Under Cold Moons (The Crowns of Talam Book 1) by L.E. Van Veen

Author:L.E. Van Veen [Van Veen, L.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Storied Stars Books LLC
Published: 2023-12-06T16:00:00+00:00

25

Weylin

Weylin’s eyes blinked open to a dark room with candlelight flickering against sloped canvas walls.

The last thing he remembered was Ellora storming away from the fallen tree to fill her flask at a nearby brook. He was checking over his map when a pain shot through his head. Before he could react to it, he fell into the grass.

And then he lost consciousness.

He had been left to the will of whoever his attackers had been.

He pushed himself up as he glanced about the puball. The puballs were larger, more permanent versions of the tents laochs carried in their packs when away for overnight journeys. They were common in smaller villages and were a form of living as ancient as the world tellers’ books.

An unexpected rush of relief shot through him when he noticed Ellora’s unconscious body next to him. He watched the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest long enough to know that she still lived. Her face was so much different like this—when every glance his way was not dagger-sharp or full of spite. She was beautiful in a simple way. Freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Her cheekbones sat high on her face and her lips were full.

The way she had not questioned the reasoning of atruach to bind her to him alarmed him. The ways of honor-bound duties were a thing of the past, and she had accepted something he had almost offered in jest with little dispute. He did not know what she was up to, but planned to keep her close until he could discover exactly what she was hiding.

He dragged his gaze from her and noted the two elves sitting in chairs near the entrance flaps. Their eyes were trained upon him, watching every slight move of his muscles. They did not look threatening, but curious, cautious even.

Weylin slowly drew himself to his feet, his hands held out in front of him in a way to say that he was not a threat.

“Your name?” the larger of the two men spoke in a deep, booming voice, and they both rose.

“Fenian Daro. This is my companion, Ellora Morlee, and we were headed south before our journey was so rudely and abruptly brought to a halt.”

“What beckons you to Samhradh?” the second male spoke in a slightly higher pitch.

He was short and skinny, while the other was tall and bulky. They wore the traditional leathers of ancient laochs that fit more comfortably than modern attire.

“Our families live there,” Weylin lied for the both of them. “We were visiting extended family in the north. Helping them get back on their feet and making funeral arrangements.”

The men looked at each other. The slimmer of the two nodded and Weylin gathered he held the higher rank of the pair.

“Are you aware that you trespassed on the territory of the Spiorad Tribe?”

“I was not aware, no,” Weylin answered honestly. He had seen no indications on his map. He figured they must be small enough to not have a location on common maps.

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