Harmion by Richard A. Swingle

Author:Richard A. Swingle [Swingle, Richard A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781916117013
Published: 2019-07-15T22:00:00+00:00

17

Tritan looked longingly at the window, drops of water pattered against the glass in a soft percussive rhythm and he lost himself in the torrent's song. It had been steadily raining since last night’s performance. Tritan had met and sat with many of the farmers whilst Sal lulled them with her voice and strumming of her harp. Kal had intended on taking the Kid outside, unnoticed, to ascertain the seed supplies but the rain had settled in and restricted them. It was far from ideal but they would have to stay another night, they all knew the longer their presence was known, the greater the risk would be, but they had no choice. On the plus side it seemed Tritan was a greater performer than even he would have believed. After his third drink he had almost convinced himself he was the cultivator of a new, cheaper form of seed and had fully embraced his character of Toby. No one paid any interest of course, as had been expected, but the important information had been planted. Smiling faces had reflected back at him, wishing him luck as he thanked them and thought of the lives behind those smiles that would be ensnared should the plan come to fruition. It struck him then how far from the path Augustus had led the 11th Legion they were now straying. The intentions were still as dark and controlling but he had to give credit to Kal, the man knew what he was doing, in spite of the mess in which this ensemble had come together. But Tritan was distracted even still by the absence of his father. He never would have believed he would feel this way but he wished for his presence, he had so many questions that were unanswered. He thought about the suicidal mission Augustus had ventured upon. There was a part of Tritan too that wondered whether something really existed beyond the impassable mist. Was there something hidden away that might save Pietrich. No. That was impossible. He cursed himself for the thought. In truth he believed that Augustus attempting to traverse the barren landscape were as if a leaf trying to float upstream.

The rain had been singing its song now for hours, the sky was showing signs of light at last but the soft chorus of water splashing had become drones of screaming snarls. There was suddenly a sense of panic amongst the group; this was not the kind of deluge that visited fleetingly.

The rest of the townsfolk of Baurticeford had shut themselves into their homes and all kinds of travellers had held up in the taverns and stables, except in those, which had flooded. Thankfully the rivers of water ran right past the Oxen tavern and its adjacent stables, apart from some overspill that caused minor flooding where the doors met the street. Their horses were safe for now. The same could not be said for those in some of the stables in the lower part of the town.

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