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The shop was claustrophobic. Despite the blustery cold outside, the room was oppressively hot. Four sooty wall sconces cast off a weak glow. The rest of the light came from two stone hearths in opposite corners of the room banked high with logs, radiating uncomfortable warmth. Several braziers were set around the room, adding to the heat. They threw off a heavy shroud of incense and scented smoke, cloyingly sweet. Behind the sweetness of the incense lingered a pervasive mustiness, the smell of old things becoming older.

The sense of cramped closeness was probably due to the fact that, in addition to being a tiny little box of a shop, the entire space was atrociously cluttered and messy. The room consisted of book cases lining the wall to the left and right of the entrance. Two short, squat rows of shelves were set in the middle of the room, low enough to see over to the back of the room, where there was a counter space with two chairs behind it, and a stairway leading up into what was likely living quarters, not-quite obscured by a curtain of brightly colored beads. There was barely enough room to walk between the shelves and around the room.

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DarkFyre Chapter Seventeen

DarkFyre Chapter Seventeen The bear pelt was heavy and warm. Strange, to think that the pelt and meat were keeping them alive and comfortable after the bear had nearly killed him. There was a sort of grim irony in that, he supposed, but it was lost in the relief of being alive, the exhaustion of his ordeal, and the wonder of the woman in his arms. Rael stared down at Silmaria. She slept for now, a deep, peaceful sleep with her face pressed to his solid chest, one small hand resting on his...

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Silmaria’s heart beat violently, thudding unpleasantly in her breast. As the men stepped into their small camp she swallowed and fought to ignore the rising tide of panic threatening to drown her entirely. There were half a dozen of them, all armed and stepping with the confident, easy swagger of men who were comfortably acquainted with a great many kinds of violence. Dark eyes roved over her. She saw a flare of desire here, a glint of lewd interest there. Mostly, they looked curious, and...

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The next morning was mild, if not as clear and sunny as the day before. Clouds hung in a haze over the sky, drab and dreary and promising cold and snow to come, but all in all it was a favorable day for the middle of a Dale winter. Rael was sitting against a wall in an alley mouth, studying the grand building across the street. He was on the opposite end of Trelling’s Rest, right in the heart of the Palace District, watching the Hall of Valor, home and seat of power for the Knight Brotherhood...

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In the late morning hours the sun shone bright and glorious on Trelling’s Rest. The overcast clouds of yesterday’s snowfall had fled in the face of a clear and temperate day, the sort of mild and cheerful day DarkFyre Dale rarely saw this deep into winter. The snow underfoot gleamed pristine white under the sunshine, a blanket of innocence and purity cast over the countryside, a beautiful thing to behold. The Bear’s Maw was Trelling’s Rest’s main gate and the site of the majority of traffic in...

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The inn’s stillness and quiet was unnerving, the blackness of the halls and common room below an ominous contrast to the noise and bustle and light that should have been coming from downstairs this early into the night, just a few bare hours after sundown. Even with the flickering light of the candles at their bedside, the dark outside their room was so complete it left even her sharp eyes momentarily unable to pierce the gloom. The smell told her the danger first. Silmaria took a deep breath,...

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Even as the evening crept on the heat was palpable, a smothering blanket of energy sapping misery, dry and acrid. The only reprieve from the heat was the caress of the wind sweeping down the crags and valleys and rock formations, swirling along the brief stretches of flatlands that reached out between the red stones, or whipping along jagged, flinty corners of standing stones, clustered cliffs, and miniature mountains. The wind whistled a plaintive lament through the land’s many cracks and...

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Silmaria’s heart beat violently, thudding unpleasantly in her breast. As the men stepped into their small camp she swallowed and fought to ignore the rising tide of panic threatening to drown her entirely. There were half a dozen of them, all armed and stepping with the confident, easy swagger of men who were comfortably acquainted with a great many kinds of violence. Dark eyes roved over her. She saw a flare of desire here, a glint of lewd interest there. Mostly, they looked curious, and...

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Her eyes slowly opened, brilliant green wide eyes the color of emeralds or the green, green grass that grew in the gardens during the all too brief months of spring and summer. They were slitted. Like a cats, people would always say. Even after all this time, she couldn’t help roll her eyes when someone said that. It was so… cliché. Obvious. Obvious or not, it was still pretty accurate. Like a cats, Silmaria’s eyes were slitted, sure. They also saw incredibly well in the dark. The room was...

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Rael still wasn’t sure he was making the right choice. He was torn between feeling he was abandoning his duty and honor, and the certainty that remaining here at the war camp meant it was only a matter of time before another assassination attempt came. He was no coward, to run from death. Yet at the same time, neither was he a fool. The unusual methods taken against him left him certain that he was dealing with no ordinary assassins, and that his chances of surviving another attempt were grim...

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