Adder Creek Road, Scanra
Beginning of fall, 458 H.E.
Jasson was, as always, cold. They'd left the City of the Gods and headed north despite the time of year, hiking through the forest to cross the boarder into Scanra unnoticed. Liam had whined and complained openly since leaving, so Jasson said nothing about being cold, tired, hungry, or leaving Lianne behind. Once they'd crossed the boarder they'd turned east, headed for the Gallan boarder, Jasson guessed. The north had been hit by an early storm, and though it wasn't snowing now, the road was piled up to Jasson's thighs with banks of snow. They walked in single file along the center of the road, George breaking through the drifts, Jasson following at his heels, and Liam lagging behind.
Jasson hugged his arms tighter across his chest as the wind picked up, thinking about how they shouldn't have left Lianne behind—thinking but saying nothing. Since they'd left her their luck, which had always been bad, had gotten steadily worse. A week ago they'd gotten cornered by a rough pack of highwaymen and lost all the food, supplies, and money the Stanwicks had given them. George was trying to avoid busy roads and towns, so they were hard pressed to replace what they'd lost. Between the three of them, they carried only two jackets, one pair of shoes, three daggers, and a line they could use for fishing if they could break through the ice. Right now Jasson wore neither a coat nor the shoes, though they all wore scraps of fabric wrapped around their feet. Despite that and the fact that the robbers had left them the rest of their clothes, which were thick and warm, Jasson was wet and cold.
He looked up at George, who had his head bent slightly against the wind. He wanted to both blame George for their streak of bad luck and thank him for all he had done for them over the years. Instead, he dropped his eyes back to the ground and ducked his head against the wind, moving a little so George's body better blocked it. He moved his thoughts to the Stanwick's farm and Lianne who, if she was still alive, was probably sitting in front of a warm fire at that moment. Or helping Mady to prepare supper around a nice, warm stove. But dwelling on such things only made him that much colder, so he gave up on thinking and focused only on walking.
A few miles further down, the road opened up into a small clearing with the houses and buildings of the town of Adder Creek pressed up against the trees. One simple sweep of one's eyes revealed the entirety of the town, which was centered around a good sized inn. They stopped alongside a building on the edge of town, placing its walls between them and the wind. George looked over his shoulder at the two boys and, seeing their exhausted expressions, dug his hand into his pocket to see how much coin they had left. He sighed then smiled at them.
"We'll stay in that inn tonight."
"About time," Liam mumbled then brightened a bit. "Dinner?" He asked expectantly.
George fixed a stern gaze on him. "No stealing. Not here." He turned his gaze from Liam to Jasson then back. "Not even a little. Understand?" They both nodded, though Liam turned away from George to do it. "Alright," George said after a moment, "let's go inside."
They followed George obediently to the inn. A blast of warm air welcomed them when they stepped through the doors. The smell of spices and ale that was heavy in the air made Jasson's stomach clench with hunger. The inn was the only stop along the road for miles in both directions, so it was crowded with travelers, all gathered around tables or at the bar where the innkeeper was serving drinks. Three men who sat at a table near the door had on the uniform of the Gennature guard, and more men in uniform were drinking at the bar. Jasson shrank away from the guards and further into George's shadow. Liam ignored their presence, walking right past their table and hardly looking at them. They, in turn, paid no attention to him. George made Jasson hang back before they reached the bar, and he haggled with the innkeeper for several minuets before any coin passed between them.
"Come on boys," George said, leading them through the common room.
"Dinner?" Liam questioned again, but he got no answer.
The room George led them to had eight cots. They were pressed tightly together in the small room, but each one was covered with thick blankets. The noise from the common room came in through the wall and a ragged looking, older man slept in the farthest bed. With a scowl, Liam flung himself down onto the nearest one. "Dinner." He said again.
"I'm sure there's some fish in Adder Creek, which is just behind the inn." George answered.
"I'm stayin' here." Liam said quickly.
George settled an annoyed and impatient look on him. "Then give Jasson the shoes and coat."
Liam stuck out his lower lip and frowned. "It's too big for him. He'll drag the hem all in the snow and get it wet." George's look hardened and, with a whiney noise, Liam took off the coat and shoes, tossing them at Jasson. Both the coat and shoes were at least three sizes too big, but Jasson put them on gratefully, their warmth and dryness sinking into his bones.
