A Midwinter Fantasy - Leanna Renee Hieber [50]
The battler dressed while he waited for her. The clothes were real, and while the eagle was too small, his dog form was just big enough that he could carry them inside, since he only needed to look like a dog on the outside. There were battlers skilled enough to shift and have their clothes simply appear real, but Mace had never bothered to gain that kind of competence. Lily had made both his shirt and pants for him, and while they were plain cotton, they served him well. Better yet, they smelled of her from when she washed them. Other than his uniform, he couldn’t imagine wearing anything else.
From the look of it, they’d arrive in Falloweld shortly after noon, sooner if they continued cutting through the woods. It would be better to go by the road from here, he decided at last. He’d have to interact with the humans in the town, and he didn’t want them to think he was anything other than one of them. Even humans back home sometimes reacted oddly to battle sylphs, and in the Valley they weren’t used solely as mindless weapons, as in the other kingdoms. No one in Eferem who was outside their capital had likely seen a battle sylph in years, and even before then they’d been rare, so he wasn’t sure what they thought about his kind. Likely they only knew rumors of the truth, and he didn’t know what any of those were or how much they were believed. Mace didn’t even want to imagine how awkward it could get here if they realized what he was. It was entirely possible the Fallowelders would refuse to help.
Ruffles finished her meal and lifted her head, her tail wagging and her muzzle bloody.
“Come on,” Mace told her, and he set off, his big shape vanishing in the misty light of the snowy woods, the dog padding patiently by his side.
Chapter Four
Falloweld had grown since Mace last visited. What had been a rough collection of buildings and a single inn had become a fair-sized town. It was also far less rough than it used to be, the homes well built and cared for, though the entire place was surrounded by a log wall that looked both very strong and new, and also as though it didn’t belong. There was a single-gate entry on the side he approached.
While he was allowed to pass, Mace was watched by the guards as he did. He was observed pretty closely by the people in town as well, even as they moved around in that annoying visiting routine that marked the Winter Festival. Mace frowned as he trudged through the snowy streets. He had his orders to be discreet in his mission, and he looked like an ordinary human, but he wasn’t used to actually pretending to be one and had forgotten some fundamental truths about how frail they were. It was December, snowing, and cold, and he’d arrived as a stranger in town with no wilderness gear or even a cloak. Even as they went on their way, invading their neighbors’ homes and forcing their gifts on each other, they shied away from Mace. It wasn’t that these folk were suspicious of him—not so much—but they seemed almost frightened to see him. Not for who he was, he realized after a time, but for what his arrival seemed to mean. It was almost as if they’d seen him before in their streets, or someone like him.
A few looked as though they wanted to talk, but Mace wasn’t interested in their concern. His plan had been to start his search at the inn. He didn’t see a reason to change that.
Despite Falloweld’s growth, Mace still saw a few buildings he recognized, and it wasn’t long before he reached the center of town. There, the same inn that his master had stayed in all those years ago was still standing, though expanded now with an extra wing and a new stable in the back. Its walls were