The Height of Pillar

“Got any nails?” the man asked. “How many do you need?” “How many do you have?” the customer smirked. “You one of the city’s men building platforms?” “These nails are for outside the walls.” “Logger?” Floren asked. “Hunter.” The man replied. “Used to be a lumberman, but now… There’s more important work as needs doing. We can’t just hide in here forever.” Deagan gave him a nod. Floren eyed him for a moment then hefted the bucket of nails. “Two silvers and you can take the bucket with you.” “Nah. Dump ‘em in,” the man said, gesturing to a handcart. Deagan did as he was bidden and replaced the bucket on the floor with an empty clunk. As quick as that, his day’s work was whisked away. He sighed and mopped the sweat from his forehead again, pushed his fists into his back, and walked toward the back of the shop. “A hunter,” Floren remarked. “What do you make of it?” “It won’t be long before every man and boy with an empty stomach will be out hunting beside him.” “You think he’s after game?” “Of a sort,” Deagan said, gripping a hammer. “Fill your bucket faster tomorrow, Wingrat. After that, if there’s still daylight, I’ll teach you something.” “Aye,” Deagan said with a smile. “Good. Let’s lock up, then.” The two of them hoisted the wooden panel into the wall and secured it there, then they parted ways with cordial words of goodbye. Across the street a young woman stood up and closed a weathered, leather-bound book. She had a young face like a spring songbird, and wore a comely robe of gray. Her eyes fixed upon Deagan’s as he brought Maggie to the nearest well. The woman started toward him with a small, but determined smile. “Drink, Maggie. Go on.” He took a handful of water and pressed it to her lips. It dripped to the sand, and Deagan drank the last drops from his palm, which tasted of iron. The well was surrounded so he had to edge in sideways. He tried again to make her drink, but Maggie tossed her head and refused. Someone held a full bucket out to Deagan’s hands and he took it gratefully. When Maggie nuzzled at it and spilled most of the bucket, she finally drank some and Deagan got the chance to look up. “Thank you,” he muttered to the one who had handed him the bucket, it was the girl in the gray robe. “Of course,” she replied with that same determined look. Then someone interrupted Deagan with a call for the bucket in a foreign tongue and all but snatched it from his hands. He led Maggie away, still thirsty himself. The girl followed in Maggie’s wake with a hand on her saddle to keep from being washed away by the current of the crowd. “I am looking for Kellen Wayfield,” she said. “Who?” Deagan asked. This woman didn’t look dangerous, but all the same it appeared that Kellen might be in danger and the thought sent a spike of fire through Deagan’s breast. “Your friend, Kellen Wayfield. Have you seen him?” “Who wants to know?” he grumbled as he peered over his shoulder to see her. The hand that gripped the saddle horn was outstretched and Deagan saw upon her left wrist a tattoo of blue ink, raw and shiny around the edges. A healer? He thought. Kellen, you should know these witches aren’t to be trusted. “My name is Brana,” she said with a tone that challenged Deagan to be just as forthcoming as she was willing to be. “And why do you want Wayfield?” “I found something that belongs to him.” She sounded high born and educated. Her speech was untainted by the worries of the real world. She smelled of flowery oils and it was almost enough to overpower the smell of the street. She held out the book. Deagan turned to see it. “Well, I’ll take it to him if you like,” Deagan offered. “I must deliver it myself,” she said hurriedly with an apologetic smile. “You’ll understand surely. The times being what they are.” “Come now, what’s your business. Out with it.” “Oh there’s no business. I just found his name in this and I intend to see it restored to him.” “As you say, milady. But be careful, it’s getting dark now. And there’s no telling who might’ve seen that book. Do you know what it be worth?” It was her turn to laugh, “I’m after Kellen Wayfield. I should like to think the man I seek is more dangerous than any I may encounter on the streets. Do you think I would pursue him unprepared? I deserve more credit than you would give me, sir.” “Try not to call me sir,” Deagan said as he stopped to face her. If she really was one of the Healers, he’d be wise not to cross her, but betraying his friend was out of the question. Now he was closer to her, he got a better sense of her. She was unafraid, with a handsome face, but not a pretty one. A long braid draped behind her. Her presence made him feel like he was standing precariously on the edge of a cliff, or an open grave. “Pardon, milord,” she said. “I should have known your lost knighthood would be a sore subject. Nothing would displease me more than to make an enemy of you. I have been to Wayfield’s manor, only to find it abandoned. I have spoken with his former wagon drivers to no avail, and I have visited his haunts by night and day.” “He must not want to be found,” Deagan said flatly.