Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [38]
Much as he wished it, the ogre mage was not powerful enough to have been the source of what he'd seen-or not seen-in Logfell. Something else held him here, though somewhere deep inside, he questioned his own motives. He could easily leave on his own. He had no covenant with Hoar, merely a vague understanding, a meeting of the god's purpose and Quin's lack of direction. Somewhere deep inside, in those places that dreamed of the verdant land he could not reach, there was a sense of shame. Much as he knew he could travel any road, only the shadowed one led him to the kill, to injustice and to blood.
He struggled to stand, but something on the porch caught his attention. A basket, laden with what food could be gathered, and a skin of wine were placed near to where he'd been sleeping. He looked around, but no one was near. Through the rain he saw a middle-aged man, standing just outside the charred remains of the small temple razed by the gnolls, who looked in Quin's direction. His face was expressionless, and he leaned on an oak staff. He nodded to Quin, acknowledging him. Quin, unsure, nodded back, taken off guard by the man's steady stare.
Quinsareth turned away, back to the food. He picked at it slowly at first, then allowed his hunger to take over. Dried fish wrapped in broad leaves, some stale bread and pieces of fruit, all of this he devoured, then washed it down with the salty-sweet berry wine. He spared most of the wine and used the leaves to collect drops of the falling rain, quenching his thirst without clouding his mind.
He stood slowly, favoring his left side and carefully stretching his tender back. The ogre's lightning had burned a scar down his spine and the skin felt seared as if from a hot skillet. His tunic and armor chafed against the wound like sack cloth. He would need the shadow road's healing touch soon. It looked as if Targris's temple was empty, or its clerics had burned along with it. So where would he go? This region was unknown to him. Where might he look to find those behind Logfell's and Targris's attacks?
He looked toward the old man, who still studied the ruins of the temple and the charred remains of its gardens. Steeling himself and checking his equipment, patting the scabbard of the sleeping Bedlam, he descended the steps and made his way to introduce himself.
Dreading interaction with someone who did not threaten his life, Quinsareth made sure to walk loudly through the puddles to avoid startling the man. An unnecessary concern, as the man was obviously aware of him. Absently, he rubbed at the patches of dried blood on his face and lamented the loss of his traveling hat, most likely washed away in the flood along the side of the road. He dipped his head low, allowing thick strands of wet hair to obscure his unnerving eyes.
The man saw Quinsareth coming near and didn't move aside or turn away. Quin sighed and cursed himself for not carrying at least one map.
The burnt smell of the temple was strong but tempered with the scent of rain on the cool air. Quin stood awkwardly, staring into the broken windows and the steaming blackness within. The old man regarded him for a few moments and turned back to the burned temple, as if sensing the aasimar's troubled demeanor. A low-hanging branch from within the temple's garden shielded them both from the worst of the downpour.
"You fought well." The man's voice was low and emotionless, but it startled Quinsareth all the same.
"It was what it was, little more." Not fond of compliments, he could not help the edge in his reply.
"As you say, stranger." The old man turned to the aasimar. "This attack was wild and unexpected-perhaps its end deserved to be so as well. You are injured?"
"I will heal," he said, adjusting his left arm behind his cloak. "See to your own, elder. I must be leaving soon."
"Fair enough. Where will you go? You'll find naught but plague near the forest, and Derlusk is shut up tight for fear of it."
Plague. He'd