From that second hill, the terrain became less ordered and more wild, with hills covered mainly with pines, although a few gray oaks, their leaves turning yellow-brown, were scattered along the lower reaches of the hills, especially near the few permanent streams. While there were countless brooks and streams flowing with rainwater, only one even approached looking like it had cut a permanent channel.
Again, I shivered. Whatever it was, as miserably normal as the rain and the surroundings seemed, the cause of the rain was not precisely natural. Why, I couldn’t say; but that the extent of the rain was unnatural was clear, even while I could detect no sign of chaos.
The water was natural. Gairloch enjoyed lapping it up from several of the brooks, but when I stopped to let him graze, he did not seem particularly interested in the straggly grass. So I pulled myself back into the saddle and finished munching on the travel bread I had brought from the Travelers’ Rest.
The other unnatural thing was the road itself, which ran straight where it could and curved gently when it could not and climbed gradually if neither straightness nor curves were possible. Once Gairloch and I had passed through the lower hills, in the higher hills the road narrowed not a jot. Nor did the grade steepen. The sides of the hills seemed planed away at a gentle angle, without the overhanging boulders or outcrops I had half-expected to see.
In time, I almost struck my forehead.
“… wizard’s road… of course!” Magistra Trehonna had mentioned that there were some in Candar, but I hadn’t paid much attention to the details. She was even more boring than Talryn.
Wheee… eeee… added Gairloch.
While I wasn’t that good at extending my senses, particularly in the rain, once I realized what might be there I could almost feel the hard white stone pavement under the packed clay.
I shook my head as the light dimmed, and Gairloch plodded downhill toward a few scattered lights that the intermittent stone posts had led me to believe might be Hrisbarg.
Three or four kays short of the town the road forked, and a large arrow roughly chiseled into a stone post twice the size of most distance stones pointed down the right-hand branch. Above the arrow were the letters HSBG.
The left-hand road continued straight, without lights or dwellings nearby, toward the next line of hills. Only a line of coach tracks indicated that the road was ever used.
After the turn, the remainder of the route to Hrisbarg was churned, muddy, and, in parts, required near-fording of the streamlets that meandered across the excuse for a road that we traveled. I almost wished we had stayed with the wizard’s road, gloomy as it was, that had arrowed straight into the hills-especially after it began to rain again, the cold pelting flow that quickly resoaked my cloak.
Wheee… eeeee… eeuuhhh…
“I agree. But do we really have any options?”
Gairloch was silent on that point.
The first huts we came to were roofless, dark, and deserted. Then came huts with roofs, if apparently deserted. Finally Gairloch set his hooves on the thoroughly-churned mud of central Hrisbarg.
The main street in Hrisbarg seemed to consist of equal sections of puddles and mud. Instead of stone pavement, or even stone walks with storm drains, they used mud. The stores were fronted with raised plank walkways. Some had posts and steps for tying carriage horses or single horses, but most just had plain planks slapped down.
Even in the drizzle, I could see the woodwork of those walks was abysmal-green wood, rough spiking, not even a rudimentary effort to keep the walking surface level.
Whhffffff…
Gairloch shook his head and consequently his mane, spraying pony-scented water all over my cloak and face. The cloak was designed for it. My face wasn’t. My obvious belt pouch had several silvers remaining, enough for a night at an inn and a stable for Gairloch-particularly after the day we had completed and the kind of night it was turning out to be.
One or two stores had oil lamps in front, but Hrisbarg lacked street lamps as such. Even with my excellent night vision, I was having trouble, what with the drizzle and the strangeness of Candar.
Whhhhhuffff…
Another sound of disgust from Gairloch and another, finer, spray of water flipped across me.
“All right… we’ll try to find an inn… or something…”
I began to look in earnest, although I also kept my eyes open for signs of the road to Hewlett. The Brotherhood had been singularly unhelpful with the directions that I needed to spend a full year in Candar and pass through Hewlett to the cities beyond.
