Erik said, ‘He has a bad hoof. It’s cracked and festering, and it’s been painted over to look healthy.’
The man began a stream of protests, but then Calis said, ‘Is this true?’
Erik nodded. ‘It’s an old trick.’ He moved to the horse’s head and looked into his eyes, then inspected his mouth. ‘He’s been drugged. I don’t know what, but there are several drugs that will deaden the pain enough to make him not limp. Whatever they gave him is wearing off. He’s starting to show a hitch in his walk.’
Calis came up to the horse trader. ‘You were given this commission by our friend Regin of the Lion Clan, were you not?’
The man nodded, attempting to bluff. ‘I was. My word is bond from the City of the Serpent River to the Westlands. I will find whichever one of my misguided retainers is responsible and have the man beaten. Obviously someone is attempting to curry my favor, but I will have no cheating of good friends!’
Calis shook his head. ‘Fine. We shall inspect every animal, and for each one we reject, you will be fined the price of a sound horse as well. This is one, that means we get one other sound mount for no charge.’
When the man looked to the Captain of the company that had accompanied the horse man, he smiled. ‘Sounds fair to me, Mugaar.’
Seeing no relief, the man touched his hand to his heart. ‘It is done.’
As the defeated merchant stalked away, Calis said, ‘Hatonis, this is Erik von Darkmoor. He’ll be inspecting each animal. If you would see he’s not interfered with, I would be in your debt.’
Erik extended his hand. The man shook it with a firm grip. He was a soldier of middle years, but only a little grey took away his youth. He was strong and looked like a seasoned fighter.
‘My father would come back from the grave to haunt one such as that if he cast shame upon our clan,’ said the guard captain.
Turning to Erik, Calis said, ‘Can you vet more than a hundred horses by first light tomorrow?’
Erik glanced around and shrugged. ‘If I must.’
‘You must,’ said Calis, walking away.
Foster watched a moment, then turned to Erik. ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Get to it!’
Erik sighed in resignation and, looking around, called for some of the men in his company to lend a hand. He couldn’t get another expert to magically appear, but he needed men to walk and jog the animals and move the vetted ones to another location.
Taking a deep breath, he began with the closest horse.
• Chapter Thirteen • Search (#ulink_28d7f5a2-5125-509f-b535-8e91ab9ebf65)
The barman looked up.
The inn was crowded, and in the normal course of business, anyone entering should not have caused him to notice. But the figure who entered was not one of his ordinary customers, nor was the barman an ordinary barman.
The newcomer was a woman, tall and alert in her stance, wearing an all-concealing robe of sturdy weave, fine enough to mark her as more than a common street girl, but not so elegant as to mark her as nobility. For a moment the barman expected one or more men to follow her, escorts to protect her from the street’s rougher denizens. When none appeared, he was certain there was nothing ordinary about this woman. She glanced around the room as if seeking someone; then she locked eyes with the barman.
She threw back the hood of the cloak, revealing a youthful appearance – though the barman knew well enough appearances were deceiving – with dark hair and green eyes. She was not pretty but striking, with a full mouth and good cheekbones. Her eyes were dangerous. Most men would have called her beautiful, but most men wouldn’t have known how dangerous she was.
A young bravo stepped up to intercept her before she could reach the bar. He was at the peak of youth, feeling too much the rush of blood and ale. He was nearly majestic in appearance, half a foot taller than six feet, with shoulders broad with iron plates, and enough scars to ensure that few of his boasts were challenged as lies.
‘Here, now!’ he said with a drunken laugh, pushing back a crested helmet so he could see better. ‘What is so wonderful a wench doing without my company?’
This brought a laugh from two of his companions and a disapproving look from the whore who had counted on all three of these soldiers making her night profitable. The woman stopped as the young warrior stepped before her, and looked him slowly up and down. ‘Excuse me,’ she said softly.
The man-boy grinned and seemed about to say something. Then his smile slowly faded, until he looked down upon the woman with a puzzled expression. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly as he stepped aside.
