And she’s far more beautiful, thought Moira, remembering Alyssa’s grace and charm. If there were some way I could help him find her, I would. He deserves to be happy.
Halam had appeared on the horizon, and they were drawing rapidly closer, so Moira forced her thoughts back to more productive channels. At her urging Cassandra descended, finding a place to rest in a small copse of trees several miles from the capital city. Gram and Chad stretched their legs once they were back on their own feet again.
“What now, princess?” asked the hunter.
Moira frowned at him, “Don’t call me that.”
Chad grinned, “What now, milady?” He gave a small bow to punctuate his rephrased question.
“We can enter the city on foot to avoid drawing attention to ourselves. Once there, perhaps we can find out where the Earl’s lands are situated. When we know that, we can return and move on,” she told him.
“And the King?” asked Gram, referencing his question from before.
“We’ll avoid letting him know of our presence, unless it becomes clear that we need his help,” Moira answered.
“I don’t like the thought of you entering a strange city without me,” observed Grace from where she sat beside Gram.
Moira smiled reassuringly, “I’ll have the world’s most fearsome warrior and a legendary archer with me, not to mention my own magic. I doubt we have anything to fear. Besides, if anything goes wrong Cassandra will feel it, just as you would with Gram.”
“Not if you’re too far for us to sense you,” countered Grace.
Gram was still processing her last remark, “Fearsome? Legendary archer?”
Chad put a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t interrupt the girl when she starts makin’ sense.”
“The city is at the limit of my magical perception,” noted Cassandra in her deeper rumbling tones. “Once you’re inside I doubt I will be able to feel you.”
“It may take us a few days to learn what we need,” added the hunter.
“You can fly over the city once night falls,” suggested Moira, addressing her dragon. “No one will see you or Grace once it’s dark. You can check on us then.”
In the end, they went along with Moira’s plan. Before they moved on she made two small spellbeasts. The first she sent flying homeward, to inform her mother of their location. She had been worried about her mother for a while now. Hopefully, keeping her informed would help when she had to eventually face the music. The second she kept with her, naming the tiny sprite-like creature ‘Pippin’. She could use him to send her next update.
Gram watched Pippin tuck himself away in the collar of her jacket with a raised eyebrow, and then the three humans made their way to Halam on foot, while the dragons once again waited. As they approached the main gate they were stopped by guards. A shabby man with tattered clothes stepped forward, holding his hand out.
They stopped, staring at the stranger. He appeared to be little more than a common beggar, but his hand wasn’t held as if he was expecting charity. The guards watched him with disinterest, though it was clear he was acting on their behalf.
“Hello…?” said Moira uncertainly, not quite sure what to make of the stranger’s outstretched hand. Gram moved forward to stand between her and the beggar.
“What’s this about?” asked Chad.
The guards tensed, losing their bored expressions and making sure their hands were free. Two of them lowered spears. Whatever reaction they had been expecting, a question was clearly not it. “Take his hand!” barked one of them.
Moira could see their unease, not just in their faces and body language, but in the flickering network of aythar that represented their minds. The beggar was some sort of test, a reassurance, and by ignoring his offered hand they were presenting themselves as a danger. Shiggreth, she realized. They’re testing everyone who enters to make sure they’re still human. The tattered beggar made perfect sense when seen in that light. Obviously none of the guards would be expected to put themselves at risk touching strangers.
“Let’s not get testy, sirs,” said Chad. “If ye’ll explain what ye want…”
She could sense the muscles tightening in the hunter’s shoulders and torso, even as his legs relaxed. His tone was calm, but she knew he was preparing to fight if discussion failed. “It’s ok,” she told her two companions. Slipping past Gram, she took the poor man’s hand in her own. “We’re human.”
The level of tension dropped noticeably. The guard captain nodded at Gram and Chad, “Them too.”
Gram followed Moira’s example, and then Chad did the same. Now that they understood the reason, the actions of the guards made perfect sense.
