Jewels of Power
by Jamie K. Schmidt © 2006
Chapter One
There were days when Maeve believed her own lies; that she was only a tavern owner, wealthy at a young age from the gold she earned because of her skill with the sword. But some mornings, she awoke with a thrill of terror, clutching the stolen amulet. Like this morning.
Maeve swung her legs out of bed and bent over until the nausea passed. Propping her elbows on her knees, she pressed her palms into her eyes, forcing the memories back. The jeweled necklace nestled warmly between her breasts. Its electric warmth pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Even though she was still in her nightgown, she reached next to her and unsheathed her sword. Instantly, her headache cleared and she was able to stand on shaky legs. She rolled the blade, working the kinks out of her wrists and walked to the large oval mirror.
“Bethany . . .” Maeve whispered and placed her left hand on the mirror’s surface. The nightmare clinging to her, she wanted to see her sister. “Show me Bethany.” The mirror clouded and a mist swirled inside, but then cleared. Maeve’s own reflection stared balefully back at her. Scared, rabbit brown eyes darkened to a rich earth color as she scowled. She looked pale and rubbed her hand wearily over her face to get some color back. Her wild black hair, mussed from sleep, lent her a mad woman’s air. As she made a face at herself in the mirror, the dread slipped back into the shadows of the room as the sky lightened with the first rays of morning.
Maeve saluted the mirror with the sword before placing the weapon reverently on the bed. She chose her sword for its beauty, buying it with the money she had won in the arena. She needed a flashy sword to impress would be clients that she was the mercenary they were looking for. Who else could afford and defend to own such a treasure? Maeve never liked the balance much on it, but the firey blue opals on the hilt made it worth the price. The leather on the grip was dyed the same color to match. Much later, she had added the obsidian as a pommel stone to help even out the balance. It reminded her of a worry stone. She stroked a finger over the smooth cool surface and smiled.
She dressed by throwing on men’s trousers and a loose fitting shirt. She plaited her hair with deft fingers and then pushed her braid aside to buckle on a back sheath. The sword rested there with a comforting weight. Maeve slipped plain iron daggers into the two bracers she wore on her wrists. Ugly, narrow things with a wicked edge, they were forged to last. Industrious, hard working and common, Maeve was once like her daggers. She had them since childhood. They were from the time of nightmares. Maeve smiled wistfully at the mirror one last time and then headed downstairs.
The smell of baking bread was just starting to fragrant the air of the common room of the tavern. Maeve scanned the room and noted that most the guests were still asleep on the taproom’s floor. A troupe of traveling entertainers had taken up the all the upstairs rooms and she had a full house. The revelry lasted well into the night so she wasn’t surprised at the silence.
“Wash yer hands,” her cook, Kidtch, told her without turning from the oven. As she entered the kitchen, he pulled out five loaves of crusty bread. The tops of them were browned with butter. He filled the small room with his bulk. Battle scarred and missing an eye, he was a fearsome sight.
“They’re clean,” Maeve said, dipping her hands into a basin. She splashed some water on her face to help her wake up. But the chills of early morning and some unknown expectation made her shiver with silvery jitters. Grabbing an apron, she mopped her face. “What’s for lunch?”
“Venison stew. Start choppin’ the taters.”
“Ugh. Are you trying to poison us?” Maeve teased and was rewarded with a nasty glare from Kidtch’s good eye. He was the best cook in three towns and he knew it.
Maeve eagerly started on the vegetables and the two of them worked in companionable silence. Her nerves started to relax as her mind cleared and her body took over the familiar and comforting task of cooking. Kidtch handled the kitchen knives with the ease of an assassin, as he carved a roasted chicken that he just took off the spit. Maeve found herself wondering again why he quit the mercenary life to be a cook in a small village. She wiped her hands and figured probably for the same reason she did. It didn’t pay much, but the odds you’d wake up to see another day greatly improved. However, whereas Maeve tended to get antsy and itchy for the road, Kidtch seemed content to cook in a small, but well traveled inn. And when Kidtch was deep into his cups, he’d sometimes hint at his dark past and of monsters that stalked the weak.
“Sorry, I’m late!” Nell bustled in, sloshing milk from a pail. “Derek is bringing the eggs later.”
“Later? What are we going to serve for breakfast?” Kidtch turned his evil eye on her, but turned beet red when Nell merely kissed him on the cheek. He gaped after her as she pushed by Maeve to dump the milk into a pitcher.
