The Burden of Ash and Blood - 16. Chapter 16

Graeme’s gaze swept the streets for hidden threats while marshalling Sam east toward the town market. The effects of the gryphon ash in Sam’s system twisted his instincts into knots of contradiction, making it difficult to understand Graeme’s wariness.

“Shouldn’t we be okay?” Sam asked. “We made it out.”

“We are still very much at risk, Sam. A guard escaped. Doubtless that woman is aware we’ve managed to free ourselves. There’s no telling how many men she has in her employ. They know our names and where we’ve lodged.”

Shame washed over Sam as Graeme clarified the peril surrounding them. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Do not mistake the gravity of my reply for disappointment in your question. I understand you are not yourself.”

They progressed toward the inn, but as soon as it was within sight, Graeme pulled back. “It’s as I feared.”

As unobtrusively as Sam could, he spied the inn’s entrance. Two men loitered nearby, watching the streets. It was obvious they didn’t belong. “How are we gonna get our stuff?”

“There are likely more men inside.” Graeme scanned the area. “Where is the damned Watch in this town? Duncan said he only pulled them from the south.”

“Let’s go tell him everything we know. Maybe he’ll spare a few men to help us?”

After one final glimpse toward the inn, the knight nodded, and they stole their way north toward the baron’s keep. Light flurries began to fall from the brooding, grey sky. Even under the influence of the substance, Sam knew that each passing day brought the looming risk of winter. And with the weight of recent events pressing on them, they couldn’t chance being stranded in Blakenhall.

The keep rose like a sentinel above the town, its presence spurring Graeme to hasten their step. As they passed through the portcullis, two guards approached. Sam recognised both men. Recognition sparked in return, sharpened by the urgency in the knight’s stride.

“We need to speak to Duncan immediately,” Graeme said.

One guard offered a smart nod. “Of course. Follow me.”

“Hold,” Graeme said, revealing his bloody sword hidden behind his cloak. “I need a rag to clean this off.”

The sight of it prompted a taut sidelong glance between the two men.

“We were captured,” Sam said, pointing at Graeme’s sword, “but we managed to escape.”

That vague explanation was enough to mollify them. One guard thumbed over his shoulder toward the stables. “There’s bound to be something in there.”

Leaving the remaining guard near the gate, they entered the stables and found a tattered strip of cloth. The white fabric blossomed to scarlet as Graeme completed the grim task, and after a cursory inspection, he drove the blade home into its scabbard.

“Now, take us to Duncan.”

Spurred by Graeme’s terse request, the guard strode briskly toward the entrance of the keep, looking back to ensure they were following close. His expression betrayed curiosity, but discipline kept him silent. Following an earnest rap upon Duncan’s door, the guard announced their arrival.

“Enter,” Duncan replied.

The guard barely managed to open the door before Graeme burst through. Duncan, sitting at his desk, nearly fell backward in shock.

“What news?” he managed to say after composing himself.

Graeme recited the events of their past few days with methodical efficiency. The warehouse’s location, and its use to store legitimate goods to disguise the transport of gryphon ash. The glassworks served both to manufacture the phials and to store the substance. The woman, Madame Camilla, with her distinctive blonde and braided hair, was likely the leader of the operation. And though the glassworks remained only partly explored, Graeme strongly believed the gryphon ash was being processed there as well. Duncan merely blinked repeatedly as the information spilt from Graeme’s mouth.

“We did not manage to escape unseen, however,” Graeme said. “So it is paramount that you act on this immediately, or risk losing everything.”

“Noted,” Duncan replied.

“In consequence of our identity being revealed, we require an armed escort to retrieve our belongings from the inn we dwelt.”

“Of course! And I must insist you stay here the night for your safety.”

When Graeme didn’t speak, Sam replied in his stead. “We’d appreciate that. It’s too late in the day to continue our journey toward the city of Langscott.”

“Then come, let’s organise a small troop to accompany you.”

Duncan took the lead toward the barracks, with Graeme, Sam, and the guard in tow. It occupied the keep's entire opposite wing. The captain of the Watch approached upon their arrival, speaking privately with Duncan as plans took shape. Meanwhile, the guard sidled up beside Sam, compelled by the growing intrigue.

“What in the hells is going on?” he whispered into Sam’s ear.

Sam chuckled. He could hardly fault the man for asking, and being a gatekeeper, he’d unlikely be part of the operation.

“We were hired to root out some dangerous folk in town,” he whispered back. “We found them, so now your Watch is taking care of it.”

Following a quarter-hour exchange between Duncan and a handful of higher‑ranking men, the captain bellowed, “Alright men, ready up!”

The stone hall carried the relentless clamour of armour and arms. Watchmen were split into two units, each given instruction on how to proceed. Three armed men approached Sam and Graeme, looking on sullenly as their fellows rushed outside.

“We’re to escort you to retrieve your belongings,” one man said.

It was evident they felt robbed of the excitement their comrades were about to face. Sam gave a respectful nod, sympathy in his eyes.

“We appreciate your help.”

“Lead on, then.”

With two men ahead and one at the rear, as well as Graeme by his side, Sam couldn’t help feeling galvanised—completely invulnerable. The gryphon ash only compounded the aura of safety. The idea of dreamless sleep under the protection of these men brought a bashful grin to his lips. Fallen snow had accumulated, tracing delicate borders along every surface it touched. They reached the inn in short order, only to discover the two thugs at the entrance were missing. A hasty sweep of the area proved fruitless.