“I thought the shiggreth were all gone,” said the hunter.
“Where are you from?” asked the guard captain, ignoring his remark.
“What are ‘shiggerth’?” asked one of the guards in the back, mangling the pronunciation.
One of his companions answered in a mutter, “I think he means the night-walkers.”
“We’re from Gododdin,” replied Chad quickly. “Hoping to find work. Things aren’t so good back home.”
The guard captain squinted at them suspiciously, “She don’t sound like she’s from Gododdin.”
“She’s my niece. The two of them lived south of Surencia, before things got bad,” explained the hunter.
“That doesn’t look like a farmer’s weapon,” observed the captain, looking at Gram’s sword. Thorn was currently in its ‘broken’ form, but the large hilt still made it conspicuous.
Chad spoke quickly, before Gram could respond, “That’s cuz he ain’t a farmer. He was a guard in Dalensa. That’s all he’s got left of his father’s.”
“Let’s see it,” said the captain, and one of the guards reached out to pull Thorn from Gram’s belt. Instinctively, the younger man knocked the soldier’s grasping hand away, stepping to one side.
Everyone tensed.
“Let’s not be hasty,” said the ranger. “The lad’s touchy about his father’s sword.”
“It’s alright, Gram,” reassured Moira, but he had already drawn the broken blade, showing it to the guards.
“It’s just a broken sword,” he offered quietly.
Their eyes widened, and one man whistled in appreciation. “Damn thing looks like it’s worth a fortune. You see that stone?”
“There’s still enough blade left on it to do someone a serious hurt too,” remarked another.
Moira could see the greed flashing in the captain’s mind as he stared at Thorn. “We’re going to have to confiscate that—for the public good…,” began the guard.
Chad reached out and placed a few coins in the captain’s palm, “Surely that won’t be necessary.”
The captain might have refused, for the sword was clearly worth far more than any small bribe, but Moira touched his mind softly, dimming his avarice and teasing his more generous side to the forefront.
“Fine,” said the guard-captain. “Don’t let me hear of you three causing any trouble.” Stepping back he waved them forward. The others cleared the way for them.
“Thank ye, sir,” said the hunter.
As they walked on Moira could hear them muttering behind them, “That was odd. Why’d the captain let them pass?”
“…sword must have been worth a fortune.”
“Shut up, Simmons!”
When they had gotten out of sight of the gate, Chad let out a lungful of air. He had been holding his breath. “I didn’t think he’d let us go so easy.”
Gram had already twisted his sword belt around to hide Thorn’s hilt behind his cloak.
“Let’s find something to eat,” suggested Moira, hoping to divert the conversation. She felt a small amount of guilt over altering the guard’s mind, and she wanted to put the moment behind them.
Gram gave her a broad smile, “I won’t argue with that. I feel like I could eat enough for two men.” The sunlight caught his hair as he spoke, creating the illusion of
a golden halo around his features.
Moira let the view sink in for a second before replying, “Now we just need to find a decent inn.” When did he get so handsome? She couldn’t help but admire the breadth of his shoulders as he walked ahead of her.
“There ought to be a tavern or somethin’ similar around the corner there,” said Chad.
“Have you been here before?” Moira asked him in surprise. In point of fact, her magesight had already revealed an establishment that was probably an inn ahead of them to the right, just out of sight.
“Nah,” answered the hunter, “but I know pubs, an’ we just left the main gate. There’ll be several nearby.”
Chapter 5
The Dusty Doxy was anything but dusty. They had just stepped inside, and Moira’s eyes revealed a main room that was meticulously clean. Patrons sat quietly at tables scattered around the room, watching the newcomers curiously. The bar looked relatively new, compared to the old wood paneling that decorated the rest of the taproom.
Chad coughed before muttering, “This don’t look good. Let’s look a little further down.”
Gram shrugged and then looked at Moira.
“It’s lovely,” she ventured. “Why don’t you like it?”