“The lot of them will be fine with the day old bread and some milk,” Nell started filling up a platter. “My bum’s still black and blue from all the drunken sods pinching it last night.”
“And if I recall, you gave one of the merchants a black eye,” Maeve said.
Nell lifted a slim shoulder in an innocent shrug and banged the swinging door open with her hip, as she carried the platter of meat and bread into the taproom.
Maeve grinned. “I’m going to go check the stables. Let’s get our guests fed and on their way. I like their gold, but truth, as not, I had enough of their antics last night. ”
“I’d take a bad bard mooning love songs than a juggler and acrobats any day,” Kidtch said.
“The bard’s easier on the furniture,” Maeve agreed and walked outside the back door that Nell had come in from.
Kidtch just grunted and stirred the soup. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take a swig from a leather-covered bottle.
Outside behind the tavern, Maeve took a deep breath. The sun was just starting to poke out of the clouds and the air was perfumed with the crisp smell of autumn leaves. Off in the distance she could see the Fitzroy’s farm. One of Nell’s four brothers was already at the plow. At this distance, she couldn’t tell which one, but it probably wasn’t the youngest. Derek was the closest thing to a sweetheart Maeve had, but he was no more a farmer than Nell was. He was probably still in bed or up in the hayloft dreaming of the adventurer’s life. Maeve smiled as she remembered how enthralled he was listening to the merchant’s tales last night. She loved to watch him, his innocence. They were the same age, yet she felt years older. He had the farm and the love of his family to see him through these past twenty years. How he could even look at her and not see the taint of the gutter on her, Maeve would never know.
The morning air blew cool on the back of her neck and Maeve felt a twitching in her shoulder blades. The medallion pulsed red. Whirling, her sword was in her hand before she completed the turn.
“Are you as good as they say you are?” The man had a broadsword pointing at her.
“Nope,” Maeve said, looking him over. He was dressed in a fine leather vest and breeches and had the look of the city about him. She vaguely remembered him from the night before. He hadn’t drank much and asked for a wench for the evening. Nell had told him that he wasn’t able to get those services at this inn and he had taken the news surprisingly well. Most tried their charms on Nell and backed off only when Maeve and her sword stepped in.
The man lunged and swung at her head. She ducked under the sword and thrust the point of her blade into his thigh. He didn’t even react, except to backhand her in the face with the hand that was fisted around the sword as he brought his weapon back around. Maeve rolled with the punch and began the sword dance.
“Coward,” he snarled as their blades met.
Maeve could not have answered him if she tried. She felt the trance sweep over her and her arm and body moved under the power of the sword. Where ever he was, she wasn’t. It was a simple, yet intricate dance. He was very good, but his thigh wound made him slower and clumsy. She was on the defensive looking for an opening, but he covered himself well. She managed to nick both his arms until they were covered with blood, but he seemed not to notice.
When he stepped forward with his good leg and entered into her dance, the shock nearly popped her out of the trance. He gouged her shoulder before she could move away. She danced full defensively as her mind struggled with the knowledge that she faced another sword master for the first time in five years. Their blades met again with a clang as metal slammed into metal. The amulet was hot and heavy on her chest, as Maeve stepped up her attack. No longer content to fight until her challenger was panting on the ground, too beaten and tired to move, Maeve knew she needed to kill this one. She felt the pain in her shoulder now. It hurt so bad her jaw ached from her clenched teeth. The last time she took a wound was back in the early days. It burned each time his sword slammed into her’s. Maeve felt the onrush of panic. She realized she would tire first. He hammered away at her sword arm. But he was wounded too and the open wound in his leg threw off his balance. He slipped out of the dance. The moment was all she needed and Maeve kicked out at his knee. He buckled and went down. She went for the killing blow, but he evaded it and grabbed her arm, throwing her over him and off balance. Maeve skinned her chin on ground and felt the breath leave her in a whoosh. She lost her grip on the sword. Panicking, she turned over on her back and scuttled like a crab away from him.
“Maeve!” She heard someone call her name from a long distance, but knew they would be too late.
The sword master staggered to his feet. His face was contorted with pain and he used his sword to steady himself. “Swordspelled,” he spat. “Hah! You are not as good as they say you are.”
