They woke an hour before first light and broke their fast with hard biscuits and cold cheese. Xan spent the entire morning wishing he knew Justav’s location, but all his attempts at sensing proved worthless. Too many farmhouses and villages populated the area for him to get a fix on any particular fire.
Late in the afternoon, the road jogged toward the north, pleasing Xan immensely, and less than an hour later, they topped a rise and discovered a small town. None of the buildings exceeded two stories, and only what appeared to be an inn stood even that tall. Only three structures were built with wood and none with stone. The rest used crude bricks made of mud and straw. The overall impression was poverty, especially since thatch covered most of the roofs.
Brant called a halt. “Okay, O Great Leader, do we stop for the night or travel on?”
The others stared at the inn with longing, and Xan had to admit that the concept of a bath and a meal cooked in an oven sounded fantastic. But the sun hung well above the horizon, leaving hours of daylight. He couldn’t justify stopping early. “We continue. Sorry.”
“Good choice, O Great Leader,” Brant said. “Your wisdom is greater than mine. I would have thought that buying supplies for our trip would be important.”
“Are we running low?” Xan said.
“We can make do for a few days,” Lainey said, “but we’ll be down to just the bear meat soon.”
The road behind them disappeared into a sharp bend, and Xan stared hard at it. “We have no idea how far back Justav is. He could come around that corner five minutes from now.”
“Yes sir, O Great Leader.” Brant saluted. “Only the best generals truly understand when to ignore advice such as ‘an army marches on its stomach,’ second only to ‘information drives action.’” He paused. “Speaking of which, how, exactly, do you plan on finding out if Lady Ashley was actually kidnapped or not since, you know, you just said yesterday how important it was to do just that?”
A little fireball wouldn’t hurt anything, would it? It wouldn’t have to burn as much as just singe Brant a little.
“Fine. We’ll stay here tonight and resupply.” Maybe, if they could get a room in an inn, Xan wouldn’t wake up every five minutes expecting a kick in the ribs. Unless it was from Brant.
They rode most of the way through the town—Dobinshire—before dismounting in front of The Howling Goat. After removing their saddlebags, they handed the horses over to a wiry young man.
“Remember,” Xan said, “we’ve got plenty of money. Discretion is the important thing. Don’t do anything to stand out.”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “I’ve done this dozens of times.” He opened the door to reveal a tall, thin man with a wrinkled face and balding head.
The proprietor’s less-than-congenial appearance brightened as Dylan brought out a coin purse. It turned dour again at the sight of four coppers. “The color’s off on those, lad. I’ll need four silvers.”
“Silvers! The Goosed Turtle in Asherton doesn’t charge that much. Two coppers from each of us for a room, bath, and two meals.”
Xan winced at the shout. Did Dylan hear the part about discretion?
The man eyed Dylan up and down. “Eight coppers each, and you’ll share a room. Meals are separate.”
“Three. Meals are included, and we each get a bed.”
“Six and five bits, but you share beds.”
Dylan extracted a silver and walked the coin across his knuckles. Reflected lamplight danced across the innkeeper’s eyes. “I can give you five, but we need a bed each.”
The man’s face grew stern. “I’ll take the five, but, what with the troubles, I only have one room left. Take it or leave it.”
Dylan shrugged at his friends and proffered his hand to the innkeeper. The man shook it before snatching two silvers from Dylan and directing one of the serving girls to show them upstairs.
Rickety wood steps led up to a narrow corridor with doors on both sides. The girl opened the third one on the right, and Dylan slipped her a bit before she left them. A single window overlooked the dirty thatch of a neighboring roof.
“Nothing fancy,” Dylan gestured toward two beds, a chair, a wardrobe, and a wash basin, “but it’s clean.”
“How was that discrete?” Xan said as soon as they’d closed the door behind them. “You should have just given him what he asked.”
Brant shook his head.
