Twenty-Five

Preparations

“I am going away for a few days, grandfather.”

Sharloss sat, hands placed on the pages of his medical notes, seeing  them through some unseen force. He frowned slightly. “Oh? Where to?” His voice took on a distinctly concerned tone.

“Just away. I wish to see some of this great land you have brought me to, is that so unreasonable?” She gave a sweet smile and felt about six years old again, trying to convince her father to take her into the town.

“No, not unreasonable. After all, what is the point in being saved from the noose only to be imprisoned, no matter how fancy those walls might be?”

Gratia wasn’t sure if he’d meant that as a reminder that he had saved her life, or, more likely, just a sincere statement. “I don’t see this as a prison m’lo–grandfather.” She tripped over the word again and this brought a bright smile to the old mage’s face. “I still don’t know my way to the banquet hall without guidance, but the weather here is so good I feel I should be out in the open, enjoying it.”

“Yes, quite so, I suppose. Well, who are you going with then, for I take it you are not travelling alone?”

“No, of course not grandfather. I am going with a couple of stable-hands who are going to show me the countryside. We plan to hunt and fish, nothing too rough and perhaps see some of the villages around here.”

“Well then, I’m sure you shall have a wonderful time my child. When are you planning on leaving?”

“Once the waterclock has passed the next hour.”

The old man looked in her direction, surprised. “Today?” She nodded. “Well then, be sure to come and say goodbye to an old man before you leave. Will you do that for me?”

“Of course.” She kissed his brow and left the room. 

The next hour she spent in her room polishing blades and boots. As the clock approached the marker she went to the stables and asked them to saddle the horses. Emalus joined her a few minutes later and she left him with the beasts whilst she went to say farewell to her grandfather.

He was standing by the window when she entered.

“I’ve come to say goodbye, grandfather.”

“Oh, there you are child, I thought perhaps you’d left already. Here, I have something for you. I want you to take it with you.” He turned to his desk and pulled a thin leather strap from one of the draws. Attached to it was a little medallion with an engraved rune. “If ever you get into trouble, hold this tightly and say it. You’ll be back in your quarters in a jiffy. Though I trust you’ll be fine, humour an old man.” He smiled warmly and placed the medallion around her neck.

“Leaving us, m’lady?” Asked a gate guard politely as they approached the outer wall.

“I’m going hunting for a few days with my servant.”

“Well, take care, m’lady. It’s rough terrain around here, but I’m sure you’ve chosen a most adequate guide.” He gave a cheerful, if somewhat patronising, smile.

“Yes, I’m sure I have,” she murmured as they crossed the portcullis and broke into a trot.

“Your servant?” Grumbled Emalus, drawing up alongside her.

“Well, it was either that or 'my partner in crime'”.

“What about guard? I could have been your guard.”

“And which one of us do you most think needs the protection?” She shot him a withering look and he fell silent. Most of the bruises across his face had paled, but his lip was still plump and inflamed.

“If we’re going to make it by nightfall we’re going to have to ride swift, no breaking other then to water the horses or the plants if necessary.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re sure you really want to go ahead with this?”

He raised his head and stared at her calmly. “Absolutely” he said.

For the rest of the day they galloped at a steady pace, never stopping for more then ten minutes. The sun was well beyond the horizon when they finally drew into a narrow cobbled courtyard. Saddlesore and tired they dismounted and allowed a young boy in fine leathers to lead their beasts to the tavern stables.

They had not spoken in hours, but as they approached the large wooden doors they seemed to be moving closer to each other. Side-by-side they walked in.

It was surprisingly spacious inside, though it didn’t appear to subscribe to any particular form of order. Tables and chairs were scattered here and there and a couple of booths lay to one side. It was as quiet as the grave. 

One solitary drinker sat at a table near the bar, attacking a mug of beer with brute ferocity. He was old with a small white goatee beard as fine as silk. He wore a large rounded cap thrown together from what must once have been a living creature. A walking cane lay by his side and a steaming plate of giblets was quickly becoming cold on the table in front of him. He paid no attention to the newcomers. Other than that there wasn’t a soul in the place and no one appeared to be serving behind the bar, which was cast in deep shadows by the wall torches.

“Are you sure this is it?” she hissed to Emalus, the two of them still standing fully coated by the doorway.

“Positive,” he said hoarsely. “The Black Stork Tavern – the only one between home and Korrin.”

“Well, for the only drinking hole in miles, it certainly doesn’t do much custom,” she snarled back.

“What can I do you for?” came a voice from the bar. As Gratia’s eyes adjusted to the gloom she could make out a faint outline in the shadows.

“Is this the Black Stork Tavern on the road to Korrin?” she asked boldly.

“The one and only.”