“I am a sword master,” Maeve heard the hysterical tone of her voice and forced herself to her feet. How did he know the name of her amulet? Her eyes darted quickly to her fallen sword and then back to him.
“You’ll never make it,” he vowed, lifting his sword. But instead of pressing his attack, he reached inside his vest and uncovered a flat black disk.
He spoke a word of power and for an instant her breath stopped as the disk pulsed to life. Cold fire poured over her body and her amulet winked out.
Maeve screamed and dropped back to her knees. She clawed at it, but it was dead, lifeless. She heard him coming and didn’t care. Without that amulet, she was a child again in Zelec’s service. “No,” she whimpered.
“Magic is no substitution for talent, pretender,” he said, drew back his blade.
“How? How did you know?” Maeve asked, beseeching him.
An arrow whizzed by them both. “What?” he said, turning his head towards the source.
Maeve reached into her wrist sheath and jabbed a dagger into his foot.
“You die now!” He roared and slashed at her, ignoring two more arrows that shot out and missed him.
He caught her with a glancing blow across her back as she got to her feet and started to run. She out distanced him easily and headed for the barn.
“Coward! Bloody coward!” He yelled after her.
Maeve slammed open the door and ignored the frightened horses. She looked around for a weapon and found only a riding crop and a pitchfork. The amulet flared to life again and she sagged against the wall in relief. Not dispelled, then. She touched her back and her hand came away covered in blood. Even if she could saddle the horse in time, she wouldn’t get far with these wounds. She couldn’t go out there against a real sword master armed with a pitchfork, either. If he knew about the swordspell amulet, did he also know about the magehand bracelet? Was her sister running for her life at this point too?
“Bethany,” Maeve whispered and gasped again as the amulet froze against her. He was coming closer. And she had effectively trapped herself. Maeve pressed herself close to the wall and moved behind the open door. She watched the shadows change and heard his limping gait as he approached the barn.
“You’re next, boy.” Maeve heard him mutter as two arrows thunked into the side of the barn. She now knew it was Derek out there with his bow. Why didn’t he go inside and get Kidtch?
The sword master dragged his injured foot slightly so Maeve was warned when he stepped into the doorway. She kicked the barn door closed with all her might, then ran to the other side of the barn. She heard a grunt as it hit the sword master, but immediately it flung open again. Maeve slapped the riding crop hard on his hand that held his sword. He sneered and brought the sword up to punch her again, but missed. Maeve felt the blade shear through the sleeve of her shirt as she backpedaled deeper into the barn. She grabbed the pitchfork and kept him at arm’s length. He advanced slashing at the tines. Maeve unbuckled the stalls of the horses as she passed them.
“Ya! Ya!” She yelled and the horses burst out.
She heard the sword master cursing as he dodged out of the way of the horses. Maeve dropped the pitchfork and scrambled up the ladder to the hayloft. She pulled the ladder up with her and gazed down at her attacker.
When the horses had scattered into the courtyard, they were alone in the barn. The only sound was Maeve’s ragged breathing.
“Rance Merdock sends his regards,” the sword master said, squinting up at her. Maeve pelted him with an apple. He laughed. “Throw down the swordspell amulet and I’ll let you live.”
“It’s useless to you,” Maeve said and threw another apple at him.
“It’s not for me. Your former employer just wants his property back. Well, and your painful death, of course. But you’ve proven more trouble than I’ve been paid for. So I’ll settle for the amulet. I’ll let the other bounty hunters take care of you.”
“Maeve!” Derek ran into the barn. He was carrying her sword in his hands.
“Go get Kidtch!” Maeve screamed.
“You,” the sword master said, “I’m getting tired of your interference.” He advanced on Derek.
Maeve leapt from the hayloft and careened into the sword master. The grip on his sword released when they hit the ground. He broke her fall, but they both lay winded for a moment. The pain in her back and shoulder stole her breath and she fought the darkness that started to close in on her. She felt him stir. With a surge of adrenaline, Maeve freed her last dagger and plunged it through his throat.
He tried to grab his sword, but died choking on his own blood.
Maeve scrabbled off him and surged unsteadily to her feet. She retched a few times in the empty stall.
“You’re hurt!” Derek said, pressing her sword into her hands. He pushed the hair out of her face and looked into her eyes. “Maeve, how can I help?”
“Go get Kidtch,” she shook free of him. “Wait!” She said as he started to turn. “Take that. . . that thing.” She poked the tip of her sword at the flat black disk the sword master still clutched in his hand.