Dylan sank onto the bed. “He’d have remembered travelers paying far more than was warranted—or than they should have been able to afford—much longer than a group that haggled like normal.” He sighed. “I should have been able to get it for four. What are the troubles he referred to anyway?”
“That’s one more thing for Brant to find out tonight in the common room,” Xan said. “Will it impact us? Find out any rumors about the duke’s men. Anything.”
Brant moved sullenly to the far bed.
No time for dallying. Xan faced Lainey. “Go to the market. Buy as many provisions as you can carry.”
“I’ll go with her to get the best deals,” Dylan said.
Xan started to agree as he didn’t want his sister wandering around alone. “Do you think you’ll have time to do that and buy a map of the area and a spy glass—a good one? Oh, and Brant a new shirt.” He handed Dylan a gold piece.
“Xan, this is a triad. Can we afford this?”
“We’re going to need to scope out the place when we find Ashley. I don’t know how else to do it.”
Dylan nodded. “I’ll get it cheap.”
“Get the best one you can. Figure our lives depend on it, because they might. Same with the map.” Xan eyed his sister. “I guess I’ll go with you.” He paused. “But our supply of medicine is low, too. Crap!”
“Alexander Conley! Are you implying that I, a grown woman, need a minder?”
Her glare told him that he better not be doing just that, so resigned, he gave up while he was behind. Leaving Brant preparing to nap, the others departed the inn in separate directions.
37.
Xan patted his satchel and whistled. Would he ever again have enough funds—and the justification—to walk into an apothecary shop and buy whatever he wanted? Definitely more variegation bark. And it wouldn’t hurt to be able to make more of the knockout drug for the darts. What else? More painkillers, obviously.
And licuna seeds.
Xan halted mid-step.
No. Even if the seeds were much more effective than the bark, he no longer had the dreams draining him. He had no need for the drug.
But he wanted it.
Xan had had the stages of addiction drilled into his head early in his apprenticeship. His like of taking the drug signaled danger. Want turned to need. Need became all-encompassing. Destruction resulted.
The seeds were too risky to use.
They would, however, be a huge help in shaking off the fatigue from constant traveling. A little extra pep in his step might be the difference in getting away from Justav. Obviously, Xan wouldn’t give any to the others—especially not his sister—but he was an apothecary; he’d know when to stop.
He shook his head. Not worth the risk. Besides, two weeks had passed since he’d had any, and he’d barely noticed the lack. Best to ignore the want.
Resolved, he entered a building to find a shop much like Master Rae’s. Neat rows of bottles and baskets lined every square inch of the walls. Xan inhaled deeply, filling his nose with the scent of all manner of powders and ointments. It smelled like home.
A man with a close-cropped beard and long gray hair tied with a leather strip glanced up from a worktable. “Be with you in a sec.” He scooped two handfuls of green ovals into a small black cauldron.
“I don’t recognize that herb,” Xan said. “What are you making?”
The man grinned at him sideways. “Dinner.” He hung the pot over a flame in the corner fireplace. “How can I help you?”
“An ounce of valerian, a basket of temwort, a bottle of frogtoe root extract, thre
e packs of dried honeybud leaves, two pounds of shaved variegation bark.” Xan paused, his heart pounding. “And licuna seeds.”
As soon as those last words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. Why had he said that?
The man eyed him, all trace of friendliness disappearing. “Most of that is no problem, but I only sell the seeds to apothecaries.”
Xan was trapped. Backing out with a “never mind” would make the shopkeeper suspicious. Not only would Xan risk not getting the supplies he needed, but the man might alert the town constable.
The other option—using Master Rae’s letter to prove Xan’s status as an apothecary—was just as risky. The document listed his real name, which Justav could use to track him.
Which choice was the least chancy?
If the catcher had to canvass local shops, he was probably far enough off the trail. Sometimes you had to solve the immediate problem even if it increased your potential for danger later.
Xan dug the letter from his satchel and laid it on the worktable.
The man held the document at arm’s length and tilted his head back. “Rae over in Eagleton, huh? Does he still use water strained through greyheart flowers to treat brownboil fever?”
