen him sitting with was actually his normal position- his body didn't get any straighter when he stood up. 

"I haven't seen one of you in years," the old man said to Galan, his attention solely on him. "How may I be of service, Hound of Ascelin?" 

I wanted to scoff at the title. But there it was, the official title I'd been looking to name him with. Hound?

"I have a fledgling that needs somewhere to stay for a few days." While he spoke, Galan straightened to his full height, a domineering sight in comparison to the feeble man. 

"I can't," the man stuttered and took a step back. He'd only looked at me once. "I have too many as it is, I'm afraid that any more will bring the whole inn down." 

"Kick one out then, if it's a matter of numbers." Galan left no room for debate in his voice. 

The innkeeper's mouth opened and closed like a fish, searching for words to say. "And risk my life doing so?" His voice was high pitched now, caught on a stuttering breath. "Since when does a Hound deliver fledglings to Man's dominion?" 

"You risk your life questioning me." Galan's voice had dropped to a level I hadn't heard before. It was like a growl, deep within his chest. 

The man reeled back and stared at Galan, afraid but still not willing. His attention briefly swept over me once more, weighing the cost of having me stay here. "This will be the last favor you and any other Hound get from me," he said finally. 

"I'm sure," Galan muttered, his arms crossing over his chest. The innkeeper's lips were moving in unspoken curses as he turned around, facing his wall of keys. 

His hand reached for one, before quickly retracting, fingers curling away from it. Then, his hovering arm moved towards the left row, selecting a pair of keys from the bottom. 

Just as the innkeeper spun back around to hand the keys off, Galan asked, "And do you have spare clothes? Women's clothes?" 

I took a step forward, into the flickering light. The innkeeper pushed his glasses up again, and inspected me again, now in better lighting. "That will cost you," the innkeeper said, still directing his voice to Galan, not me. I was familiar with this; how men were and how women were treated.

"I don't think it would actually cost you anything to compile an outfit or two," Galan remarked, turning his head to look around. "In fact I think you already have it on hand." 

"I don't give a damn who you are," the innkeeper spat. "You don't know shit 'bout me or Greasy Dog Inn." 

"I think I do, Aldous." Galan walked away from the desk, though not before palming the key that was still offered. "I know how many bodies come in, and how many actually come out. You have more clothes than you know how to deal with." 

Aldous' eyes widened in surprise, his hand reaching out for the desk to steady himself before he fell. "Which Hound are you?" 

"The only one you would know." Galan wasn't looking at Aldous while he spoke, instead he was examining the room, squinted eyes taking in the aged details. "I am exactly who you are thinking about." 

"Galan," Aldous whispered, wan lips trembling. He said it like a curse, like how I might say shit. "Is she from Reddon?" He asked, his voice nothing more than a rasp. 

"Yes," Galan confirmed, dark eyes skittering back over to me. His head was turned away from the innkeeper, who couldn't witness this interaction. 

The innkeeper started shaking his head, fear in his widened eyes. "What's Ascelin doing sending one of his out here?" He asked skeptically. "Thought they were protected?" 

"Not your business Aldous, and if you've got any common sense, you won't mention it to anyone else." Galan turned back to the man, the innkeeper's eyes flashing down to the menacing sword at Galan's hip. 

"She doesn't seem to be in the usual craze, Galan," Aldous said as he met Galan's gaze again. "She ain't trying to rip my throat out." 

I stiffened at that, immediately thinking about Isaac. The guilt lived on within me, ringing with each beat of my heart. I'd killed a man. 

I felt caught between different worlds, a foot in each. Should I feel the guilt and horror that my beating heart begged me to, or should I not, like the rest of me, the vampyr in me demanded? 

"She has more self control than others," Galan said begrudgingly. He clearly did not want to be on this subject. "And recently fed," he tacked on. 

"Alright," Aldous said, but it didn't look like he believed Galan in the slightest. "You know she can't stay here long though." 

"Why's that?" Galan questioned anyways, and I wasn't sure if this was for my benefit anymore. 

"You must've seen 'em on your way in," Aldous said in a low whisper. "Mirin's sending more and more men. Some have taken up residence and I ain't got a clue what they want with Silbath. We don't get much trade and we mostly house criminals and mud, but I've noticed we've got less and less of her kind runnin' around these days." 

Galan didn't argue this, instead he nodded, seeming to store that information for later. "I'll be back to collect her." 

My neck immediately turned to look at the back at Galan's head. What? I thought his job was to drop me off. He was coming back?

"You've got a week before I've got to turn her out onto the streets." There was no menace in his voice, like he truly had to follow this rule, for his own safety. 

"Understood," Galan said while turning back to me. "Come," he commanded, gesturing with his head. 

Eyeing Aldous, I said nothing as I joined Galan's side. It was better if Aldous knew as little of me as possible. Galan led me towards the middle of the room, to a gap between the bookcases and benches, revealing a door that nearly blended in with the wall. 

Galan opened it for me, saying nothing until it was firmly shut behind us. The door gave us access to an incredibly long hallway, skinny, and rows of doors on each side. 

He glanced down at the key he palmed, flipping it over to reveal painted numbers on the faded, almost rusted metal key. "Thirty-one," he murmured, low as to not disturb any occupants. 

The doors we were passing also had numbers painted on them in big, red strokes. Twelve. Fourteen. Sixteen. 

The hallway ended after sixteen, opening up into another hallway that went in the opposite direction. Left or right? 

Galan's head poked around the left corner before he reached for me, pulling me behind him. Twenty-nine. Thirty-one. 

We stopped here, outside the door to thirty-one. Galan unlocked it with a slight jiggle to his hand, pushing the door open for me to enter first. He didn't come inside with me. Instead, he stayed out in the hallway, handing the key off to me. 

"Stay here, Claudia," he murmured, quiet enough to not echo down the halls. "I'll be back." 

"Why?" I asked him, utterly confused. 

He looked away from me now, ripping his eyes from mine. "I don't know," he admitted softly. "I need to figure something out first, but I just have this. . . feeling that I can't leave you." 

Before I could say anything else, he'd recollected himself, taking a step away. I hadn't even really looked inside the room I now stood in, dark as night behind me. 

"Three days," he whispered. "Give me three days to figure this out and I'll come back for you." 

He turned on his heel and was gone a moment later, leaving me to solve what he'd said.