Derek bent and pried it free, “What is it?”
“Drop it down the privy,” Maeve said.
He gave her a strange look, but loped off to do her bidding. When the amulet surged to life again, Maeve dropped to her knees next to the body. Instincts she forgot she had took over and she wiped the dagger clean on the sword master’s vest. After it was secured back in her wrist sheath, she patted down the body. She looked up as Kidtch came barreling into the barn, holding his huge axe. Derek was right behind him.
“I take back what I said about ya, boy.” Kidtch pried two arrows free from the door. “Apparently, you can hit the broad side of a barn.”
“Maeve’s hurt. Her back and shoulder . . .”
“I can see the blood, boy. Go and fetch the horses before they trample yer Pa’s corn.”
“What if there are more of them? I want to stay and protect Maeve.”
Maeve’s head shot up. “I don’t need your help,” she snapped. Then as Derek flushed bright red, she softened her tone. “That’s not true. You’ve done enough for me today. If it hadn’t been for your distractions . . . “Maeve shrugged. “It’ll be all right, now. Please, just give me back my sword and do as Kidtch says.”
“I’ll meet you inside,” he said and left them alone in the barn.
Maeve clutched her sword like a lifeline and took deep, gulping breaths. “I’m not going to throw up,” she said.
“Tryin’ to convince yerself or me?” Kidtch said as he laid the great axe against the barn.
“He,” Maeve punched the dead man for emphasis," was better than me.”
Kidtch whistled. “I’ve never seen anyone that good.”
“Pray you don’t again.”
“What do you have there, Lass?”
Maeve tossed him a pouch of coins, “Look’s like a bounty hunter.”
Kidtch eyed the money. “Looks like we’ll fare the winter all right after all.”
Maeve smirked and winced at the pain. She unfurled a document and read it while Kidtch removed her back sheath.
He made a tsking sound. ”Tis only a scratch back here. It’s the shoulder I’m worried about.”
“It’s the horses I’m more concerned with.” Maeve’s voice to her own ears sounded very far away. There was roaring inside her head. Five years of freedom and it was all over.
This note entitles the bearer to use deadly force to apprehend the thief, Maevelyn Sanxon, and retrieve the ruby amulet back to its rightful owner, his Lordship Rance Merdock.
“I’m going to go get something to clean your wounds. Would you like to come with me or are you content to stay here amongst the dead and the horse shit?”
Maeve crumpled the document and allowed Kidtch to help her up. “Since you put it like that, let’s go in through the back door. There’s no need to scare the guests.” Like a sleepwalker she stumbled back to the tavern where she tossed the note into the kitchen’s fire.
***
Maeve could hear Nell and Derek taking care of the guests in the taproom. The horses had indeed bolted into the Fitzroy’s fields, but with the help of his brothers, Derek had them all calmed down and awaiting their riders. Maeve slapped away Kidtch’s hands and cut open the front her shirt with the dagger. She winced as he sloshed cold water into the shoulder wound.
“Since he was a swordsmaster, we can assume the blade wasn’t poisoned.”
Maeve closed her eyes and allowed a slight whimper as Kidtch cleaned and dressed it. She tried to take her mind away; to focus on contacting Bethany. Maeve jumped when Kidtch tore her shirt in two to work on the back wound.
“It was ruined anyways,” he said apologetically as Maeve clutched the bloody tatters of her shirt to her breasts and glared at him over her good shoulder. “He wasn’t that good, Luv, you’re still standing and you’ll survive these little nicks.”
“Comforting, as always.” Maeve gritted between her teeth as he finished with the wounds.
“Doesn’t even require stitching.”
Maeve felt herself blanch and she groped for a seat.
“No, no, no,” Kidtch said, grabbing her sword arm and propelling her back to her feet. “Faint in yer own room and not in my kitchen. Derek!”
Derek burst through the swinging door with a dagger in his hands.
Kidtch snorted with laughter. “Take her up to her room and for the Gods sakes, give her back the dagger before you hurt yourself with it.”
Derek rolled his eyes at the cook and handed Maeve back her dagger and gently supported her weight. “I think I did quite well out there.”
“You did,” Maeve murmured and kissed his ear as they made their way upstairs. They both ignored Kidtch’s disgusted sigh.