After all, I mean, was my dangergeld just to spend time in Candar and pass through Hrisbarg and Hewlett and get to the Westhorns? Not bloody likely. If they hadn’t been so deadly serious, it could have been a joke. And, once again, no one told me anything I couldn’t figure out first-except why Talryn had been so insistent on my getting to the West-horns.
Down a lane to my left I saw a faded sign with what looked like an “H” and some sort of howling creature. Outside of a few dark buildings on the corner and some small cottages huddled further down the road, I could see nothing. Nor did I feel anything. Certainly no inns, road houses. So I kept Gairloch headed toward the far end of Hrisbarg.
The sign read “The Silver Horse.” Predictably, since apparently no one in Candar besides the merchants and the clergy could read, under the letters was a horse, badly painted, with flaking silver paint that looked gray in the rain.
With a chuck of the reins, I nudged Gairloch toward the slope-roofed and weathered building next to the inn.
“Uffffff…” My legs almost collapsed under my full weight.
“Sir?” Standing there was a stableboy not much taller than my elbow.
“Do I pay you or the inn?” I asked.
“It’s three pence a night, five with a separate stall, oats, and a full manger.”
I handed him a penny even before I touched the rolled-up pack. “That’s for you to take special care of my horse.”
“Yes, sir.” The youngster stepped back.
“Which stall?”
“You could have the one under the eaves there… ?”
I got the message. If I took the one with low headroom, none of the bully boys with the big horses would bother him. And Gairloch didn’t need the extra space as much as being left to rest and feed.
“That’s fine.” I led Gairloch there myself, letting the dark-haired youngster open the half-door, as much to keep him away from the staff that could have been a lance in the dim light of the single covered tin lamp that hung from the beam by the doorway.
Before even starting to unsaddle Gairloch, I removed the staff and tucked it under the straw by the outside wall. No one but someone attuned to order/chaos forces would notice it, and it wouldn’t be that much good to me against an accomplished chaos-master anyway.
“I can help you,” offered the boy.
I didn’t protest as he unstrapped the saddle, since Gairloch didn’t seem to mind, merely whuffing and shaking his head. Besides, the youngster’s hands were far defter than mine, and my legs were still shaking.
With Gairloch mainly settled, and the saddle and blanket racked to dry, I was ready to try The Silver Horse itself. My leg muscles spasmed as I limped across the muddy courtyard to the inn. Faint light glimmered through the small leaded windowpanes facing the stable.
The open outer door was of rough pine, covered with peeling white paint. The inner door, which I checked as I pushed it open, was of good red oak, but the varnish was worn and cracking and the hinges had been reset too many times. It took some time for me to wipe all the mud off my boots using the worn rush mats, but I managed, not that it mattered much. The floor was scarred and stained wood, with dirt-heaps in the corners.
Inside, only one of the lamps in the narrow hall was lit, and it smoked and flickered.
“Hello, the inn…” I called.
A muffled voice answered from somewhere. “… coming…”
“… At this hou
r?” questioned another voice, sharper than the first, and nearer.
Waiting, I looked around the inn. On my right, through a square opening the size of a double door, was a dining area, and the faint glow of coals glinted from the stone fireplace. On the left I noted a small sitting area with three wooden benches covered with oblong cushions. A second wall lamp, damped low, illuminated the sitting area. The bench backs were spooled and unpadded. In the center of the benches stood a battered low wooden table, used primarily as a boot-rest, if the indentations on the table edge were any indication.
As in Freetown and on the road, travelers seemed few indeed.
“Yes?”
The voice was the sharp one and belonged to a waspish lady dressed in a faded brown dress and stained yellow apron. Her face was clean, if angular, and her silver-streaked hair formed a neat bun at the back of her head.
‘How much for a room, and some supper?“ My voice was hoarse, rough from the wet and cold.
