Legend of the Ravenstone by M.S. Verish Read Free Book Online Page B

pensive, facing the busy city street. Where would one inquire about a caravan? He would think such a scheduled congregation would be obvious, but Belorn was a large city, and everyone in sight had a destination and a purpose. He merely had to find someone who shared his intended course.
    There was a strange cry from above him, and Arcturus turned to see a white hawk perched upon the tailor’s sign. It cocked its head toward him and opened its hooked bill as if to speak.
    More than a coincidence? Feeling rather foolish, he queried, “Hawkwing?”
    The bird merely stared with its piercing blue eyes.
    “Such nonsense,” Arcturus muttered, waving the bird away. It did not stir, but he had already turned his back to the creature and was walking down the street. He did not have to try hard to avoid the pedestrians and carts; most people avoided him. The aroma of fresh bakery drew his attention, despite the fact that he had eaten before he had left the castle. Kariayla will be famished, he thought, his mouth watering at the sight of the pies and pastries. He purchased a pair of cheese tarts from the gawking baker and was delighted to spy a wine-seller across the way. Just a little will do, as I will be without for some time, I expect.
    Arcturus asked for a taste, and the vendor did not deny him. He brought the cup to his lips and breathed in the fragrance he knew so well. Humans made a fair drink, but the quality could never match Markanturian wine. How he longed to taste the sweet nectar of his native grapes! One hundred and eighty-two years since I have gone, and I can still recall the flavor....
    “The white is mellower, I find.”
    Arcturus looked up from his cup to see the owner of the deep voice. He looked higher still, for the man was exceedingly tall—at least a foot taller than most men. This was a gentleman, for he was well-dressed, his dark hair combed away from his face, his beard neatly trimmed around his mouth. Arcturus was hard-pressed to determine his age, though he doubted this stranger had reached his middle years as far as Humans were concerned. “I beg your pardon?”
    “I admit to being a poor judge of flavor,” the gentleman said, “but there is a taste to the white that appeals to me.” He extended a gloved hand. “Jaharo Halensa.”
    “Arcturus Prentishun.” They shook. I know I have heard that name before.
    “Like you, I am not a native to this city, but I have been here before—mostly on business.”
    “You are a perceptive man,” Arcturus said, still unsure of the stranger’s motives. “What manner of business brings you here?”
    Jaharo smiled. “The same business that takes me everywhere: maps. I am a cartographer.”
    Arcturus’s mouth fell open. “That is where I have heard your name,” he murmured in awe. “You are the Jaharo Halensa? Your work is known throughout Secramore. And I must say that your maps are the most detailed, most accurate pieces of art that I have had the pleasure of reading.” He extended his hand again and shook Jaharo’s vigorously. “It is an honor to meet you.”
    “Come now, Arcturus, you award me far too much acclaim.”
    “Not at all, my good man. I am in the profession of assessing antiquities, and I can appreciate excellent craftsmanship when I see it.” He raised his cup to Jaharo and took a drink.
    “Are my maps so old?” Jaharo asked with a laugh. “I am overwhelmed by your flattery, and I regret that our meeting be truncated so abruptly. I am committed to a caravan traveling east. The party will be departing shortly.”
    Arcturus brightened. “My good man, you have inadvertently been the deliverer I had been seeking. My companion and I are also scheduled for this caravan, though I was uncertain where to rendezvous.”
    “Companion?” Jaharo queried, looking around them.
    “Dear me!” Arcturus nearly dropped his cup. “I left her at the tailor’s. Where might our party be meeting?”
    “The eastern gate,” Jaharo said. “I will