“Close the door,” she said and staggered towards the mirror. “Bethany!” She urged as Derek pulled a chair over for her to sit. She sank into it gratefully.
“I was almost too late,” Derek tugged gently on her shirt until she reluctantly let go. “I’ll get you a shirt. You are so beautiful.” He trailed his fingers over her and grinned at her reaction.
“Don’t bother,” Maeve said and pulled him down on his knees to face her. Sword fighting always affected her like this. She gripped the back of his head and kissed him roughly. He groaned deep in his throat and grabbed her shoulders. Maeve’s cry of pain broke the kiss.
“Gods, I’m such a clod,” Derek jumped to his feet and clenched his fists. “I’m so sorry. I got carried away. I just. . .” he sighed, “want you so much.”
“It’s just not the right time for us,” Maeve snapped and got up to walk across the room and pulled a silk shirt over her head. She was still in pain, but she was satisfied that the wounds did not impede her movement. But Gods, it stung! She glared at Derek one last time and felt the tension slip away from her. Perhaps it was for the best. After a sword fight, her thoughts usually ran on the lustful side. This time it would have been complicated. She would have taken advantage of him, no matter how willing he would have been.
“It’s never the right time,” Derek ran a disgusted hand through his long brown hair.
Maeve smiled as he turned his back on her and stoked the fire angrily. They had shared a few kisses, mostly when Maeve had a few glasses of wine, but nothing serious. He was Nell’s little brother and a little too dramatic to be taken seriously. He had just started the fire roaring again when the mirror’s surface coalesced into a slim, blonde woman whose only resemblance to Maeve was in the shape of her amber eyes and proud, stubborn chin. “Maeve, are you there?”
“They’ve found me, Bethany.” Maeve said simply, sitting back in the chair in front of the mirror.
“You too? I’ve spent most of the morning repelling spells that tried to get through my wards.”
“That’s dumb,” Maeve shook her head. “Send a mercenary after a mage, not another slinger.”
“They tried that. The first got electrocuted. The second burst into flames.”
“Let me guess, the third you turned into a toad?” Maeve grinned.
“You’re hurt,” Bethany said, her cross expression fading into one of concern.
“Derek, can you leave me for a moment?” Maeve said
“Hello Bethany,” Derek kissed Maeve on the cheek and then dipped his head to catch her eyes. “You can trust me, you know.”
“I know. It’s not that. Please?”
“Take care, Derek.” Bethany told him.
He nodded and closed the door behind him.
“He loves you, Maeve.”
“Don’t start this now, Bethany. There’s more important things at hand.”
“There is never anything more important than love.” Bethany sounded jealous. “He’s strong and handsome and obviously devoted to you.”
“He’s young.”
“He’s the same age as you are.”
“He’s naïve,” Maeve amended.
“There are worse crimes.”
“Not when assassins carry magic weapons that negate my amulet.”
Bethany’s gaze narrowed in fear. “Describe it.”
Before Maeve was finished, Bethany was cursing, “A riftstone. That’s an expensive little artifact.”
“Is your tower secure?” Maeve asked.
“Against something that tiny, yes. But one-to-one? I’d be just as vulnerable as you were. Well, that settles it. Here I remain until this blows over.”
“I don’t know about that. The bounty hunter that came after me held a writ and hinted that there were more to come.”
“Then you come here,” Bethany said. “Leave the inn to Kidtch and Nell and spend the winter with me.”
“Holed up in a vault with no where to run? No thanks.” Maeve said. “Perhaps, he got lucky and the rest of them don’t know where we are?”
“Our trail has been cold for several years now and we’re hundreds of miles away from Merdock,” Bethany agreed.
“Don’t even say his name to me,” Maeve hissed and grabbed her amulet protectively. “The bounty hunter was sent by him.”
Bethany’s brow furrowed in thought. “Let’s sit on this awhile longer and see what develops. If we ran like doomed chickens every time someone threatened us with a knife, we’d never stop running. I’m not being forced out of my home. I’m powerful, Maeve. I could stop the sun!” There was a maniacal glint in her eyes that Maeve didn’t like.
“Hope you don’t meet up with a riftstone big enough to prove you wrong.”
Bethany’s eyes cleared with humor, “If I do, then I’ll start running. Until then, have Derek keep your bed warm and kiss him once for me.”
“As if I didn’t have enough problems,” Maeve said and raised her hand as her sister’s image in the mirror faded.