The eyes raked over me. “A silver a night.” She paused, and the dark vulture eyes took in my soaked cloak. “Paid in advance. That includes bread and cheese in the morning. Dinner is extra-what’s available on the bill of fare. Not much is left tonight.”
After fumbling with the obvious front pouch, I produced a silver and five coppers. “For me and for my horse.”
Part of the vulture look vanished as she took the coins. “You rode in this weather?”
“It seemed like a good idea when I started. Freetown wasn’t a place I wanted to stay. Then there wasn’t any place to stop, and…” I shrugged.
The woman glanced at the door, then back to me. “Hrisbarg is part of the duchy, and Majer Dervill likes to stop here.”
I got the message. “Travelers don’t always know the local weather, madam, and I was just hoping for a warm inn and some hot food.”
“We can help there. Just go in and sit down. Annalise will see to you shortly. Unless you want to see a room first?”
“I think I’d like to see the room. At least to lay out the cloak and dry out.”
“Clean towel and basin are another copper.”
“Two towels, with fresh water in the morning,” I countered.
She smiled. “In advance.”
So I paid another penny, wondering if I should have asked for a chit, but deciding against it. The towels were thick and clean, both of them, if a shade gray, and the basin held clean lukewarm water.
The room itself was barely large enough to hold the sagging double bed and battered red-oak wardrobe. The bed had a single coarse sheet over an even lumpier-looking mattress, covered with a heavy brown blanket. A wall sconce held a single scrawny candle that the thin innkeeper had lit from her lamp.
The door had no lock, but with so few guests I decided to risk my cloak and pack for the moment.
When I returned to the dining area, another body sat at the table closest to the fire, a man in a dark blue uniform and a posture that was arrogant even while slouched at the table and cradling a mug of something.
I took a wall table for two on the other side, not quite so close to the fire.
After a casual look at me, the soldier took another deep swallow from the mug. “Annalise!”
“A moment, please,” returned the pleasant voice I had heard but not seen earlier.
I stretched out, enjoying the warmth of the room and beginning to feel more human and less chilled.
“Thank you, Herlyt. I didn’t know we had another customer.” The blond girl, probably not even my age, nodded to the soldier.
“But…” She ignored him and walked straight to my table, long blond braids swinging at her shoulders. “Good evening, sir. I’m afraid the larder is a little low tonight. We still have some bear stew, and a pair of chops, I think. Wheat or corn bread, and stewed spice apples. Also some white cheese.” The open smile displayed strong if uneven white teeth. The open low collar of the peasant blouse showed some other strong features, especially as close as she stood. “Which is better, the chops or stew?”
“The stew,” called Herlyt. “Take the stew. Those chops have been heated every night for a week. Get me another mug, Annalise.”
Annalise raised her eyebrows, then nodded faintly. “I’ll try the stew, cheese, apples, and a few slices of wheat bread. What is there to drink?”
“Mulled cider, hard beer, Largo wine, and redberry.”
“Redberry.”
“Real drinker you got there, Annalise. Real manly fellow.” Annalise shrugged as if to dismiss the soldier. Then she grinned. “Would you like anything else?”
“Not right now, thank you.” I managed not to grin back at her, but she had asked.
Before turning from me, she wiped any expression from her face. Then she retrieved the mug from the soldier. “Another hard beer?”
“What else? That’s all you’ll ever provide, and I still have to pay for it.” The bearded man stared at the fire as tentative flames hissed over a pair of green logs.
Annalise disappeared through an open door into what I took to be the kitchen, reappearing with two mugs almost without leaving my sight.
Thump. Herlyt’s mug arrived without a word from the girl. “Here you are, sir.” My mug came with a plate that held cheese and wheat bread. “Are you from Hewlett, Eagle’s Nest, or Freetown?”
The stiffened position of the soldier alerted me.
“I guess I’d have to say not any of them. Came down the coast road and decided not to stay in Freetown with all the rain and gloom. They told me there were no ships anyway.”
