Suddenly, that conviction seemed foolish and impulsive, yet her excitement remained undimmed. When she’d crossed every other location off her list, she’d been absolutely positive. She’d read and questioned, researched and wrestled, and Thune had been the city she’d chosen. She’d never prepared as much for any one moment.
Viv felt a rising sense of nervous elation, something she hadn’t felt in years, like a battle-cry she could barely hold in. She followed the road down and into the valley as the fog burned away, and a lonely farmer’s cart tottered by, stuffed with alfalfa. She could feel it like a hard, withered apple, and reflexively touched it through the cloth from time to time to reassure herself it was still there.Ī leather satchel hung over one shoulder, stuffed mostly with notes and plans, a few chunks of hardtack, a purse of platinum chits and assorted precious stones, and one small, curious device. Blackblood weighed heavy on her back, the Scalvert’s Stone tucked in one of her inner jacket pockets. She had broken camp in the predawn dark, and her long legs had eaten up the final few miles.
Here and there, a copper-clad steeple flashed in the sun. The city of Thune bristled up from a bed of fog that hazed the banks of the river bisecting it. Viv stood in the morning chill, looking down into the broad valley below.
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