The hunter grimaced, “Who could be comfortable in a place like this? It’s too clean. The place gives me the creeps. I can’t trust a bar that looks like a woman’s boudoir.”
“Hello,” said a new voice. An attractive woman in her middle years was approaching. Her hair was a dark auburn, but it was heavily interspersed with gray streaks. There was an air of authority about her that enhanced rather than detracted from her welcoming smile. She gave the impression of being well accustomed to dealing with men, a friendly confidence; her large bust did nothing to distract from that feeling.
“Hello,” said Moira promptly, smiling in return. “Do you serve food here?” From the corner of her eye, she could see Gram had frozen, his eyes drawn to their hostess’ proudly displayed bosom. Oh, for goodness sake!
“In a little while, if you’re patient,” said the newcomer. “Cook just arrived, but he should have the evening fare ready in an hour or so. You look like you’ve traveled far.” Her eyes moved between them, noting their clothing.
“Yeah, this is my d…,” began Chad, but Moira interrupted him.
“I’m Moira, and these are my servants. We’ve come from southern Gododdin,” she said quickly, determined not to be caged again by one of the hunter’s stories. While their hostess’s overly exposed chest, and Gram’s reaction to it, irritated her, she still felt a certain warmth from the woman. Observing her aythar, Moira could tell that she was easy going and straightforward compared to most.
The redhead smiled, “I’m Tamara. Nice to meet you, Moira. Would you and your companions like to sit at the bar, or perhaps you’d prefer a private table?”
Moira would definitely have preferred a private table. The eyes of the room were still on them, making her uncomfortable, but Chad spoke first.
“The bar would be fine,” he put in. Seeing the dark look Moira shot him, he leaned over and whispered to her, “We won’t learn anything sitting alone.”
Tamara’s eyes lit on him in curiosity, no doubt wondering at a servant who made so bold as to make such decisions. After a second, they switched to Gram, and she smiled. “Where were you twenty years ago young man, before I retired?” She gestured to the bar, indicating they should sit.
They made their way over, while Gram struggled to answer her question, “I wasn’t born yet.”
Tamara laughed, enjoying his discomfort.
Gram and Chad sat on either side of Moira, protectively situating her between them. After a moment Tamara sat beside Gram. Leaning forward she placed her hand casually on his shoulder while addressing Moira, “Would you and your companions like something to drink while you wait?”
“Tea would be lovely, please,” she answered, hiding her annoyance at the woman’s excessive familiarity with Gram. It didn’t help that she could easily tell what sort of effect Tamara was having on him. The young warrior was blushing furiously.
“An ale for me,” announced Chad. “Somethin’ that doesn’t taste like dog piss if ye have it.”
“M—me too,” agreed Gram, stammering slightly.
“Perhaps you’d rather have small beer, don’t you think?” suggested Moira. Small beer was half water, half beer, a drink meant mainly to quench thirst rather than to inebriate.
He glared at her, “I’d rather have ale.”
Tamara waved at the man behind the counter. He had been listening, letting her do the talking rather than interrupt. He put a kettle on the stove in the back and then began pouring the ale.
“Tamara, if it’s permissible for me to ask, are you the manager here?” asked Moira.
“Oh no, that would be Lars, the fellow pouring the ale. I just hang around because I enjoy meeting people, and to annoy him. I’m the owner,” explained the older woman.
Chad watched Lars pulling ale with professional interest. He seemed to approve of the man’s technique as the heavy mugs were filled. “How did this place get its name?” he asked Tamara idly.
The owner smiled, “I renamed it after I stopped working and bought out Madame Brengir. It was called the ‘Red Lady’ before that.”
“That explains the look then,” he said, sipping his ale carefully. “I bet you were one of the top ladies here, if you could afford to do that.”
Tamara wondered if she had misjudged the hard-faced ranger; he was definitely more perceptive than she had realized. Grinning she replied, “I was very popular, and I was no fool when it came to saving. Thankfully, Madame Brengir wasn’t the kind to steal from her girls.”
