Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen 1)

Erasmus went to the large window facing the street. He tapped his bottom lip with a long finger and then pointed out the window. “It is too dark now to see it, but there was a smudge on the horizon. From a fire. A large fire. Same direction as the road, so the fire must have started on the road. By the size of the smoke plume, it likely shut down the road. Which means goods will stop flowing and a lot of money will be lost and won tonight at the Millpond. It will delay the caravans ready to depart. It may ruin cargo.” He clucked his tongue, muttering dazedly to himself. He glanced at them, his brow wrinkling. “I’m assuming it was you folk who caused the fires and did so deliberately. Very foolish.” He clucked his tongue again, muttering to himself. “They will want you dead for sure. They murder for much less in this town. I imagine we do not have long before they track your path here.”

“The Preachán are a scheming race. They love those things which are precious, and they have an amazing gift for memory. I have once heard of a Preachán named Hollibust who could recite the name of every person living he had ever met. There are others, in Havenrook mind you, who have taken the power of the mind and exploited it to the point where they can read the minds of others.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

Paedrin looked at the cross-eyed Preachán with distrust. He did not bother to hide his expression. “What are you saying, Erasmus? That we were followed here?”

Erasmus fluttered his hands in annoyance. “No, no—don’t be a fool, Bhikhu. I doubt anyone at the Millpond has noticed the closure of the road yet. Yet. But there was smoke, and smoke comes from fire; it is in the exact direction of the only road leading to Havenrook. And by the looks of you, you just arrived today. Which means you were on the road, which means you were attacked by the thieves on the road and defended yourselves, and if this brother and sister have the fireblood as Tyrus Paracelsus has, then it is likely and probable that you set fire to the road and will cause losses of profit and an interruption in the flow of trade.” His hands stopped flapping. “Was I being clear enough for you, Bhikhu, or should I repeat several parts until you catch up? Wasted moments, wasted time. They will track you here, for undoubtedly you asked for me by name, and hence will bring whatever danger with you to my abode. Why have you come?”

Annon stepped forward, his expression taut. “We seek Drosta’s lair.”

“Impossible,” Erasmus muttered, shaking his head.

“What is impossible?” Paedrin asked, unnerved by the man’s flood of information and how he had assembled so much on such a casual greeting. It was as if he had thought about the situation for hours instead of just moments.

“Impossible. No, it is impossible. It cannot be done.”

Annon looked back at Paedrin, confusion on his face.

Hettie stepped forward. “What do you mean, Erasmus?”

The man whirled and walked to the window, muttering beneath his breath. His broad shoulders hunched, as if he were suddenly under a tremendous burden. His breath came out in quick gasps. He counted on his fingers. “Even if Kiranrao doesn’t know, he will. Forced march through the woods. Cruithne territory. Three-day walk. Two with horses, but risk losing shoes or laming half of them. Speed does not make up for the risk. Three days then.”

Hettie shook her head. “You are not making sense.”

He gave an abrupt hand gesture to forestall more questions. “Impossible. Kiranrao is the element I cannot account for or predict. Down too many branches this can go. I cannot provide a probable guess yet. Does Kiranrao know you are here?” He looked at them, but it was hard to tell which of them he was gazing at.

“You could say that,” Paedrin answered.

“Impossible,” he muttered. “We would make it to Drosta’s, but not back again alive. I will not go. Be gone. I do not have a price. It is not worth my time. Be gone!”

Annon held out his hands. “I did not understand what you were referring to. Why should Kiranrao matter in this?”

Erasmus coughed as he chuckled. “He has sought the treasure at Drosta’s lair for many years. There is a bounty for anyone who can lead him to it. He does not know that I know where it is.”

Hettie looked confused. “What purpose would he have in gaining more wealth? Why would it even interest him?”

Erasmus looked up, as if suddenly confused. “Who says that Drosta’s treasure has anything to do with wealth? There are a great many things in the world that no amount of coin will purchase. Drosta’s treasure is not in coin.”