The ice of the creek was broken along the bank by the town, but the heavy traffic from the inn kept the fish away. They followed the creek into the forest, George once again leading and breaking a path through the snow.
"You've been rather quiet lately, lad." George said once they were away from the noise of the inn. Jasson shrugged, though he knew George couldn't see it. "Are you mad at me too?" This time George looked over his shoulder and waited for Jasson's answer.
"I've got a right t'be." Jasson said, trying to avoid answering straight out.
"Not for this long, you don't."
"The three of us should a stuck together, that's all." Jasson said, not meeting George's eyes.
"You have no idea what the three of you should or shouldn't do, Jasson." George said, his voice hard.
Jasson looked up, anger burning in his hazel eyes. "'Cause you never tell us. You never tell us." He snapped. "All we know is each other, and we left her behind. I don't care what your reasons are."
George turned back around and Jasson felt instantly guilty but offered no apologies. They continued on in silence. They fished until it grew dark, breaking through the ice in four places and finding nothing. The walk back to the inn was as silent between them as the fishing had been.
The moment they stepped through the door to the inn, George put out his arm to stop Jasson, pushing him back behind him. Jasson peered around George's arm to see what was happening. All the Gennature guards were on their feet, gathered around one member of the guard whose pale face was bright red with anger. The rest of the guests had drawn back into the corners of the room and the innkeeper stood by the bar, bridging the gap between the guests and the guards. Three tattered boys and an older girl stood shaking in front of the guards.
"Sirs, I'll vouch for the boys." The innkeeper was saying. "They'd never steal from you."
"Perhaps you left it—" The girl began but she was cut off by a vicious slap from one of the guards that sent her sprawling on the ground.
"What seems to be the problem, good sirs?" George said as the girl fell. He stepped forward, his hands held palms up slightly in front of him so the guards would be sure to know he wasn't trying to attack them.
"It's none of your business." The innkeeper said, but the guards seemed interested.
"My good friend here is missing his purse and his keys." The commander explained, gesturing to the red faced guard. "He's in a hurry to get them back. You wouldn't happen to know anything of that, would you?" He asked, his tone implicating as he took in George's worn coat and lack of shoes.
"Hands." Another one of the guards ordered. His manner still open and friendly, George held out his hands, fingers spread and palms down then flipped them so the guards could see his wrists. "No criminal brands." The guard said. Jasson glanced at the girl, who had grabbed hold of the boys and was pulling them away to shelter behind the innkeeper.
"Check him anyway." The red faced guard ordered. The guard who had checked George's hands for brands stepped forward to turn out his pockets. "The boy too." The guard added, his eyes landing on Jasson. George snapped his head around as Jasson stepped back towards the door. One of the guards grabbed his upper arm and flung him forward. Jasson stumbled then caught his balance as another guard clamped a hand over his shoulder.
"Hands." Jasson heard the order without seeing who said it. The blood rushing in his veins, he held out his hands for the guard in front of him to inspect. Jasson didn't dare look at George, and he knew anything George said in his defense would just make the guards more interested. "He's clean, Damric."
"Check his pockets and hand that coat over here. It's big enough on him to hide half the money in this pathetic town."
Jasson struggled quickly out of the coat, and one of the guards grabbed it from his hands. Jasson dropped his gaze to the ground and the guards dug into his pockets, the grip on his shoulder still tight. "What do we have here?" Jasson snapped his gaze back up, meeting the accusing glare of the commander, who held the coat, a large black belt purse, and a ring of keys.
"Sirs—" George began but was cut off as one of the guards rammed the hilt of his sword into his stomach. George doubled over from the impact, but his eyes never left Jasson.
"I swear I didn't. I…" Jasson stammered.
"This could be considered crimes against the Tortallan crown," the commander said slowly. Panic rising in his chest, Jasson looked to George, who was kneeling on the ground, his eyes locked on Jasson. He shook his head slowly, his expression something Jasson never wanted to see on his face again. He looked defeated. "You could be sent to the mines, at the least, if we decide it's worth our effort."
"Please," Jasson said without taking his eyes off George. If he looked away he would lose the strength that kept him standing.
"Now the evidence is against you, boy, so there's no need for us to waste time on a trial." The commander continued.
"There's never a need to waste a trial on the likes of him." Someone else said. Jasson's breathing was growing steadily quicker. George had cleared his face of that awful expression, and his eyes were reassuring.