“Is it always this lively?” she asked, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

“You should see it on a bad day,” came an equally tongue-in-cheek reply. Gratia couldn’t help but smile. Emalus, on the other hand, failed to see the joke. They moved towards the bar and seated themselves gently on stools.

“You’re here from Imandilas, correct?” Someone moved to the back of the shadowy bar.

“How did you know?” Emalus asked, suddenly alarmed.

“You look saddlesore,” he smirked and a flair of light came into existence. Lighting a torch he placed the flint-box back under the bar. “Hemlet Garris, landlord of this here tavern. Now, what can I serve you with?”

Gratia gave an amused grin. Hemlet was a man-orc. No wonder he chose to keep the lights off. His face was human in general, but here and there it was knotted with grotesquely gnarled pieces of flesh. He had fascinating eyes however, coal black and quick moving, and he was well-built, there was no mistake about that. Her guess was that he probably used a twelve stone war axe for chopping firewood. No amount of cotton or velvet could disguise those rippling muscles. She returned her gaze back to the man’s face whilst Emalus stared on in horror. Clearly they didn’t have many cross-breads in these parts.

“Information,” she said coolly.

Ignoring, probably through habit, the way Emalus was looking at him, he raised an interested eyebrow and leaned forward on the bar. “Information, eh? On anything in particular? The sky’s blue, birds fly, and grass grows. That’s ‘bout all the information I know.”

“How about the taste of your ales?” she said, giving a warm smile. 

Hemlet looked amused. “Well, let me see now,” he said, casting an eye over the barrels at the back of the bar. “I have a nice sweet wine I think might suit your pallet, and for your companion a nice mug of homebrew.”

“I’d say you give very good information, sire.” The man-orc studied her for a moment and then they exchanged a smile.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting a room an’ all?” he asked, eyeing Emalus with a look of subtle jest as he went to pour the drinks. 

Gratia almost choked on her breath. “No! I mean no, thank you. Two rooms, please.”

“Calm yourself lady, I was only teasing.” He gave her a good-humoured wink and placed the cups in front of them. “Now, let me see, two rooms for a night, sweet and brew – no doubt you’ll be wanting another? Well now, by my reckoning that’ll be nine marks and fifty.” 

He studied her carefully as she dug into her purse and noted the way she looked at her companion when he tried to pay from his own wallet. People came and went from his tavern on a daily basis, but there was something more than just faces about these two. He tried to work out the relationship between them. They certainly weren’t lovers by any stretch of the imagination, he had only meant that as a joke, but her reaction had told him a lot. He didn’t seem to be her servant, either. He was dressed in Imandilas silks all right, and bore the badge of a footman, but he certainly didn’t act like one. They’d walked in together and she wouldn’t let him pay for anything, putting him down with a look. There was a closeness about them, like a band of adventurers, but they didn’t look the adventuring type. He gave a resigned sigh and raised a cautious eyebrow when he saw the extent of the tip she had passed him. “All right,” he said carefully. “What is it you wanna know, exactly?” It was clear whoever they were, they meant business. He would have passed information for a lot less. Nervously licking his lips, he studied his guests with a new curiosity.

“Are you expecting guests tomorrow evening?” The tanned woman asked in a liquid voice.

“People come and go, lady. No doubt there will be a few pass by.” Catching the dissatisfied scowl on her face added, “however, there is word of wards passing through.”

“Wards?” Gratia was suddenly edgy.

“Yes, some members of the fifth ward and their ward-master, on way to Korrin.”

“How many members?”

“Four rooms reserved.”

Emalus picked up on Gratia’s sudden change in mood and laced his fingers in his lap, thoughtfully. They had been under the impression that only Demivolsh would be passing. On reflection, it did seem somewhat foolish to assume that a Ward-master would be riding alone.

“What room is designated the Ward-master?” Gratia asked conversationally, but her casual tone didn’t throw the bartender, the implication of the question was still as clear as glass.

“Not in my tavern you don’t, missy. I don’t want any of that, hustling my best customers.”

Gratia’s look of feigned surprise quickly turned to one of true surprise. The man thought she was a whore, and what, Emalus was supposed to be her pimp? She threw back her head and laughed, much to the bewildered look of Hemlet and Emalus.

“You insult the daughter of a Ward-master!” She giggled and looked on in delight as the landlord of The Black Stork coloured in embarrassment.

“Forgive me, m’lady. I did not realise.”

“You are forgiven, but he is not expecting me here, it is a surprise. That is why I wish to know which room he is in and for you to keep your hush about this.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink.

It all made sense now. She was the proud daughter of the Ward-master. That was obviously why she insisted on paying, and why she was in possession of such a large amount of marks. He must be her servant after all.