Moira was the one blushing now. This was a brothel? She found herself even more embarrassed as the older woman met her eyes boldly. The other woman’s expression told her that she knew exactly what Moira was thinking. Dropping her gaze, she found herself looking at Tamara’s ample bosom, which only made her feel more awkward. She’s a…
“I was a pleasure girl,” said Tamara, without any hint of shame. “I named the place after myself in a way.”
“Ye don’t look so ‘dusty’ to me,” laughed Chad.
“Thank you,” she answered, accepting the compliment. “I thought dusty sounded better than ‘grey’ or ‘decrepit’.”
“I’d think ye’d make more money if ye had kept it as a whorehouse,” commented the hunter without the slightest hesitation.
“That’s true,” agreed Tamara, “but I want to leave my daughter something more respectable someday. Plus, I was worried she might take up the same profession.”
Moira’s mouth chose that moment to start working, “Daughter?”
“Yes dear, my daughter,” said Tamara. “Children are one of those things that happen in my old line of work. No matter how careful you are, sooner or later you make a mistake. Not that I regret it, of course. Amy is the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Sort of like my dad,” said Gram quietly to himself.
“What was that?” asked the proprietress.
“Old story,” said Chad, waving his hand, “his father was a whoreson.”
Gram’s face tightened and Tamara glared at the ranger. “That was unnecessary,” she told him, “not to mention rude.” She turned to the others, “Is he always so unpleasant?”
Moira shrugged in embarrassment, but Chad answered first, “Ye caught me on a good day, darlin’. That was a compliment. My favorite people are bastards an’ whoresons.” He raised his mug as if in a toast before taking a long draught.
“And what was your parentage like, to produce such a prickly personality?” wondered the proprietress.
Chad smirked, “Actually, it was surprisingly average. My dad was a farmer an’ my mother a gentle soul. I can’t really lay any of the blame at their feet. I was just born an asshole.”
Gram shook his head. He was already well acquainted with the hunter’s s
trange humors, but Moira began to laugh. The stress she had been holding onto had kept her tightly wound for days, but for some reason Chad’s remark tipped her over the edge and she began chuckling in spite of herself.
“At least he’s honest,” remarked Moira, once her laughter had stopped.
“Speaking of which,” began Tamara, “what brings you and your friends to Halam?”
Moira was ready for the question, “We’re hoping to find the Earl of Berlagen. He knew my father, and I was hoping he might take us into his service…”
Tamara held up her hand, “Let me stop you there. If you don’t want to talk about it, don’t, but I’ve been serving people for too long to listen to tall tales.”
Moira’s mouth was still open, but her mind was working overtime. She could see an honest concern in the other woman’s face, and her magesight revealed the truth of it in Tamara’s mind. She decided to take a chance, “You’re right. What gave me away?”
“I’ve got an ear for lies,” said Tamara. “Besides, I could see too many holes in your story from the start. These two men aren’t servants or farmers. The old one bears the calluses and scars of a lifetime with a bow, and your young gentleman here carries himself like a warrior-born. I’d think he was a mercenary, but his smooth skin and shy politeness point to a noble birth. Am I wrong, milady?”
Moira sighed, “I can’t contradict you.”
“So what brings you from Lothion?”
“Is it that obvious?” asked Moira.
“Your accent isn’t that different than that of southern Gododdin, but I’ve been with men from both countries. I can tell the difference,” said the auburn haired woman. “Don’t worry, though. I doubt many around here would notice. Now, back to my question…,” she added.
Moira hesitated, trying to decide how much to share, “I can’t tell you the whole truth, but I am looking for my father. I think Berlagen might have information regarding his current whereabouts.”
Tamara’s brows shot up in surprise, “A Lothion nobleman has gone missing, and you suspect the Earl of foul play? How rare, how unusual!”
Centyr Dominance Page 4