Why would anyone use an itch reliever to … Oh. “Master Rae advocates rest and lots of tea for minor ailments. Is my answer enough to prove myself or would you like me to mix a couple potions?”
“You understand that you’re young to be what you claim?” The apothecary held out his hand.
Xan shook it.
“Tom Haziltin.” He paused. “And you understand why I don’t just hand out licuna seeds to anyone asking?”
“Absolutely.” Xan should never have even asked for the stupid things. What had he been thinking? “Too high a dose can kill and they’re highly addictive. Master Rae only tolerates their use for the most extreme cases.”
Tom’s raised eyebrows asked the obvious question.
“This merchant traveling through Eagleton needed someone to look after his pregnant wife until they got back home.” Xan shrugged. “I thought, see the world, earn a couple of silvers for my trouble. How was I to know the man was hooked on the seeds?”
“Pregnant, ay?” Tom said. “You didn’t ask for any podwich oil.”
“You don’t think Master Rae made sure I laid in plenty of supplies before I left?” Xan shook his head. “Neither of us counted on injuries and weather putting the caravan so far behind schedule or on one of the guards needing a sleeping potion every night.” He sighed as if working for the merchant were a constant series of trials. “I didn’t stock seeds, obviously.”
Tom frowned. “Don’t know that I can stomach feeding an addict.”
“I understand. My mentor wouldn’t either.” Xan barked out a harsh half chuckle. “Can’t imagine the talking to he’d give me if he found out.” Maybe that would keep Tom from dashing off a letter to Master Rae at the first opportunity.
Xan shrugged again. “I’m not sure what choice I have, though. The merchant controls the purse and the food. He even owns the horse I’m riding. If I refuse, I’ll be out on my butt with no resources. With the storm we passed, there’s not going to be too much traffic headed Eagleton way before spring.” He cast a hopeful expression at the apothecary. “You don’t have an opening, do you?”
Tom grimaced. “Sorry. This shop barely supports me.”
Given the appearance of the town, Xan had figured that. He turned toward the door. “I’ll just have to try the next town and hope I don’t run out before I get there.”
Xan stepped several paces before Tom spoke.
“Lad, wait. I won’t gainsay a fellow apothecary. If Rae saw fit to give you your letter, that’s good enough for me. Give me a few minutes to get your order together.”
Great. Now Xan was affecting Master Rae’s reputation. Why had he asked for the seeds? As soon as he exited the shop, he was going to bury them in the dirt where they couldn’t hurt anyone.
Tom gathered the regular supplies before putting a key in the heavy lock that secured a large armoire. “How many?”
“Fifty?”
Tom’s face darkened. “No one should take that many in a year, addicted or no.”
Xan winced. Stupid! Why had he asked for so many? “Less is fine. Thirty? I’ve got money.”
“Let me see your eyes, lad.”
Afraid to speak, Xan nodded.
Tom stretched the skin around Xan’s eye between his index finger and his thumb and peered closely. “You’ve no sign of being addicted, but I still don’t feel right about this.” He exhaled sharply. “Three silvers for the seeds and five coppers for the rest.”
Xan remembered Dylan’s example. “Two silvers and three—”
“Take it or leave it. I’ve a mind not to sell to you anyway.”
While Tom counted twenty seeds into a leather container, Xan pulled the required coins from his pouch. His heart raced, and his hand shook as he reached for the supplies. As soon as the last bottled disappeared in his satchel, he fled the shop.
His darting eyes spotted a dark alley, and with no one watching, he ducked into it. A perfect spot to get rid of the seeds. He paused. Getting them had been stressful. Seemed silly to waste all of them. Taking one before dumping the rest wouldn’t hurt anything.
“Bad idea,” he muttered. “Such a bad idea.”
Xan shook his head and popped a seed into his mouth. A bolt of energy hit him, and his body couldn’t contain it. His arms and legs twitched. He shut his eyes and let the sensation wash over him.