“What you reckon?” one watchman asked another, who merely shrugged in reply and gestured to enter the inn.

Despite their seemingly nonchalant attitude toward the situation, Sam noted their hands lingered near their sheathed blades. The inn’s hearth burned brightly, holding the cold and damp at bay. Several patrons occupied the tables, though food and drink sat ignored before them. Their uneasy stares met them, only to slacken upon realising it was the town Watch. Three men sat at the bar. The proprietor, Mr Casselford, stood rigidly straight with a towel in both hands, fretting nervously at the weave. He made no attempt to hide the dread written on his face.

One of the men at the bar turned, grunting in disapproval at the sight of Sam, Graeme, and the watchmen. His two companions appeared equally unimpressed.

“Why are you here?” the watchman asked.

The man stared back, feigning confusion. “Just enjoying an ale with my friends.”

“They were asking about you,” Mr Casselford offered in a fretful tone to Sam and Graeme. This earned him a scowl from the thug.

“What business do you seek with these two men?” the watchman asked, gesturing to Sam and Graeme.

“Business?” The man scoffed. “Can’t say for certain. We were only asked to find them.”

“To what end?”

“What business is it of yours?” the man spat out.

The watchman, tired of playing their game, pulled his sword free. “Okay, you three are under arrest.”

The thugs leapt from their stools and drew their own blades. “That’s bullshit! What’s the charge?”

“Disturbing the peace. And if you don’t drop your weapons, resisting arrest.”

By now, the two other watchmen had their own swords in hand. Graeme and Sam followed suit, however the man nearest signalled for them to stow their arms.

“Please stay back. This is our responsibility.”

They obeyed his request by backing into the rest of the crowd, but while Graeme sheathed his blade, Sam did not. The watchmen tightened their formation around the thugs, each careful step only heightening the overwrought tension. Mr Casselford still clutched the towel, now drawn up to his chin. He edged backward until he found himself trapped in a corner. Sam tensed up, threatening to break from his position, but Graeme gripped his forearm before he could move.

“They ordered us to stay back,” the knight murmured.

“These guys aren’t gonna give up willingly, and I don’t want those watchmen or anyone else getting hurt on my behalf. We should deal with them ourselves.”

Graeme tightened his grasp. “Allow them the chance to do their job. We’ve seen enough blood for one day, have we not?”

Those words prompted Sam to question—yet again—why he was so consumed by the urge to incite violence. It didn’t help that the gryphon ash was clouding his rational thought. His eager stance faltered, and while Graeme didn’t let go of his arm completely, the grip loosened.

“I won’t repeat myself again,” the watchman said. “Drop your weapons.”

Teeth bared, the thugs exchanged glances as they weighed their options. Hands tightened against hilts. Awaiting the inevitable, Sam cast his eyes down to the floor. Graeme was right—they’d seen enough violence today. An abrupt clash startled him, though it wasn’t the expected ring of steel on steel. Instead, weapons were thrown onto the wooden floor, their clatter echoing across the room.

“Gods damn you!” the thug grumbled in resignation with raised hands. His two companions followed in kind.

Once in custody, the lead watchman approached Sam and Graeme.

“Excellent work,” Graeme said with an encouraging nod.

The man returned it, though his expression suggested he hadn’t foreseen such a favourable end. “Go ahead and get your stuff. We’ll wait outside and escort you back to the keep.”

Sam and Graeme hurried up the stairs, but as they approached their door, Graeme gestured for silence. The knight pulled his blade clear of its scabbard and tried the door latch. As expected, it was secure, but that didn’t appease Graeme’s concern. He pointed at the lock. Sam retrieved the key from his trouser pocket, then guided it into the keyhole. With a delicate turn, it clicked open. Graeme’s hand pressed firmly against Sam’s chest, urging him to step back. He gently lifted the latch, then kicked the door open to storm in.

The room was unoccupied—exactly as they’d left it.

“You might be a little too on edge,” Sam said, then immediately regretted it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound foolhardy—”

Graeme raised a hand to silence him. “I understand. You’re still affected by that substance. Your words do not speak the truth.”

Despite Graeme’s assumptions, he didn’t understand. While the ash had loosened Sam’s tongue, everything he’d said was the truth—much to his detriment. But now still wasn’t the right moment to dredge up his confession of intimacy to Graeme. It had to be soon, however, before the effects wore off. Otherwise he’d never find the courage to apologise for what he’d said.

They rapidly gathered their belongings and returned downstairs to find the common area in a much calmer state. Sam approached Mr Casselford, who sat on a chair, still fretting with his towel.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” Sam said.

“No harm done,” he replied with a titter, “except for my nerves, perhaps?”

Graeme stood at Sam’s side, steadying Mr Casselford with a hand on his shoulder. “Did they cause any damage?”

The old man shook his head.

“Regardless, let us compensate you for your troubles.” Graeme loosened the ties of his coinpurse, plucked a ten-silver piece from the dwindling supply, and laid it on the table.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mr Casselford said, attempting to hand the coin back, but neither Graeme nor Sam would take it. “You two have been lovely guests.”

“I disagree,” Graeme said. “We delivered brigands to your establishment.”

The proprietor scoffed. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to.”

“No, but that doesn’t change the facts. Accept the coin. If not as an apology, then see it as a gratuity. We enjoyed our stay.”

Sam nodded in agreement with a smile. “Your place is very welcoming.”

“Thank you kindly,” Mr Casselford said, his round cheeks blushing at the compliment. “May the road carry you with grace.”