Maeve strode to the window and looked out at the courtyard below. Her guests were leaving and good riddance. She’d have to ask Derek what he did with the body of the bounty hunter. Then again, as long as it wasn’t around to spook the horses she really didn’t care. Maeve grabbed a broom and headed off the clean the rooms. She probably should be resting her shoulder and back, but she needed to keep busy.
Rance Merdock was still alive. Why no one has managed to stick a knife in his evil, black heart was beyond her. Maeve started coughing as a cloud of dust choked her from her overzealous sweeping. She opened the window and sat out on the sill and looked out over the countryside, taking deep breaths of the cool air.
Green Valley was aptly named. It had seemed like paradise to the two young city rats that had fled here. Maeve had a boatload of gold from her skill with the sword and Bethany had provisions and supplies from the grateful townsfolk her magic had helped. They would have carried on like that traveling from major city to city. But they were beginning to get a reputation and recognition wasn’t what they were looking for. It had all seemed so simple back then when the only plan was to escape Zelec’s band and strike it rich on their own.
Maeve left the windows open to air out the room and went on to the next one. Nell was stripping the bedding and gathering it up for the wash.
“Two men downstairs are asking about you,” she said over her shoulder.
“What are they asking?” Maeve felt a coldness settle in her chest. So soon?
“They were looking for the proprietor. Kidtch is taking care of them. Rough looking sorts, except for the dog. He’s kinda cute.”
“You won’t think he’s so cute when he craps on the floor,” Maeve said crossly and went back to her room for her sword.
There was no way she was going to endure the back sheath with her wound, so she bucked on a wide black sword belt. She looked like a pirate with her flapping red shirt and wild black hair.
“Ahargh,” Maeve snarled into the mirror and went downstairs into the kitchen. She could hear Kidtch’s rumbling voice but couldn’t make out the words. She grabbed a hunk of cheese and some bread and crept towards the swinging doors. Maeve laid herself flat against the wall, ignoring the twinge in her back. She could see Kidtch behind the bar. His back was to her and he blocked the gentleman he was speaking to.
“Yer welcome to stay on your way to the tower. It’s a day and a half’s ride from here, but you’ll be able to see it on the horizon if you go a few hours East.”
Maeve almost choked on her bread. “Why was Kidtch giving directions to Bethany’s tower?”
“I appreciate that, kind sir. We’d like a room for tonight. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”
Icy fingers raised the hairs on the back of Maeve’s neck. She knew that voice. It was silky, but rough like the man who owned it. The same now as it was in her ear five years ago. A tear slid down her face. Dante.
Maeve heard a low rumbling growl.
“You will be responsible for any messes that dog makes,” Kidtch said.
“Fang is housebroken,” another voice said and rose from a crouching position.
“Kev,” Maeve whispered as his face came into view. He hadn’t changed. His ebony hair was cut close to his swarthy face and he sported a slim mustache and beard. He was the size of an oak tree, with a huge barrel chest. He towered over Kidtch. Kev had been the sweetest, simplest boy in the gang. His size and sheer brute strength was what helped him survive. He was Dante’s kid brother and they even brought along Fang. Fang, more wolf than dog, probably smelled her scent by now and was whining aggressively.
Maeve stepped away from the door and took a long swallow of lemon water from the pitcher on the counter. The last time she saw them, they were in a prison cell. The last time they saw her, she and Bethany were escaping from the murder of Rafe Zelec.
Running back up the stairs, Maeve threw open her door and locked it behind her.
“Bethany! Bethany, damn it!” Maeve pounded her fist on the mirror. But it stayed solid. She wasn’t a mage. She couldn’t open the communication without Bethany’s help and if Bethany wasn’t in listening range, Maeve could screech all day to no avail.
Maeve sunk back into the chair. What did Dante and Kev want with Bethany? Did they come to warn her or take her back to Merdock? Maeve sprung out of her seat and grabbed her saddlebags. Wounds or no wounds, if she left tonight, she will beat them to the tower by a half a day. She took out her dagger and sliced open a sewed pouch in her mattress. Maeve took out a sack and counted out 50 gold pieces. She tucked the bedding around the empty pocket and put the pouch into the saddlebags along side a change of clothes. She’d fill up her wineskin with water and grab some chow from the kitchen. Maeve grinned. This would be just like old times.
“Old times,” she said sadly looking at her reflection in the mirror.
To be continued