Maybe just one more.
38.
Footsteps dragged across a wood floor. Brant’s head shot up. Years of sleeping in the field and rising to surprise inspections had taught him to come alert instantly.
The room door closed. Lainey plopped onto the other bed and buried her head under a pillow.
Light streamed through the window, so it was still early. She’d probably just decided to take a nap after finishing her shopping. The way she’d moved seemed off, though. Was she upset? Had something happened?
“You okay?” he said.
“Fine.” The word sounded of tears as it squeaked out of her.
“You sure?”
“I saw someone … thought I saw someone who couldn’t possibly be … here.” Her voice choked up more. “Nothing to worry about.”
She’d been acting strange since they’d left Eagleton. Must be homesick. Shouldn’t Xan have talked to her or something? Probably too focused on seizing Brant’s position to notice her problems.
Brant shook his head before laying it back down. She’d told him not to worry, so he wouldn’t. He drifted back into oblivion, and it was after nightfall before he woke again. Lighting a candle revealed Lainey sleeping soundly, but neither Dylan nor the asshole had made it back yet.
After running a washcloth over his face and combing back his hair with his hands, he checked himself in the mirror and grinned. The serving girls were going to love him. He frowned. Duty first. Fun after completing his mission.
Brant secured the door behind him and headed toward the sounds of muffled conversation and cutlery scraping plates. At the bottom of the stairs, he stepped into the common room and found three-quarters of the tables filled. Dylan, seated at one of them, waved. His expression was smug enough. Must have gotten everything he’d been looking for at a good price.
The petty tyrant sat across from him, and Brant almost turned to go back upstairs. He never ran from a fight, though. After plastering a smile on his face, he joined them.
Xan’s knee vibrated as he bounced his foot up and down. “The store had loads of supplies. I got the frogtoe root extract, the dried honeybud leaves, the variegation bark, and more. Good prices, too. I found the shop with no problem. How about you? Did you have a good nap? How about Lainey? Did she make it back? We haven’t seen her yet.” The words tumbled from his mouth as if he couldn’t hold them back.
Brant struggled to make sense o
f the flood. “What the blast is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Xan put his hand on his knee and pushed. His foot stilled. “Lainey? Do you know where she is?”
Brant eyed him. “She’s asleep in the room.”
“Told you she was fine.” Dylan yawned and put down his fork. “I’m done here. C’mon, Xan.” He frowned at Brant. “Unless you want us to keep you company?”
“That’s okay. Get some rest.” Brant wouldn’t have minded shooting the shit with Dylan for a while, but the less he saw of the other one, the better. He handed over the key. “I’ll be up before too long.”
Brant motioned to a serving girl. The golden-haired beauty’s large breasts, framed so perfectly by her bodice, jiggled as she approached. Too bad the innkeeper had said all the rooms were full. Maybe the barn.
He sighed. Eat. Get the information. With luck, there’d be time for other activities later.
Spiced stew was a nice change from grilled bear meat, and the buttered potatoes were much better than all the green crap Lainey pushed on them. He groaned. She’d been sent out for supplies; they probably had bags full of green peas and asparagus.
He washed the food down with a tankard of ale and scanned the room. The men at most of the tables wore the dirty, plain garb of common workers—local field hands who’d tell him all the rumors he wanted for the price of a drink. Not likely to be much truth in their tales, though.
One man, sitting with a woman and two children, might have been a craftsman. His clothes, full of rips and holes, appeared like they once had been fine. Or the guy could be a bum who’d stolen them from a refuse pile.
The inn door opened, and three soldiers dressed in the duke’s blue-and-gold livery entered.
Crap. Brant ducked his head. He’d always seen fighting men as friends, but these three represented the law. What if the catcher had sent word ahead?
Brant risked a glance, ready to bolt if they showed too much interest. A tall, muscular man with balding white hair and a full mustache bore the rank insignia of a sergeant. Pips on the shoulders of his two companions revealed them to be corporals.
Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2) Page 19
