Даниил Зверков – The Last Queen Of Noctyra: Awakening Of Aronella (страница 7)

You look like you crawled out of a grave, he muttered under his breath.

She did not understand every word, but she understood enough. Grave. Death. He sensed something wrong in her.

She pressed a hand to her throat and shook her head, pretending to be mute.

The man let out a breath.

Ah. Mute, are you? His face softened. Well, damn it. Itll be dark soon, and you know what its like out here.

He glanced back at the wagon and scratched the back of his head.

Listen. Heres what well do. Im heading into the city, to Talirion. Well make it before dark if we dont waste time. Climb in. Once we get there, you can sort yourself out.

She did not move.

He sighed, rummaged through the wagon, and pulled out an old patched cloak.

Put this on, he said, tossing it to her. Otherwise the guardsll think I kidnapped you, and Ive got enough taxes to worry about.

The cloak smelled of horse, hay, and sweat—foreign, strange, but not hostile. She drew it around her shoulders. The cloth was coarse and scratchy, but warm.

The man nodded, satisfied.

There. Better. You were standing there like a ghost. Come on.

He climbed back onto the bench and gestured for her to sit in the rear, atop the sacks.

She stepped toward the wagon and sprang lightly, almost soundlessly, onto the straw. The man turned and looked at her again. Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or suspicion.

You he began, then stopped. He waved a hand. Never mind. Lets go.

The horse moved. The wagon creaked, its wheels rattling over the stones. Fields, bushes, and scattered trees drifted past. The wind tugged at her hair, carrying the scent of grass and dust.

She sat atop the sacks, watching the forest recede, the road unwind ahead, and listening as the man muttered to himself—whether to the horse, to her, or simply to the empty road, she could not tell.

Damn these taxes, he grumbled. Soon theyll charge us for breathing. Trades dying, goods are rotting, and they just keep raising and raising. And now these monsters

She listened closely, catching familiar sounds and fitting them into meaning. Monsters. Taxes. Trade. City.

And they say the bloodhunters cant keep up anymore, he went on. Used to be people feared them. Now you call for one and none come. Roadsve turned dangerous. Third hunter they found in the woods nothing left but bones.

He glanced back at her over one shoulder.

You even know what bloodhunters are?

She silently shook her head.

Right. Mute. How would you know? He grinned. Never mind. Sit quiet. Youll learn soon enough.

The wagon rolled on.

The man did not stop talking—as if the road had left too many words in him and he simply needed to spill them before someone who would neither interrupt nor argue.

She listened.

Listened and remembered. Every word. Every sound. Every inflection.

The language was beginning to stir in her mind, assembling itself into the shape of the new world.

His name was Laen, and once he started, there was no stopping him. It was as though a dam had broken. Words poured out in a stream, and only reaching the city would end it. He spoke of everything—of the road, of the horse, of the weather, of the prices at market, of a neighbor who had bought a new cart and had become unbearable about it.

She was a fine horse, he said, nodding toward the mare. Ten years ago. Now shes old as dirt, hardly pulls at all. But I cant sell her. Shes family.

The horse flicked an ear, as though she understood.

Aronella sat on the sacks and absorbed every word.

The language was waking in her mind slowly but relentlessly. Familiar roots emerged from beneath the mass of altered sounds; ancient forms could still be glimpsed within the changed speech. Human language had evolved, but not so far that it had become wholly foreign.

Im going to the city on business, actually, Laen went on. My youngest boys twelve. Wanted to apprentice him to a cobbler. Thought a traded serve him his whole life. Keep his hands busy.

He sighed and adjusted the reins.

Then they raised the tax. They say there might be war. What war, I dont know. But if theres war, who needs boots? Soldiers. And soldiers get theirs from the state. So turns out I made the trip for nothing.

Aronella listened. His life was simple. Understandable. And impossibly far from everything she had once known.

Wherere you from, anyway? he asked suddenly, glancing back.

She shook her head, one hand against her throat.

Ah, right. Mute. He smirked. Well, maybe thats for the best. Sometimes the less you say, the longer you live.

He was quiet for a while, then added:

Listen if anyone in the city asks, youre my niece. A distant one. From a village. Just in case.

She nodded.

He looked back at her again, the same expression returning to his face—a mix of curiosity and unease.

Youre a strange one, he said simply. Cant figure whats wrong with you. But thats none of my business.

The wagon rolled on.

The sun sank lower. Shadows stretched longer. The air cooled. In the distance, along the horizon, the outline of a city began to emerge.

Aronella watched the walls drawing nearer and felt something rise inside her that was almost fear.

Soon she would see them.

Humans.

Thousands of them.

And none of them could know what she truly was.

There it is—Talirion, Laen said, nodding ahead. See the towers? Thats the port. And behind it—the city. Packed with people this time of day. Like ants.

The city grew larger by the moment. The walls climbed higher. The towers sharpened into view.

Guards at the gates, he added. You keep quiet. Ill tell them youre with me. Dont worry. Well get through.

The horse quickened her pace, as though she too sensed home ahead.

The city rose out of the evening haze slowly, almost reluctantly.

First came the walls—high, built from pale stone streaked dark by rain and time. They stretched in both directions as far as the eye could follow, and in their shape there was more than defense. There was ambition. A claim to permanence. Humans built as if they meant to stay.

Then the towers rose behind them—round, squat, slit with narrow embrasures. Smoke curled above them—hundreds of chimneys, thousands of hearths, dozens of forges. Even at a distance the air carried the smell of soot, fried meat, fish, and something else sweet and unfamiliar.

Talirion, Laen said, lifting himself slightly on the bench. Main port on the coast. Ships from all over the continent come through here. Trade, cargo, people youll see.

He spoke with pride, as though the city belonged to him.

Aronella watched without blinking.