Clouds hung an ominous grey, threatening, but not giving, more rain. Which was a relief from the constant drizzle since they’d left the sorcerer’s house. Kaelyn’s clothes were damp and itchy and her feet hurt. She snorted. With all the walking she’d done, she would have thought she’d be used to it by now. But her boots had rubbed one of her heels raw and the scab over her wound ached and pulled.
Wyndham hadn’t said more than a few words to her and she couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or not. By the time she’d finished her conversation with the sorcerer, Cat had left, having told Wyndham his brother Harcourt was responsible for the slaughter at Mythnar along with the merchant barons–although he couldn’t name anyone else. Cat hadn’t thought Reynold was involved, which was at least a small blessing.
She couldn’t begin to imagine what Wyndham was thinking, only that from his expression it wasn’t pleasant.
A solider stepped from the underbrush, sword drawn. “State your business.”