The innkeeper took a step forward, and Tristan noticed his hands shaking. “Money first.”
Tristan bristled. “Gods, man. I’m not paying you now and then coming back later to find the rooms are gone.”
“No, no.” He shook his head violently. “I would never. The rooms will be ready, I swear. Money first.”
Tristan sighed and reluctantly handed over the coin before stalking back out to the dusty street. He was getting bloody tired of the way everyone they came across reacted to their uniforms. He had been so proud, worked so hard for the honor of wearing one.
They started to make their way down to the nearby market where they would find Nim and Tor, and he turned to the other two men as they walked. “What the fuck has happened to this city?”
“Did you see the way he looked at us?” Garet replied, equally unsettled.
Jeremiel nodded, his jaw clenched. “Yes. It’s the same as the other inns we tried. No one wants soldiers. They’re afraid.”
Tristan grunted. That was exactly what he had thought too. And he didn’t like it.
“Where does that leave us for tonight? I want everyone well rested before we try this insane plan. Any thoughts?” Tristan asked.
“Jos and I can stay with his family, and maybe the rest of you can try the barracks?” Garet suggested.
“No,” Tristan replied. “That would mean four of you turning up without the rest of the squad. Someone would ask questions.”
“There are a few Temples nearby that offer hostels. We could try that,” Jeremiel suggested, and Tristan grunted his agreement.
They walked in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, and it took a moment for Tristan to notice that there suddenly seemed to be a lot of people streaming toward them.
People hurrying, heads down. Almost as if they were trying to get away from something, all while trying to look inconspicuous.
A few noticed him, Garet, and Jeremiel and immediately shied away.
The heavy prickling in his chest ramped up a thousand levels, merging with an uneasy, roiling feeling of danger deep inside his gut as his beast began to growl. Where was Nim?
He lengthened his stride and picked up speed, pushing against the oncoming crowd as it broke and cleared around him.
Everyone seemed to be moving out his way impossibly slowly, and the dark part inside him flickered, wanting nothing more than for him to draw his sword and hack his way through the mass of streaming humanity.
With every passing second, he became more certain that Nim was in danger.
He turned the corner into the avenue they’d been looking for, his eyes instantly settling on the small group at the far end of the street, near the food stalls.
A brute of a soldier, arms rippling with red and yellow scales, had just let fly with a vicious kick that sent a small, cloaked woman flying into the dirt.
He knew that cloak. Knew that woman.
For an instant, he felt as if he’d been flooded with ice, but just as fast, it was replaced by a molten volcanic fury toward the men who had hurt her. Again.
Tristan threw himself forward without thinking, briefly registering Tor as he struggled against his captors. He only vaguely heard the soldier’s threat to Nim as she pushed herself off the ground and wrapped her arms around some unknown woman and child.
She had her back to him, and he dimly realized that she hadn’t seen him. A small part of him, the part that stayed cold and detached however bloody the battle, reminded him that he couldn’t give them away. If he did anything to reveal who she was or his connection to her, it would all be over. The next few minutes would determine whether or not Nim survived the day.
He reached the group in seconds, and before the soldiers had even noticed he was there, he was already roaring, “Attention! Right face!”
The three soldiers turned and snapped to attention by rote, but then they saw who had commanded them and blinked in confusion, not sure whether he was someone they had to answer to.
Tristan was wearing the black uniform of the cavalry divisions, compared to their Palace Guard Blues. Which put them above him. But he was a sergeant, while they were corporals. They were new to the palace guard, while Tristan carried himself like a commander.
Tristan gave them no time to consider their options and instead stood in front of them, legs spread wide, arms behind his back as he bellowed, “What the fuck is happening here? Corporal, report!”
The three soldiers exchanged smug glances despite their blood and bruises. “Just a little cleanup, sir.”