The soldier relaxed fractionally, and the girl nodded. “That’s a long ride.”
I grinned. “It’s a cold ride.” Then I sipped the redberry, breaking off some cheese to go with a chunk of the wheat bread.
As I ate, forcing myself to take each bite slowly, she withdrew to the kitchen, and the soldier retreated into his mug.
“Sir… ?”
An enormous steaming bowl appeared in front of me, accompanied by a smaller plate of spiced and sliced red apples. Both dishes -were heavy earthenware, with the fine cracks of age radiating through the glaze.
Herlyt had been right about the stew, though; it was spicy, hot, and tasty. But I pushed back the bowl before I finished it, knowing that to eat any more would leave me ill, and then some.
“Will there be anything else?”
I glanced over at the soldier, slumped face down on the table.
“Later?” I asked, testing her earlier grin.
She shrugged, but did not smile.
“How much?”
“Five or a half-silver.”
After draining the redberry, I gave her a silver and got back five coppers, one of which went to her, and into her belt before she went into the kitchen.
With a regretful look backward, I climbed the creaking stairs to my room, checking my pack immediately once I had closed the door. Nothing had been touched.
Even as I struggled out of my trousers, I wondered if Annalise had really meant anything by that nod.
She hadn’t… or at least I collapsed into sleep with no gentle tapping on my door or other interruptions.
XXII
THE MORNING DAWNED no less dreary than the day before, drizzle and intermittent rain dropping from formless gray clouds that churned but never seemed to move.
I woke once before I got up, when the angular innkeeper replaced the water basin with fresh water, both quietly and efficiently, and with barely a glance toward me or the wardrobe. After that my eyes closed but my mind spun, asking question after question. Like, why was the Duchy of Freetown getting so much rain? Or why had a chaos-master been in the strange coach barreling toward the port? And why had he used a coach?
With a groan, I eased my feet over the side of the sagging bed, wincing as I did. My thighs were as sore as I could ever recall, even after beginning Gilberto’s conditioning exercises, and my shoulders were stiff. Sitting, even on the bed, was! painful.
Washing helped, as did
some stretching.
Then I checked my clothing. The cloak was dry, all the way through, as were my trousers. The dried mud on the legs mostly came off with a little scraping and the moistened edge of the towel I had used the night before. Still… I could see that washing my clothes was going to be another requirement before too long, unless I wanted to smell like the stable.
Outside the wind whistled, and the rain splatted against the inn. After dressing and pulling on my boots, I checked my pack, smiling as my fingers touched the book. The Basis of Order-‘t still hadn’t gotten around to looking at it, but! supposed I would, sooner or later. My father had a reason for everything.
I closed the pack and folded the cloak across it, debating whether to bring them downstairs with me. Finally I shrugged. Why not?
Without even a single light, the narrow hallway appeared gloomier than the night before. My boots scuffed on the bare wood of the floor.
“… attack on Freetown…”
“… any of them around here.”
I paused at the top of the stairs, deciding to wait a moment to see what else the speaker said.
“The courier said there were two blackstaffs, and several others, including a black warrior, a damned woman.”
“Majer, I wouldn’t even know what a blackstaff looked like. All we have are two commercial travelers and some well-off young student. The commercial travelers I see three or four times a year. The student-he’s barely old enough to let loose on his own.”
“Did you see any weapons with him?”
“Weapons? Hardly. A short knife.”
“Where is he?”
“You might check by the fire.”
“Come with me, and point him out, Natasha… if you would be so kind.”
“Certainly, Majer… assuming he is there.”
Click… dick…
As the heavy boots passed the stairs, I eased down the stairs further, casually, as if I had not heard a word, but trying not to step heavily.
Annalise stood by the desk counter, her eyebrows raised. Then she pointed toward the doorway and mouthed something.
The Magic of Recluce Page 17
