Wren Journeymage Read Online Free PDF

way!”
    Mistress Falin seated herself at a worktable across from Wren. Pots of ink in all colors stood neatly arranged, and scrolls of paper lay piled in a basket. Mistress Falin leaned her elbows on the desk and rubbed her hands as she tittered again. “What a treasure! I have heard so many tales of you!” And once more she laughed.
    Wren looked at the window, and forced herself to smile. Mistress Falin was obviously trying her very hardest to be welcoming, but as she chattered on, asking questions about the war that Wren forced herself to answer, and tittering as though something was funny when nothing was, Wren’s head began to ache. She couldn’t help wishing she were on the road now, rain or no rain.
    And so, after a restless, headachy night of bad sleep, she welcomed the faint blue light of dawn. Time to go.
    Wren pulled on her favorite traveling outfit, which was a long light green tunic with a plain brown sash. It was comfortable, anonymous—any young prentice might wear such clothes in summer—and she liked the sash, which was extra wide, so she could tuck things into it.
    She shoved her feet into her sandals, straightened out the little guest bed in the cozy alcove under the roof, and tiptoed noiselessly to the stairs.
    Mistress Falin’s chamber door was still closed. Wren slipped down the narrow stairs and entered the parlor where they’d sat so long last night.
    Wren knew it was rude to leave without thanks. If I hear that giggle once more I’ll jump out the window , she thought, and looked on the desk for a scrap of paper. It was odd that the mage had sat there with her ink and pens and paper all ready, but she hadn’t done one bit of actual work. Of course she might have thought it impolite to work while listening.
    Shrugging, Wren found a little scrap of paper, blew the dust off, and dipped a pen in a waiting inkpot to write: Thank you for your hospitality , Mistress Falin . I did not want to waken you , but I must get an early start .
    Wren signed it, slipped out the door, ran down the brick steps, and bustled down the street to the main road, now slowly until she was safely out of range of that giggle.
    There she met a trade caravan just setting out. Wagon after wagon rolled by as she walked at the roadside to let the patient horses and oxen pass; at length someone called, “Ho, there, you in green! Prentice? Traveling? Want a ride?”
    Two girls with bristly bright red braids drove a laden wagon drawn by a pair of sturdy oxen. Up behind in back sat an old woman.
    One of the redheads spoke. “We could use someone to spell us driving. There being only three of us for two wagons,” and she indicated the wagon behind them, equally laden, with a tall, sturdy redheaded boy on the box.
    This boy had darker red hair, worn in a neat ponytail. Wren thought of Connor, and felt that familiar, sharp inward pang. How she missed him!
    “I think I can handle oxen. Unless they get too frisky,” she said, and the girls laughed, one scooting over to make space.
o0o
    Three days later, just about the time that Hawk entered Teressa’s ballroom wearing a fabulously made, sinister black and silver mask of a wolf, Wren stepped down from the wagon.
    “Have a good trip,” she called, waving as the caravan turned down southward into Fil Gaen.
    “You too!” cried the girls together.
    Wren stood at the sign post while the last of the caravan rolled by, dust rising from the wheels and blowing inland. The sign post had an arrow pointing down the road, next to the words Hroth Harbor .
    Wren set out at a brisk pace, thinking back over the trip, which had been uneventful—even riding past the border of Hawk Rhiscarlan’s land.
    She’d always intended to find someone to travel with past Rhiscarlan territory, but to her surprise the girls had said cheerfully, “No trouble any more. The Duke has riders out patrolling. They chase off anyone who even looks like a brigand.”
    And their Granny, who spoke seldom, had cackled,