Free Dragonoak: The Complete History of Kastelir by Sam Farren Page B

tongue and I'd had to dig to remember my own name. Poor as it was, Rán didn't hold my introduction against me. She smiled in a way that thankfully didn't show off as many of her teeth, immediately turning to leave.
    Relief claimed me and immediately loosened its grasp: Rán was gone, but she'd left with the bag containing Sir Ightham's dragon-bone armour. I didn't dare to think what would await me if I returned to Sir Ightham empty-handed. Horns or no horns, I probably wouldn't have come out of it in one piece.
    I did the most foolish thing I could think of.
    I ran after the pane.
    I soon learnt that there was one major advantage to walking with a pane: people got out of the way, and they did so quickly. Rán walked at a comfortable pace, but I had to half-jog to match her stride.
    “What's that dragon-slayer having you fetch?” she asked, looking down at me.
    The words came automatically, loudly.
    “Food, pans, bitterwillow.”
    I gripped the coins tightly, fifty valts in five and ten pieces, afraid that one would slip between my fingers and roll along the street, lost under someone's boot or a stray cart. Worse still, I was afraid they'd lose their value simply by being in my possession. On the verge of causing the coins to sweat, I focused on making sure I hadn't dropped any; it gave me an excuse not to look up, and up, at Rán.
    “What kind of food are we looking for?” Rán asked, rubbing her chin. My shoulders rose to my ears with every word she spoke, especially when I realised I'd given reason for her attention to shift towards the pane diet. “Doubt that dragon-slayer has much in the way of taste—what about yourself, yrval?”
    “I—”
    It was no good. I couldn't get my brain and mouth to match up.
    “Food, yrval. What are you in the mood for?” Rán went on cheerfully. “Could be pointing you in the direction of a pretty good fruit stall—when they say they're getting their goods from Canth, you can almost believe 'em. Ripe as anything. Got any favourites?”
    “What?”
    Rán bowed her head towards me and I caught the toe of my boot on a raised paving slab.
    “Fruit—you humans are still eating that, aye? Apples, melons, pears. That sort of thing.”
    “Oranges,” I blurted out. It didn't sound like a real word.
    I couldn't even tell if it was the right answer.
    “Not a bad choice,” Rán mused. I was too confused by the thought of pane eating something other than raw meat to offer up anything remotely intelligible. On Rán went, supporting the conversation without my help. A bizarrely welcome change from the past few days. “We'll stop by for some fruit first—they sell some hefty joints of meat more or less opposite that stall. Should be enough to keep you and the dragon-slayer full for a few days. Haven't had any time to look into cheese or bread yet, so that'll be an adventure. Now, just to get this out there, I'm not in the habit of biting off heads, so the worst thing that's likely to happen if you relax is you feeling an awful lot better.”
    “I know!” I squeaked. Actually squeaked . But I didn't know, I was convinced my life was forfeit, but Rán made no effort to hold it against me.
    “Ah, can't go forgetting about those horses of yours. Best be stocking up on this and that for them, too.”
    A fear of squeaking for a second time prevented me from asking how she knew about our horses, and rightly so. The market came into sight and I realised I'd been leeching paranoia from everyone we'd passed. Of course we had horses. How else could we have got around?
    I mumbled an agreement and managed a fairly accomplished nod. Rán led me to the promised fruits, and I saw that her assessment of pretty good had been woefully understated. I didn't recognise half of the selection spread out on the stall, all of them so relentlessly vibrant that the colours themselves may as well have been new to me.
    I wanted to get back to Sir Ightham – or rather, away from the pane – as quickly as I