Angkast

by Mhairi

Northford’s name was taken from the river it bordered, and rightly so in most folks minds. It was just as rough and unpredictable as the river during early spring, when the first snow melts swelled its banks. Just as deceitful as the icefloes that covered it during the depths of winter and just as harsh as the dried out banks during the heat of midsummer.

Oddly enough, autumn was the only season that the town and river didn’t face any elemental extremes, merely a chill through the air as the weather grew steadily colder. But overall, Northford was a very unforgiving place.

Cian thanked the Gods for her speedy journey to the frontier town. She had arrived just before the end of summer, and with any luck would be leaving before the winter freeze set in properly a month or so from now. It meant missing the worst of Northford’s infamous weather and for that she was eternally grateful. All she was waiting on was a message, explaining the rest of her assignment.

Signalling to the barmaid closest to her, Cian was hurriedly supplied with a drink before the girl rushed off to the other end of the room to serve another customer. She spun the glass absentmindedly for a moment, thinking about the letter that had sent her to Northford. The colonel had been unusually vague. Cian got the feeling that no one in the Intelligence Corps knew exactly what was going on… Just a hazy idea that something might be happening up north and that they should keep an eye on the area just in case.

Turning around slowly and leaning back against the bar, Cian adjusted the harp case at her waist to a more comfortable and visible position. Its leather cover bore the symbol of a minstrel as well as her own personal sign, a falcon, and she carried it with her always, wanting no one in Northford to doubt her cover.

Cian pushed her brown blonde hair from her face as her blue eyes gazed around the inn. It was bustling at this time of day. Lunch hour rush had begun only a little while ago and the innkeeper and barmaids were run off their feet, trying to keep up with the patrons’ demands for food and drink. Idly she noted the regulars and other town folk, nodding to the few who caught her eye and smiled.

As she finished her first scan of the room, Cian spotted a stranger amongst the rowdy rabble. Newcomers were a rarity in Northford. She herself had been something of a novelty the first month or two of her stay and regarded with suspicion until the locals grew used to her. So as not to draw undue attention to herself, Cian took a sip of her drink and studied the woman across the room from the corner of her eye.

Her purple tunic alone stood out garishly in the crowd. Most people in and around Northford wore brown or tan clothes. Either that or they were so covered in dust, mud and muck that you couldn’t tell their original colour no matter how hard you squinted. But it wasn’t just that. There was something about the way the woman held herself that separated her from the people surrounding her…

Cian’s musings were interrupted by a horse’s piercing whinny, echoing off the street. She looked up sharply to see a King’s Messenger stumble through the inn door, clutching an arrow in his side. The conversation in the inn died abruptly as the messenger swayed to the centre of the room.

“M-message…for…” he gasped before falling to the floor with a heavy thud. He didn’t move again. For a moment no one spoke, all staring at the man lying on the floor but then the hum of conversation started up again, soon returning to its normal volume. After all, such events were not all that uncommon around the Northford area. The people were faced with death everyday, be it from the elements or from bandits and the like.

“Benton,” the innkeeper yelled to what Cian like to affectionately call his security troll. “Take him outside. And then go fetch the Sheriff. He can deal with this.” Benton nodded sluggishly and grabbed the messenger’s arms, dragging him back through the doorway and leaving a large smear of blood in his wake. “Shoni, clear that up, will you?” the innkeeper added as an after thought to one of his barmaids.

Cian waited a few minutes, fiddling with her drink before downing it in one and heading for the door herself. The cloud-covered sky meant that outside was not much brighter than the dimly lit and smoky inn. Cian looked around carefully to make sure Benton had left before jogging across to the alleyway where he had dumped the man’s body in the mud. She crouched down beside him and had to hold back a wave of anguish as she recognised the face. She hadn’t wanted to believe it was true but here was the undeniable proof. The messenger’s name was Dahany Berryn and he had been a great friend of hers.

“Oh Gods… Dahany, why you?” she mumbled, forcing herself not to cry. She sat there for a moment, trying to let it sink in, but she knew that as much as she wanted just to stay here with him she had to move. Benton would be back with the Sheriff any minute and the last thing Cian wanted was awkward questions being asked.

Quickly she reached down and opened the message satchel hanging at Dahany’s waist, pulling out the sealed letter and sliding it down one of her boots before closing the satchel up again. Blinking back tears, she pressed his eyelids shut, hiding his hazel green eyes, and ran a hand through his curly black hair. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, kissing him gently on the forehead before rising again. Looking back one last time, she sprinted up the alleyway…

And ran straight into someone standing around the corner. Cian fell to the ground, dazed. “You know,” a voice said above her. “For a spy, you’re not very discreet.”