‘Commonplace or not, it’s going to seriously hinder Tynian when he tries to lead the Church Knights across Daresia to Matherion,’ Sparhawk said. ‘If Rebal can stir up the whole kingdom the way he did this group tonight, Tynian’s going to have to wade his way through hordes of howling fanatics. The Edomish peasantry’s going to be convinced that our brothers are coming here to impose heresies on them by force, and they’ll be lurking behind every bush with sickles and pitchforks.’
‘We still have a certain advantage, though,’ Bevier said thoughtfully. ‘There’s no way that our enemies can possibly know that we’re here in Edom and that we saw this business tonight. Even if they were to know that we’re going to raise Bhelliom – which isn’t very likely – they wouldn’t know where it is, so they’d have no idea where we were going. Even we don’t know where we’re going.’
‘And even if they did, they wouldn’t know that we could get here as quickly as we did,’ Khalad added. ‘I think we’ve got the jump on them, my Lords. If they’re relying on hoaxes here, that probably means that they don’t have any magicians around to sniff us out. If we can pass ourselves off as ordinary travelers, we should be able to move around without much hindrance – and pick up all sorts of information in the process.’
‘We’re here to retrieve the Bhelliom, Khalad,’ Flute reminded him.
‘Of course, but there’s no point in passing up little treasures as we go along, is there?’
‘Aphrael,’ Vanion said, ‘have we seen and heard everything we were supposed to?’
She nodded.
‘I think we might want to move on to Jorsan rather quickly, then. If Khalad’s right and we’re one jump ahead, let’s stay that way. What would it take in the way of bribes to persuade you to speed up the journey?’
‘We could negotiate that, I suppose, Lord Vanion,’ she smiled. ‘I’m sure you could all offer me something that might induce me to lend a hand.’
They kissed the Child Goddess into submission and arrived in Jorsan late the following day. Jorsan turned out to be a typical Elene port-city squatting at the head of the gulf. The question of suitable disguises had arisen during the journey. Bevier had leaned strongly in the direction of posing as religious pilgrims. Kalten had liked the notion of masquerading as a group of rowdies in search of constructive debauchery, while Talen, perhaps influenced by Rebal’s recent performance, had thought it might be fun to pose as traveling players. They were still arguing about it when Jorsan came into view.
‘Isn’t all this a waste of time?’ Ulath asked them. ‘Why should we play dress-up? It’s not really anybody’s business who we are, is it? As long as we’re not wearing armor, the people in Jorsan won’t know – or care – about us. Why go to all the trouble of lying about it?’
‘We’ll need to wear our mail-shirts, Sir Ulath,’ Berit reminded him. ‘How do we explain that?’
‘We don’t. Lots of people wear chain-mail and carry weapons, so it’s not really that unusual. If somebody in town gets too curious about who we are and where we’re going, I can make him get un-curious in fairly short order.’ He held up his hand and closed his fist suggestively.
‘You mean just bully our way through?’ Kalten asked.
‘Why not? Isn’t that what we’re trained for?’
The inn was not particularly elegant, but it was clean and not so near the waterfront that the streets around it were filled with bawling sailors lurching from ale-house to ale-house. The sleeping-rooms were upstairs over the common-room on the main floor, and the stables were in the back.
‘Let me handle this,’ Ulath muttered to Sparhawk as they approached the innkeeper, a tousled fellow with a long, pointed nose.
‘Feel free,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘You,’ Ulath said abruptly to the innkeeper, ‘we need five rooms for the night, fodder for ten horses, and some decent food.’
‘I can provide all those, good master,’ the innkeeper assured him.
‘Good. How much?’
‘Ah …’ The man with the pointed nose rubbed at his chin, carefully appraising the big Thalesian’s clothes and general appearance. ‘That would be a half-crown, good master,’ he said somewhat tentatively. His rates seemed to be based on a sliding scale of some sort.
Ulath turned on his heel. ‘Let’s go,’ he said shortly to Sparhawk.
‘What was I thinking of?’ the innkeeper said, slapping his forehead. ‘That was five rooms and fodder for ten horses, wasn’t it? I got the numbers turned around in my head. I thought you wanted ten rooms for some reason. A half-crown would be far too much for only five rooms. The right price would be two silver imperials, of course.’
‘I’m glad you got your mathematics straightened out,’ Ulath grunted. ‘Let’s look at the rooms.’
‘Of course, good master.’ The innkeeper scurried on up the stairs ahead of them.
‘You don’t leave very many conversational openings, do you, my friend?’ Sparhawk chuckled.
‘I’ve never found innkeepers very interesting to talk with.’
They reached an upper hallway, and Ulath looked into one of the rooms. ‘Check it for bugs,’ he told Sparhawk.
‘Good master!’ the innkeeper protested.
‘I like to sleep alone,’ Ulath told him. ‘Bugs crowd me, and they’re always restless at night.’
The innkeeper laughed a bit weakly. ‘That’s very funny, good master. I’ll have to remember it. Where is it you come from, and where are you bound?’
Ulath gave him a long, icy stare, his blue eyes as chill as a northern winter and his shoulders swelling ominously as he bunched them under his tunic.
‘Ah – no matter, I suppose,’ the innkeeper rushed on. ‘It’s not really any of my affair, is it?’
‘You’ve got that part right,’ Ulath said. He looked around. ‘Good enough,’ he said. ‘We’ll stay.’ He nudged Sparhawk with his elbow. ‘Pay him,’ he said, turned, and clumped down the stairs.
They turned their horses over to the grooms and carried their saddle-bags up to the sleeping-rooms. Then they went back downstairs for supper.
Kalten, as usual, heaped his plate with steaming beef.
‘Maybe we should send out for another cow,’ Berit joked.
‘He’s young,’ Kalten told the others jovially, ‘but I like the way he thinks.’ He grinned at Berit, but then the grin slowly faded, and the big, blond Pandion grew quite pale. He stared at the young knight’s face for quite some time. Then he abruptly pushed his plate back and rose to his feet. ‘I don’t think I’m really hungry,’ he said. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to bed.’ He turned, quickly crossed the common-room to the stairs, and went up them two at a time.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Ulath asked in a puzzled tone. ‘I’ve never seen him walk away from supper like that before.’
‘That’s God’s own truth,’ Bevier agreed.
‘You’d better have a talk with him when you go up, Sparhawk,’ Vanion suggested. ‘Find out if he’s sick or something. Kalten never leaves anything on his plate.’
‘Or anybody else’s, for that matter,’ Talen added.
Sparhawk did not linger over supper. He ate quickly, said goodnight to the others, and went upstairs to have a talk with his friend. He found Kalten sitting on the edge of his bed with his face in his hands.
‘What’s the matter?’ Sparhawk asked him. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’
Kalten turned his face away. ‘Leave me alone,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Not very likely. What’s wrong?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ The blond knight sniffed loudly and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Let’s go get drunk.’
‘Not until you tell me what’s bothering you, we won’t.’
Kalten sniffed again and set his jaw. ‘It’s something foolish. You’d laugh at me.’
