“Haven’t seen any of Lord Jaffrayt’s men in years, except for the ones that come every harvest with the tariff collector. Pretty much leave us alone, and we like it that way.”
“What about traders?”
“Not many. We get some factors around harvesttime, looking for spare grain or cattle, or black ewes. Not interested in much else that we have here. Except there were some Suthyans here an eightday or two back. Only one trader and a bunch of armsmen. Talked to a few folks, and Ma, then left.”
“What did they say?”
“Ma would have to tell you. I wasn’t there.” Essin shook his big head. “Don’t much care for traders in fancy clothes. Means they cheated someone.”
“So what pays for the inn?”
“Didn’t say we didn’t get travelers. Mixed bunch. Enough. Sometimes not enough, but Ma put enough aside for the rough times, what with the rents from her other lands.”
“How do people make a living here?”
“Like folks everywhere. Some farm. The bottomland west of the river fetches up good maize, and the higher land does oats and wheat-corn pretty good. Wool from the black sheep brings a fair price, and we got a tin mine a bit south. Slow going there, but it helps.”
At that moment, Hryessa rode back from the lane and reined up. “Looks good, ser.”
Saryn nodded to Essin. “You’ve got a deal, innkeeper. How much for supper?”
“Two coppers each, with one lager. Another two coppers for the second lager.”
“And fodder?”
“A silver for oats, and that’s a cup for each mount, and all the hay they can eat.”
Almost a gold. Saryn couldn’t have afforded that every night, but with only two more days, three at the most, to Lornth, they had enough, and the mounts could use the fodder. “Agreed.” She nodded to Hryessa, then dismounted and handed the gelding’s reins to the captain. “I’ll be with you in a while.”
Saryn climbed the three wooden steps to the porch, keeping a bit of distance from the overlarge innkeeper, out of habit.
“Ma! Got your favorite guests.” A rolling chuckle followed Essin’s words.
Favorite guests? Saryn couldn’t sense any menace in the man, but his words bothered her because they suggested a certain familiarity.
A woman a good head taller than Saryn opened the front door of the inn. Holding to her arm was a white-haired woman.
The older woman moved slowly, if steadily, but her brown eyes were bright and centered immediately on Saryn. “I’m Jennyleu. You’re one of the real angels, aren’t you? Could tell it right away. Something about all of you.” She settled into the straight-backed wooden chair, then released her grip on the strong forearm of her young escort. “Sit down over on the bench, Lessa.”
The woman smiled, her eyes turning to Saryn before she settled onto the backless bench.
The commander sensed that Lessa had seen angels before.
Essin picked up the other bench and set it down in an easy movement right in front of the chair. “You might as well be comfortable.”
Although she seated herself, Saryn wondered how long she could take the hard wood after all the riding.
Jennyleu continued to study Saryn for several moments before speaking. “It was ten years ago, almost to the day, as I recall. Two angels rode in. One of them was carrying a child in a pack. No-good cousins, Gustor and Buil, went after ’em with blades. The one angel fellow, he wasn’t all that big, tried to warn ’em. Buil tried to stab him in the back. Next thing I knew, both of them were laid out in the road-right out there-dead as a pair of slaughtered oxen. He took care of them with those little swords, threw one of them right through Buil.”
Saryn nodded. She’d never heard the story, but it had to have been Nylan and Ayrlyn.
“You know about that?” asked Jennyleu.
“I never heard the story, but I know who they were.”
“What ever happened to him?”
“He was the one who destroyed the Cyadoran army when they attacked Lornth. After that, he headed to the Great Forest.” That was what Nylan had called it.
“He was the mage that turned the skies black and toppled all the cities in Cyador and drowned two or three of them?”
Those were details Ryba hadn’t passed on. Finally, Saryn said, “That was Nylan. Ayrlyn helped him.”
“Seemed like nice folks,” said Jennyleu.
“They were,” murmured Lessa. “I saw how good he was with the boy.”
“Grandchildren are worse than children,” snorted Jennyleu. “They know everything.” Her eyes returned to Saryn. “You know any more about them?”
“He sends messages occasionally. Cyador, he says, pretty much fell apart.”
“That’s what we heard here.” Jennyleu shook her head. “I told Wister and his boys not to mess with him. Coulda told the Cyadorans the same thing. They were always a nasty bunch, anyways. Never satisfied with what they had. Always trying to grab more. The Suthyans are sorta like that, too, except they want to buy everything cheap.” Her eyes twinkled.
“Your son said some Suthyans came through here a few eightdays ago.”
“Fancy-dressed fellow spouted nonsense about you angels killing a fellow at supper.”
“We did. That was after he tried to poison the Marshal, then went for her with a blade. The Marshal turned the rest of them out in the darkness.”
“Figured it might be something like that.” Jennyleu nodded. “Sneaky bastards, those Suthyans. Told ’em to go on their way. Not before I got Essin to tariff ’em double for the feed and fodder.” She laughed softly.
Essin laughed. “They don’t count that well, either. Overcharged them, and they never caught it.”
“Some people in Lornth might believe the trader,” suggested Saryn.
“Not real folk, they wouldn’t. Even the lord-holders wouldn’t believe ’em.”
“What do you think about the regents?” asked Saryn.
“What is there to think? Anytime Lady Zeldyan wants to do something that makes sense, the lord-holders start making noises like they’d make her boy overlord now and be his regents rather than her. Mostly, it’s the menfolk causing problems, ’less they listen to a good woman.”
Saryn laughed. “You and the Marshal agree on that.”
“We haven’t seen many raiders since she started patrolling the Roof of the World, not for long, anyway. That’s more than the lords and regents in Lornth ever been able to do.” She paused. “You didn’t say why you were going to Lornth.”
“We wanted to talk to her about the Suthyans. They tried to buy off the Marshal-before they tried to kill her. We thought Lady Zeldyan should know.”
“Like as not, she knows how treacherous the Suthyans are. Making that young idiot Kelthyn understand is another thing. He likes being regent more than doing what he ought.”
“Was Lord Sillek like that?”
“No. One reason why he’s dead. He kept trying to keep the old lord-holders from warring with Westwind. His mama, Lady Ellindyja, wanted revenge ’cause you angels killed her consort. A course, even if he was overlord, Lord Nessil wasn’t any better than his lord-holders. He was just meaner. She kept stirring up trouble…you all know what happened.”
“How do you know all this?” asked Saryn.
Jennyleu laughed. “Haelora. She’s my niece. Vernt’s, really. She and her consort, they’ve got an inn off the square in Lornth. The Square Platter. Vernt staked ’em, years back. She writes good letters. Not all that often, but the gossip’s good.”
As she listened to Jennyleu, Saryn couldn’t help but find herself liking the straightforward old woman and wishing that dealing with the regents would be that direct.
XXIII
Despite Jennyleu’s comments about the Suthyans and Saryn’s worries, travel for the next two days was uneventful, past hillsides filled with inhospitable ironwoods and hamlets populated by Lornians who were neither friendly nor unfriendly-just wary. On fiveday morning, under a clear green-blue sky and less than a glass after setting out from their camp on the hillside lands of a halfway-friendly herder, Saryn caught sight of a rider in brown, stationed on a rise nearly a kay ahead. Abruptly, he turned his mount, but before he disappeared, she caught the glint of sunlight on metal-armor of some sort, she thought.