Serah was the first to speak when the wagon came to a stop before the walls. For quite some time we had listened to Tim tell his story without daring to interrupt him too much, as if any careless word might snap the fragile thread holding his tale together. But when the horse finally halted and the creaking of the wheels no longer accompanied his voice, the girl leaned forward with an expression somewhere between frustration and fascination.
—You didn't finish the story.
Tim continued staring at the village gate with the calm of someone arriving at a destination he had known for a long time. He seemed to be studying the stone towers as though confirming they were still standing where he remembered them.
—What story? —he asked with complete naturalness.
Serah narrowed her eyes.
—The Hunter.
Tim scratched his reddish beard absentmindedly while swaying slightly on the driver's bench. For a few seconds he truly appeared to be thinking about what she had said, as if trying to recall something that had slipped away into the fog of alcohol. Then he smiled.
—Ah, that one —he adjusted himself on the seat and looked again toward the gate —Well… turns out we've already arrived.
Aldric let out a short, incredulous laugh.
—That's it?
Tim shrugged casually.
—Good stories deserve to be told at the proper moment, lad. And this is not the proper moment.
Serah frowned.
—You left us right at the best part.
The merchant raised a finger.
—At the most dangerous part, I'd say —his eyes drifted slowly toward the forest we had left behind—. Stories in this valley have a rather uncomfortable habit.
—What habit? —Maelor asked.
Tim took a small drink from his bottle before answering.
—Sometimes they listen to themselves when they're being told.
No one spoke for several seconds. The night wind whispered softly around the walls of Valebrun, making the heavy wooden gate groan against its hinges. Finally Aldric broke the silence.
—Then come inside with us and finish it there.
Tim burst into laughter.
—Oh no. That wouldn't be very wise —he leaned slightly to one side to peer through the narrow slits of the gate —. My road goes elsewhere.
Serah eyed him suspiciously.
—I thought you were coming here.
—Yes… but not tonight —he settled more comfortably on the bench —. Let's just say my relationship with certain places in this valley… is complicated.
Maelor crossed his arms.
—You saved our lives a few hours ago.
Tim smiled.
—I'd say your lives were already fairly complicated before I showed up —then he leaned slightly closer to us —. But I will give you a piece of advice. Be careful if you leave Valebrun through this road.
Serah tilted her head.
—Why?
—There's a bruna wandering around these parts.
Tim gestured toward the dark forest behind the road. Aldric raised an eyebrow.
—A witch?
Tim made an ambiguous motion with his hand.
—Something like that —he took another drink —Not the sort of creature you want to run into while walking at night —his eyes moved briefly toward me —Especially when you've already attracted far too much attention.
That last sentence lingered in the air. No one replied. At last we climbed down from the wagon. Tim did not move. He watched as Aldric helped Eldran down from the carriage, the wounded man still walking with some difficulty despite the merchant's treatment. I was about to follow the others toward the gate when Tim spoke again.
—Captain.
I stopped and turned toward him. The man stood leaning on his staff, the bottle hanging loosely in his other hand. For a moment his expression looked far more sober than it had during the entire journey.
—A long time ago —he said slowly— I knew a man named Arven. Another merchant… like myself.
Something stirred in the depths of my memory. Not a full recollection. Only a flash. A voice. A name that seemed to have been waiting in the darkness of my mind. Tim watched me carefully.
—Even back then he spoke to me of a nameless warrior —he took a small sip from his bottle—Perhaps someday, if you meet that merchant… you might also remember why this valley desires you more than the others.
The silence between us thickened. Then he smiled again, as if everything he had said had been nothing more than the ramblings of a drunk.
—Anyway… —he shook the reins lightly —Good luck with the priest of Valebrun —the horse began to turn slowly —And Captain… If you see the Hunter again… tell him Tim still owes him a bottle.
The wagon rolled away down the dark road until it disappeared among the trees. I walked back toward the rest of the group, who were waiting by the gate. The stone towers of Valebrun rose above us with a presence that felt solid and strangely comforting. For the first time since we had entered the valley, something seemed… Normal. Or at least closer to normal. We knocked on the gate. Several seconds passed with no answer. Then we heard footsteps on the other side. A small hatch opened in the wood. Two suspicious eyes studied us from the darkness.