His friends looked on in amazement and one stood up to say something. The barman produced a light crossbow and put it on the bar, with the bolt pointed directly at the protester. ‘Why don’t you sit back down and finish your drink!’
‘Hold on, Tabert. We spend a lot of gold here! Don’t be threatening us!’
‘Roco, you get drunk on cheap wine down at the market, then stagger up here to grope and fondle one of my girls until closing, when half the time you don’t have enough to pay for her company!’
The girl who had been sitting with the three men stood up and said, ‘And the half of the time they have money, they don’t have any iron left in their swords from all that cheap wine, and even when they do, it’s nothing much to brag on.’
This brought a torrent of laughter and insults from the rest of the patrons of the commons. The third warrior, who had been holding the whore until she stood up, said, ‘Arlet! I thought you liked us!’
‘Show me your gold, then I’ll love you, darling,’ she said with a grin lacking any affection.
Tabert said, ‘Why don’t you three boys head on down to Kinjiki’s and annoy his girls for a while. He’s Tsurani blood, so he’ll bear up under the abuse with better grace than I.’
The two companions looked ready to dispute this request, but the first, who had tried to stop the woman, nodded slowly and pulled his helm back down. Reaching under the table, he retrieved his weapon and shield. ‘Come on. We can find our fun somewhere else.’ His two friends were about to protest when he bellowed, ‘I said come on!’ The abrupt rage startled the others and they hesitated, then agreed, following him out of the room.
The woman reached the bar. The barman knew her first question before she asked. He said, ‘I haven’t seen him.’
The woman raised one eyebrow in question.
‘Whoever it is you’re looking for, I haven’t seen him.’
‘Who do you think I’m looking for?’
The barman, a stout fellow with muttonchop sideburns and a receding hairline, said, ‘There is only one kind of man who would bring a woman like you searching, and one like that hasn’t come by recently.’
‘And what kind of woman are you taking me for?’ she asked.
‘One who sees things others miss.’
‘You’re very observant for a barman,’ she countered.
‘Most barmen are, though they learn not to show it. I, on the other hand, are not most barmen.’
‘Your name?’
‘Tabert.’
Lowering her voice, she spoke. ‘I have been to every shabby inn and dirty taproom in LaMut, seeking something I was told on good authority would be here. So far I get nothing but blank looks and confused stammering.’ Speaking even more softly, she said, ‘I need to find the Hall.’
With a smile he said, ‘The back room.’
He led her through a small back room, then down a flight of stairs. ‘This storage room connects with others, below the city,’ he said. He opened a door at the foot of the stairs and led her to the far end of a narrow hall. There was no door, only a small alcove doorway, hidden by a piece of cloth hung from a metal rod. As she reached the door, Tabert said, ‘You’ll understand when I say if you’re in this room, I can’t help you. I can only show you the door.’
Miranda nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure of the meaning of what he said. She stepped through into the small room. As she stepped across the threshold and passed under the rod, she felt the energy emanating from it. For a brief instant she saw a tiny storage room, stacked high with a few empty ale and wine casks and some crates, but instantly she understood the barman’s words. She willed herself into phase with the energies coursing down from the metal rod, and an instant later she stood somewhere else.
The Hall was endless. Or at least no creature able to communicate had ever discovered the end of it. Miranda saw that every so often a doorway, a rectangle of light, adjoined the Hall on the sides. Between the entrances a grey nothingness loomed. That she could see at all was something of a mystery, for there was no obvious source of light. Miranda shifted her perceptions and instantly regretted it. The darkness she experienced was so profound it produced an instant despair. She returned her sight to the magically tuned vision she had employed, and again she could see. She considered the barman’s words. ‘You’ll understand when I say if you’re in this room, I can’t help you. I can only show you the door.’ He knew of the magic portal into the Hall but could not empower anyone to enter. Only a talent like Miranda or a few others on Midkemia would have the means of entering the Hall and surviving once there.
