Few sights had come more welcome to my eyes than the lanterns and cookfires of Irok as they emerged from the gloom. The village had grown since my last visit, with many tents and other makeshift structures huddling to the outskirts. As we made our weary way between them we saw many northern folk, gaunt and pale from hardship as they crowded about small fires, their dark eyes watching with bored curiosity as we passed.
At the center of the village stood the inn, its windows lit in its grey stone walls. The common room was loud and bright after our trek across the bleak moor, and its warm embrace was welcome as we made our way to the bar. The innkeep was a large woman whose grim demeanour lightened somewhat on sight of our coin as we asked for a room.
"I've one at the back that should suit." She heaved herself from her stool and led us past the bar and into a narrow hall. Several doors led from the hall and she gestured us towards the furthest. "Door locks on the inside and I urge you use it. Washroom is at the end."
We took Asprey into the room and helped him onto the bed. The last few miles had been hard for him and, though he refused to admit it, his grey skin and sunken eyes told me his wound pained him a greatly. As gently as I could I peeled away the bandage and his eyes creased. The bleeding had stopped, but the gash still oozed and the flesh about was swollen and red. I asked the innkeep for some hot water and, seeing the wound, she muttered a prayer and hurried away, returning with a steaming basin and some clean rags. I washed the wound before applying more of the salve and wrapping a fresh bandage, by which time the hermit was near delirious with exhaustion. We had done what we could so I pulled the blanket over him and let him sleep.
Handing the innkeep a few more slips of copper I asked that food and drink be brought to the room. I wanted us to be seen by as few eyes as possible. She returned a while later, followed by a young serving boy, bearing bowls of a hearty mutton stew, hunks of buttered bread and several bottles of strong wine. She arrayed the food and drink on a low table in front of the hearth as the boy added firewood. They left the room and Brook, Daylen and I took seats around the table. As I sat I looked at Brook and he met my eyes, and I knew he felt the same relief that I did. I took his hand and kissed him. I could have stayed like that forever, but I remembered Daylen sat feet away and we broke apart.
"I'm sorry, we...." I began, but Daylen interrupted.
"Do not apologise." He smiled and waved his hands. "Love is always beautiful to see." I saw Brook blush and wondered if I was doing the same. To shift attention I poured wine into our cups and, after saying a cheer to Asprey's health, we ate and talked. Daylen proved to be good company, and Brook sat rapt as he told stories of his life in the north.
"Where is your priest now?" Brook had asked. "Do you think he could tell me more about my mark?"
"He remained in the village when the others and I departed." Daylen took a mouthful of wine and looked sadly into the fire. "He has a fierce spirit, but is old. I fear for him. But, yes, i expect he could tell you far more that I"
Brook delved into the fire with his eyes. It reflected on his dark pupils. He spoke.
"We are going north. Could....could you guide us?"
Daylen paused before he replied.
"I could, but my path leads south, I left the north..."
Something passed between them then, unspoken. It was as if a soundless argument was taking place. Eventually Daylen broke the eye contact.
"I could guide you." He gave Brook a deep, long lasting look. "I could do that." He nodded. "Yes I could. But the way is strange. The north has become strange."
A cloud came over the fire. Strange. Weird. Daylens eyes reflected the dimmering flames.
"Would you?" Brook asked.
Daylen heaved a sigh.
"Aye. I will. There is something important about you, I deem." He gave Brook a long look, deep, penetrating. "Yes. This I will do."
Asprey groaned from the bed, dry lips making a sound that wasn't a word. I took a dry rag and wet it in the cooling water and put it to his lips. I shushed him and put fingers to his brow, smearing away the dirt and sweat. His eyes focused for a moment and he mouthed about the arrow that had struck him. "The arrow..." He repeated again and again. "The arrow..."
We finished our meal and set our bedrolls on the floor, Daylen by the fire and Brook and me at the foot of the bed. The inn downstairs went from clattered chat to slow silence and we slept.
I dreamt, we dreamt. The beast came back, distant and watchful in our dreams, a distant warning. It spoke of the mountain king, but its talk was confused and barely understandable. "I have little time left. This host is dying" it said. "Bring the boy to his home." Then the voice died.
The fire had gone out when I woke. I looked to Asprey first. His pallor was pinker now, a night of sleep working silent magic. I called the innkeep to bring broth, and I fed the old man. He was clearer now but still delirous. He kept on mentioning the arrow, and I told him that we had cleaned the wound and he would survive, but he kept mentioning the arrow. "It shouldn't have hit me" He said, and I lay another cold rag on his forehead. "It shouldn't..." and then he passed back into his fever, and I left him there.
"Is he...Will he..." it was Brook, looking at what I was doing with frightened eyes. I wanted to reassure him though i was not reassured myself. "Yes." I said. "He will live."
Daylen was adding wood to the fire. He spoke. "Those bandits use poison on their arrows. It might take more than water to cleanse him."
