Silas Jorn's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Silas Jorn poled his ferry across the dark water and pretended not to feel the ring against his chest. It hung there on a cord, cracked and heavy, stolen from a dead man's hand. He had worked this crossing for a month now, hood down, hands soft as a clerk's, listening for any word of who had drowned the ring's true owner and forced him into this water-bound hiding. He listened, and he watched. Today someone watched him back. The passenger sat near the bow. A merchant, gray coat, sharp eyes. Twice already the man's gaze had dropped to Silas's collar, where the cord showed. When Silas caught him staring, the merchant smiled a small, knowing smile. "That's a fine crest you wear," the merchant said. "I've seen it before. On a man they pulled from this river." Silas's grip tightened on the pole. If the merchant talked, the whole town would know a stranger wore a drowned lord's ring. His hiding place would collapse, and with it any chance of learning who did the drowning. He brought the ferry to the far stones and let the other passengers off first. Then he stalled, coiling rope, until only the merchant remained. An old man waited on the bank beside a weathered stone bridge, blue coat, brass buttons, a white beard that hid his mouth. Marcus Riverborn. He had guarded this river for forty years before his knees gave out, and now he mended nets for coin and watched everyone who passed. Silas had paid him once already, a copper for a name. Marcus had taken it without a word and delivered. Silas met his eye now and tipped his head toward the merchant. A question. Marcus limped down to the ferry's edge. He looked the merchant up and down like a fish gone bad. "You're the wool trader from downriver," Marcus said. "The one who owes three men money and skipped the toll last spring." He turned to Silas. "River Guard still wants a word with him. I could walk him up there right now." The merchant's smile died. His eyes went from the old guard to the water. "No need for that," the merchant said quickly. "I saw nothing. A common ring. I was mistaken." "Off my crossing, then," Silas said. His voice came out low and hard. The merchant scrambled onto the stones and hurried up the path, not looking back. Silas let out a slow breath. Marcus stayed. He watched Silas tuck the cord back under his collar, and his old eyes did not miss the ring. "You bought his silence with my mouth," Marcus said. "That merchant will tell others why he ran. And I know that crest too, ferryman. I saw it on a body." He held out a wide, cracked hand. "So now you'll tell me where you got it. Or I go to the Guard myself."