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see her off.

five

    They set out into the streets, and though it was warm Loren raised her hood to mask her face, hoping its shadow would bury her eyes.
    Mag took them into the heart of the city. Northwood was no burg so great as Wellmont, or even Cabrus, the first place Loren had seen after leaving her forest home. Here there were hardly any buildings more than a single story. The city was wide rather than tall, sprawled across many acres of land with its streets twisting in upon each other. Yet with unerring certainty Mag wove her way through them until it was all Loren could do to keep up.
    “Len said he was last around here,” said Mag, looking around in the lazy afternoon sun. “Stay close to the walls, and find shadows to stand in if you may.”
    Loren needed no second urging and already found herself doing all she could to avoid being seen. Yet it seemed she need not have worried—despite the well-peopled streets not a single eye turned to her. But search as she might, Loren could see no sign of the man Len had described. They turned corner after corner, searching every alley they could find.
    “There,” hissed Albern at last, seizing Loren’s arm and drawing her against the wall of a smithy. She ducked quickly, and then waited a moment before peeking from under her hood.
    Loren saw him at last. Len had spoken truly: this man Rogan felt dangerous, and though he bore no armor he wore his size like protection. His arms were covered, yet under the sleeves his strength was clear. Dark was his face, scarred across both eyes, though he had lost neither.
    Something about him seemed familiar. Loren could not place the reason, and the search through her mind brought terror to her heart. She had seen someone, something like him before. But not in Jordel, nor any of the other Mystics she had met upon the road.
    “Do you see it?” Albern said, giving voice to her thoughts. The beast moves like Trisken.”
    Loren thought her heart might stop. “We must leave. We should have fled Northwood last night.”
    “Albern, what is it?” said Mag.
    “Nothing, or at least no great matter if we leave at once.”
    Albern’s grip on Loren’s arm tightened, and he nearly hauled her off and down the street. Mag sped her pace to match them. Loren glanced back over her shoulder as they fled—and in a frozen, terrible moment, locked eyes with Rogan. Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.  
    “He saw me,” she said.
    “We were too far away. He could not have remarked upon you, not dressed like this. You are not the only girl in the nine lands with green eyes.”  
    Yet Albern sounded as though he did not believe it himself, and he began to move faster. Now they were half running.
    “Is it them?” said Mag. “The ones you fought in the mountains?”
    “Mayhap.”
    “We have no time,” said Loren. “I only hope the others have readied the horses.”
    Albern looked back over his shoulder. “Perhaps I should come with you.”
    Loren wanted to refuse. Albern had sought to part ways and return to Strapa, his home far to the south. But now she welcomed the thought of his company, for Albern was as skilled at using a bow as he was at making one. Indecision kept her silent, and she could not sort her thoughts for the fear that filled her heart.
    She saw Jordel’s broken body on the valley floor.
    And Trisken’s bloodied grin.
    The beast had commanded the fortress in the Greatrocks, the one filled with Shades that had inspired such fear in Jordel. The Mystic, who had always been a solid rock for Loren to lean on. Trisken had fought them in the caves, and there they had cut him down with arrows and swords. Yet he had risen again, his mortal wounds knitting before their terrified eyes.
    And they could only run.
    They had slain him at last but lost Jordel, the greatest among them.
    Mag’s inn loomed above. Loren ignored the back door, burst in through the front, and ran to the table where the others were waiting.  
    Gem and