The Choice of Magic - Michael G. Manning Page 0,108
he had been wondering about. If even the plants and animals of Faerie were immortal, and Elthas was the Lord of the Hunt, what happened to the things he hunted and killed? From what she had just said, it sounded as though they eventually regenerated or returned to life in some fashion. It also made it abundantly clear why the fae feared the Cath Bawlg. And I’ve been feeding it an egg every now and then, thought Will. The more he learned, the more he realized that nothing surrounding his grandfather had been even remotely normal.
Looking around, he saw a distinctive shimmer on one side of the rock formation. “Is that the crossing point?”
His aunt nodded. “It leads to a small spring close to Branscombe. The town is to the south after you cross over.”
Will offered her his hand, and together they crossed over, where he found himself once more surrounded by moderately dense forest. The spring was something of a disappointment, for it was little more than a damp place on some rocks that fed a trickle heading eastward through the forest. He supposed it must eventually meet other such flows and become a river, but at this point it wasn’t even enough that he would want to try drinking it.
Following a small game trail, they went south, and after just a few tens of yards, Will saw the underbrush open up. There was a road ahead, following an east-west course. Looking out, he could see a wooden wall to the west. Branscombe was within shouting distance.
“You can go home now,” said Will. “This is all I needed you to do.”
“The bargain was for three days,” insisted Tailtiu.
“I don’t need you for another day,” he said, giving her a hard stare.
She stared back at him unflinchingly. “Then you shouldn’t have bargained for three.”
There was no way he could enter Branscombe with a naked fae girl beside him. “I thought it would take me three days to get here, or longer,” he explained. “They’ll arrest me if I try to walk through the gate with you. Humans don’t take well to naked girls gallivanting about.”
Tailtiu turned away. “They’ll arrest you anyway. Mark my words.” Then she began walking back toward the hidden spring. “Call me when you need me. I still owe you one more day.”
That settled, he walked briskly down the road. An older man with a cart reached the gate just ahead of him, and the two guards there ushered the man through without a word.
Will started to follow the cart through, but one of the men called out to him, “Stop! Who are you, trying to sneak into Branscombe?”
Will drew himself up and straightened his shoulders. “I wasn’t trying to sneak.”
The other guard broke in, “You were hiding behind that man’s cart.”
“Walking behind it—in plain view,” insisted Will. “You didn’t tell that man to stop,” he added, pointing to the cart as it pulled away.
The first guard, a man with an impressively bushy mustache, gestured at Will’s belt. “You can’t bring a sword into town.”
“You have swords,” returned Will, but then as he looked at the two men he realized they actually didn’t. They were equipped with spears and knives. “Well, you have spears anyway.”
The mustached guard glanced at his companion. “Ned and I are constables, smartass. The weapons are part of our job. What are you anyway? You’re dressed up like a soldier.”
“A Darrowan soldier,” said Ned as Will handed him his sword and belt. “That’s the Prophet’s crest on the boy’s coat.”
Will glanced down at his gambeson and mentally cursed himself for not thinking to remove the embroidered sun on his chest. “I’m not a boy, I’m seventeen. I’m here to join the King’s Army.”
The guard with the mustache leaned in, fixing Will with a suspicious glare. “Are you a spy, boy?”
Will’s jaw dropped. “I’m not a spy. I’m from Barrowden. This isn’t even my coat.”
The two constables exchanged glances, then Ned said, “Where’d you get the armor from then?”
“They burned my village,” answered Will, trying to project honesty. “I crossed the pass to get here. I took this from one of their sentries.” When that failed to convince them, he added, “Would a Darrowan try to sneak into Branscombe wearing this?” He pointed at the sun crest.
Mustache rolled his eyes. “Exactly what a Darrowan spy would say. Hand over the belt knife too.” As Will did so, the guard went on, “You expect us to believe you killed a soldier and took that gambeson?”