"Quite right," the commander said and there was a smile in his voice. "So we'll cut you a break, boy. Won't we, Damric? You'll have to be marked a thief, there's no way around that, but we can just do it here and save us all a trip back to the nearest fort." Jasson heard nothing after 'marked.' Another hand clamped over his other shoulder, and he was pushed forward.
"Jasson," George said, jumping to his feet only to be forced down again by more blows from the man's hilt.
"George," Jasson gasped as he was pulled away. The weight on his shoulders pressed down, but he didn't give until someone hit the backs of his legs. One of the guards pulled out of his belt a long, iron rod with a small raised "T" on the end. He handed it to the still-red-faced guard, who thrust it into the coals of the fire. Jasson's mind whirled, and his ears buzzed as he watched.
George got more slowly to his feet, and this time no one pushed him back down. He moved so Jasson would have to turn his head away from the hearth to see him. "Jasson," he called, and the boy slowly dragged his terrified gaze away from the iron and the fire. George knelt at the edge of the crowd and held Jasson's eyes with his own. "Everythin'll be alright, lad." He whispered, and though everyone around heard it, the comment seemed to be for Jasson's ears alone. "You're alright."
"I swear I didn't." Jasson said, tears now wetting his checks. He needed at least George to believe him.
George smiled a sad smile. "I know you didn't, lad." He assured him.
Someone grabbed Jasson's right hand and slammed in onto the table, pressing down until he spread his fingers, exposing the skin between his thumb and forefinger. Jasson turned his head away again as the angry guard pulled the iron out of the fire. George gave him a small nod and he closed his eyes, trying to force his mind anywhere else. The pain was sudden and like nothing he'd ever felt or imagined before. Jasson screamed. He would have fallen completely to the floor as his body went limp with pain, but his hand was being forcefully held on top of the table. Jasson gripped the table leg with his other hand as the pain continued and pressed his forehead against the smooth wood. The iron was removed but his hand still burned, then the guards dripped a few drops of something onto his burn that, despite its coolness, sent a whole new wave of pain through his body. The guard released his hand and it slid off the table. His eyes still tightly closed, Jasson cradled his hand against his chest and curled himself into the tightest ball he could manage. He thought of nothing but the pain in his hand.
Strong arms gripped his shoulders, and Jasson opened his eyes to meet George's gaze. "You still with me, lad?" George asked. Jasson could hear the effort it was costing him to sound cheerful.
Slowly, Jasson nodded. From his position he could see that the guards had left the inn and that the guests had gone back to the tables on the other side of the room. The innkeeper still stood by the bar, the four other children crouched on the floor behind him.
"Someone fetch a healer." George said. His voice was quiet, but it was clear he expected his command to be obeyed.
"No sir." The innkeeper said, taking a few steps closer to them. "I won't have ye staying here any longer. It's unhealthy to court the Gennature's wrath and ye're Tortallan to boot. I want ye all out of my inn." George looked away from Jasson to the innkeeper but not quick enough to keep the boy from seeing the anger in his gaze. He stood up slowly, his attention focused entirely on the innkeeper, who took a small step back.
Desperate, Jasson grabbed clumsily for George, catching hold of his wrist. "Stay." He begged. George turned back to him, his hazel eyes kind and reassuring. Gently he removed Jasson's fingers.
"I'm going to get you a healer, Jasson, and I'll still be right here. You'll be able to see me the whole time. Alright?"
Taking a deep breath, Jasson nodded. George walked over to the innkeeper, who quickly put the bar between their bodies, trying to look like all was just business. "I want a healer." George said, his tone brokering no argument. "And then I want your best room made up with your nicest quilts and a warm bath drawn. You can send three bowls of hot, strong soup up for our suppers."
The innkeeper drew his thin lips into a tight line. "Your coin won't cover that, sir, but ye can stay the night as ye paid. Ye can bargain with the healer yourself."
His eyes never leaving the innkeeper's face, George fingered the wedding band he wore. The gold caught the light as he drew it off his finger and pressed it into the innkeeper's hand. "That'll cover it." He said simply. "I want someone to fetch a healer." With a look from the innkeeper, the girl stood and ran out the door.
George returned to Jasson, settling beside him on the floor. He put his arms around his shoulders and drew the boy close to him as they both waited for the healer to come.
A/N—This is all I've got typed up right now and I'm trying to focus on Horizons, so it might be awhile until I can get another segment posted. However, I am hoping to finish this story soon.