—Who are you?
Aldric stepped forward.
—Travelers.
—Travelers?
The man on the other side frowned. The hatch opened a little wider. His gaze moved across our clothes, our weapons, our wounds.
—You look like gypsies.
—Gypsies? —Serah snorted.
—That's what I said —the guard spat to the side —. Quite a few have been showing up on the roads lately. They bring bad luck.
Maelor spoke with a weary voice.
—Trust me, friend… if we were gypsies we'd have far better luck than the kind we've had recently.
The man hesitated. At last he disappeared from the hatch. Several bolts slid open behind the gate. The doors creaked apart with a deep groan. We stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the sky. There were stars. The air felt different. The mist that dominated the valley simply… wasn't there. The streets of Valebrun were narrow but clean, illuminated by oil lanterns hanging from wooden posts. The houses were built of pale stone with steep roofs, and the silence of the place held a completely different quality from the silence of the forest. Here the silence felt… Alive. The guard closed the gate behind us.
—Everything's closed at this hour —he said—. Come back in the morning if you need anything.
Then he walked away without another word. We continued down the main street. The windows of the houses were dark and the doors shut tight. Only the sound of our footsteps echoed through the quiet night. That was when we saw the old woman. She was walking slowly along the street, a basket hanging from one arm. Her back was bent and her steps short and dragging. A gray hood covered most of her face, but when she drew close enough we could see her toothless smile.
—Good evening, travelers —her voice was rough and she lifted the basket —Anyone care for a pie?
Inside were several small round pastries. The smell was tempting. Too tempting. Serah glanced at me. Aldric did the same. Both were thinking the same thing. The bruna. Serah stepped toward the woman.
—Do you live here?
The old woman's smile widened.
—Of course I do —she offered the basket again —They're meat pies.
Aldric murmured quietly.
—We could learn something.
Serah nodded. I slowly shook my head.
—No.
Eldran spoke with a tired voice.
—The Captain is right —he looked at the woman —We didn't survive everything we've been through just to start chasing old women through the streets. Not every matter in this valley concerns us.
—So you don't want one? —the old woman continued smiling.
—No —I said.
—Such a shame.
She shrugged. Then she shuffled slowly down the street until she disappeared into the darkness. Serah sighed.
—If that was the witch, we just let her escape.
—If it wasn't —I replied— we would've interrogated a pie seller.
We continued walking. Serah and Aldric kept discussing the old woman while the rest of us moved forward in silence, exhausted, searching for somewhere to rest. Eventually we found a tavern. A wooden sign hung above the door, swaying gently in the wind."The Black Fortune," it read. Above the upper floor rose what appeared to be an attic. Dozens of crows gathered there. They cawed furiously, fluttering restlessly around the windows. Aldric looked up.
—I don't like that.
I pushed the door open. The interior was lit by a large burning hearth. Several wooden tables filled the room, and a large man stood behind the bar cleaning mugs. He looked up as we entered. —Well now. His voice was deep but friendly.
—I wasn't expecting customers at this hour. My name is Garron Bale. Looking for a room?
I nodded.
—And some rest.
Garron studied our wounds.
—Yes… I'd say you do.
Unlike the villagers of Valdrem, both the tavern keeper and the gate guard seemed very much alive. He gave us a room on the upper floor. A large one. Several beds. We collapsed onto them without ceremony. There was no time to discuss everything that had happened. Exhaustion fell over us like a stone. I don't know how long I slept. But something woke me. A hand was shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes. Maelor was leaning over me.
—Captain —he whispered— something's wrong.
I sat up. The room was dark.
—What is it?
Maelor pointed toward one of the beds. Eldran's bed. It was empty. Sleep vanished from my body instantly. I stood up. The window was open. Night wind drifted in from the street, and outside the crows occasionally beat their wings in restless circles. On the floor beside the bed… there was a bandage stained with dried blood. Eldran was gone.