Page 106 of Sword & Shadow
Deckard was impressed by the man’s reasoning. It was the exact reason he’d chosen the hunter’s aid. “Did you find something?” he asked at Ethenn’s prolonged pause.
The young man’s brow furrowed, then he looked up toward the smith’s shop. The pounding of a hammer on metal reverberated out to them. “This is going to sound odd,” he said. “But I can sense that they visited the smith.”
“Sense, how?” Deckard asked skeptically.
With a grimace, Ethenn glanced at him. “Call it hunter’s intuition?”
Though Deckard had never heard of such a thing before, he chose to trust the man. As they crossed the muddy street, the first drops of rain began to fall. They ducked under the awning as it intensified. The smith looked up, his thick arms belying his narrow frame.
Adopting his fake Waulden accent, Deckard greeted the smith. “I’m looking for my wife and our comrade,” he saidcheerfully. “He’s about my height with bright red hair, and...” He gestured toward the smith’s scraggly copper beard and chuckled. “Well, I suppose that describes the lot of us, eh? But my wife is from the border with Ephrian heritage, a few generations back. She has dark hair and eyes and stands about, well—”
Deckard set a hand on Ethenn’s shoulder. “She’s about her brother’s height,” he concluded.
Ethenn shifted uncomfortably as the smith eyed him.
“They came into town to get tents for us and our band,” Deckard continued. “We wondered if they came here in their search.”
The smith turned his critical stare to Deckard. “Wh’ din’ yeh com’ wi’ yer wi’f?” he asked.
If Deckard hadn’t gone into town with Auden over the last couple of weeks, he wouldn’t have understood. Thankfully, his grasp on the Waulden accent was growing stronger. “It was our employer’s idea,” he said, stating their agreed-upon lie. Every time they went into a settlement, the story was that they worked for a mercenary band, traveling on behalf of a Waulden noble who would prefer his cause to remain unknown. As it turned out, such behavior was common in the country.
After a beat, the smith relaxed. He rattled off a broken string of words that Deckard managed to cobble into an explanation. Yes, they had been there about an hour ago. He gave them poles for the tents, sent them to his friend at the docks for the canvas and rope, and hadn’t seen them since.
Handing over a small stack of nanny farthings, Deckard thanked the smith. Then he relayed the explanation to Ethenn as they stepped out into the rain.
“Do we go to the docks then?” Ethenn asked.
“I suppose,” Deckard said with a sigh, reverting to his Ephrian elocution. “Though I have a feeling we’re going to getthe same answer from the dockworker. If they were taken by a group as large as you suspect, I can’t imagine they’d do it out in the open.”
“What if they ambushed them before they got to the docks?” Ethenn said as they neared the tavern once more. “Could be—”
The hunter stopped in his tracks, frowning.
Deckard paused. “What is it?”
Eyes on the tavern, Ethenn sniffed as a cold breeze cut through the rain. Then he shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said. “We should go to the docks.”
Though Deckard stared at the tavern for a lingering second, he followed Ethenn down the street. The rain ran over the shoulders of their wool cloaks, turning the dirt to mud under their boots. His anxiety was beginning to rise, his fear that Evylin’s captors were getting away while he searched in vain.
Suddenly, Ethenn grabbed Deckard’s arm and pulled him down an alleyway.
“Loxley, what—?”
Ethenn shushed him, then surveyed the narrow passage. “All right,” he whispered once his inspection was complete, “we’re safe. I found them.”
Deckard stared at him, baffled. “What?”
Ethenn tossed his hand in the direction of the town center. “They’re in the tavern. There must have been a scuffle because... Well, listen, you know how I said I have this hunter’s intuition?”
“Yes,” Deckard said, narrowing his eyes.
With a grimace, Ethenn shrugged. “That wasn’t true,” he admitted, then scratched the back of his head through his hood. “I kind of...caught Evie’s scent.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I know, it’s strange,” Ethenn said, obviously uncomfortable. “But it’s something I learned over the years. You can kind ofsmell your quarry, and it helps lead you to them. And—well, I know the scent of Evie’s sweat from all the times we’ve trained together. When the rain was about to start, the wind picked up, and I caught her scent coming from the smithy. When we just passed the tavern, I caught it again, but stronger.”
Despite the oddity of the situation, Deckard scanned the young man with interest. “That’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard,” he remarked. “You’re sure she’s there?”
