“Yes. She only needs to rest. It is a simple bit of entertainment, but an exhausting one.”
Elyea’s eyelids fluttered at the sound of voices. She looked first at Khirro, then over his shoulder at Ghaul.
“Not a bad trick, eh?”
Khirro grasped her hand in both of his. “Are you hurt?”
“No, only tired.”
“How did you do it?” Ghaul asked.
The illusionist stood and faced the warrior leaving Khirro relieved he was no longer tempted to look upon the misshapen version of himself. He felt as though the mask showed him a piece of his soul he didn’t want to know existed.
“A craftsman does not reveal his secrets,” Athryn said moving to the exit, cape swirling with his movements. “Take care of the lady and get some rest yourselves. We will meet on the morrow.”
Ghaul went to follow him out, but the troubadour blocked his way.
“It is always best to do as Athryn says, yes?”
Ghaul glowered but didn’t challenge him further.
“We’ll be meeting with no one tomorrow,” he growled returning to his companions.
The jester and the juggler rose and followed the illusionist out leaving only the troubadour standing watch. Elyea sat up on the divan and took her hand from Khirro’s.
“Alicando is right. We should listen to what Athryn has to say. He may be of more help than you know, Ghaul.” She rose uncertainly, steadying herself with a hand on Khirro’s shoulder. “I have friends outside town we can stay with. We’ll be safe and they’ll give us supplies and a place to sleep.”
She led them past the troubadour, who smiled broadly as Ghaul bumped him on the way out. For a moment, Khirro thought they might come to blows, but the singer continued grinning as Elyea pulled the soldier away.
Who is this Athryn and what does he want with us?
Elyea led them toward the outskirts of Inehsul to collect their armor and weapons. Khirro looked at his feet as they walked and sighed deeply. He’d soon find out if telling Elyea the truth had been the right decision or not.
Chapter Thirteen
To Khirro’s discomfort, but not his surprise, the place outside town turned out to be Inehsul’s version of a brothel. Three women shared the thatched-roof cottage, each of them employed in the art of satisfying men. Aryann, the youngest, was a pretty blonde with small hands and close-set eyes. Khirro doubted she’d seen her sixteenth summer.
“She’s only had two customers so far,” Elyea explained, “and one of them asked for his money back.”
“That’s not true.” Aryann blushed and protested. “At least, it wasn’t my fault. It was my moon time.”
The second woman, Leigha, wore her raven hair in a tight bun at the back of her head. She looked about Elyea’s age and the formless shift she wore hid the pudginess she claimed her customers loved.
“There’s more of me to love,” she said winking at them. “But if you want a little extra cushion, you have to come during the week: I don’t see customers on the holy days.”
“Are you sure that’s not just laziness?” Elyea teased.
“Hmph. After five days of men worshipping at this temple,” she said spreading her arms, “don’t you think I should go to temple, too?”
“Don’t believe her,” the third woman said-an older woman named Despina. “She doesn’t accept payment on weekends, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t satisfy the odd man here and there.”
“Oh honey, there’s nothing odd about them.”
Despina was the matron, easily old enough to be Elyea’s mother or Aryann’s grandmother. The dress cinched beyond reason at her waist struggled valiantly to contain her enormous bosom-a battle it was losing. Still an attractive woman, Khirro guessed the brown tresses spilling down her back were a wig. And she liked to talk.
“I have customers who’ve been with me nie thirty years,” she said after the introductions were done. “I haven’t taken a new customer in years.”
“Wow.” Khirro nodded and smiled politely, impressed she’d been in the business longer than he’d been alive.
“Mind you, you’re the sort of lad who might tempt me into taking a new client.” She prodded Khirro with her elbow and laughed hard enough he thought her corset might explode.
“I have someone waiting for me at home, my lady.”
“Most of ’em do, love. Most of ’em do.”
The women welcomed them enthusiastically, surprising Khirro: he’d thought women of their profession might be less inclined toward graciousness to men in their off hours, but they doted over them preparing dinner, providing supplies and acting genuinely delighted to do so. The sexual innuendoes and suggestive comments came fast and furious, making Khirro fidget and blush constantly, but the atmosphere looked to relax Ghaul, something he hadn’t yet seen from his companion..
Thank goodness for that.
They sat at the wooden table by the fireplace in the large, open room serving as kitchen, dining and living area, eating fresh baked bread and bowls of steaming stew full to the brim with bawdy tales and laughter. When they finished, their hostesses cleared away the earthenware dishes and busied themselves leaving Khirro and his companions to talk on their own.
“Your friends are wonderful,” Khirro commented. “And good cooks.”
Ghaul grunted agreement as he watched Aryann cross the room to the doorway, water bucket in hand. She smiled at him as she exited.
“I doubt that.” Elyea nudged Ghaul playfully; he grinned. “More likely everything was taken as payment. Times are lean when men are off making war. One can’t afford to refuse a customer, whether they pay with cash or bread.”
“But what of the men in the clearing?” Khirro asked. “Shouldn’t they have been off making war?”
“I didn’t ask why they were here. A deserter’s coin is as good as an honest man’s.”
What about a coward’s coin? Is it as good?
“In my trade, you learn not to ask questions. It’s best that way.”
“That wasn’t the case with us, though, was it?” Ghaul scoffed. “We couldn’t stop you asking questions.”
“There was no danger you were customers, they’re rarely so chivalrous.”
She smiled and Ghaul chuckled, but Khirro had trouble finding the humor. What kind of life was it to sell yourself and live in fear of those buying your services? People buying his produce never caused him anxiety; he never worried someone would beat him over a potato.
After the dishes were cleared, Leigha disappeared into the lone room at the back of the hut and Despina whistled as she tidied the pantry. Ghaul pulled dagger and whetstone from his belt and began sliding the blade along its rough surface. The grating sound set Khirro’s teeth on edge.
“What of this Athryn?” Ghaul asked as he honed the knife. “What’s his interest in us?”
“It’s not my place to say.” Elyea leaned back in her chair and the thin material of her dress pulled tight across her breasts; Khirro glanced once, then looked away, silently chastising himself. “I’m sure he’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“And if we decide not to go?”
“What do you have to lose, Ghaul? If he offers nothing of interest, we go on our way. But if he proves useful…”
“She’s right,” Khirro said as he watched Ghaul store the honing stone and twirl the knife in his fingers. “It can’t hurt.”
He could imagine the warrior's thoughts: ‘You’ve already revealed our secret to one person too many’. His eyes had carried the accusation since they met Elyea, though he hadn’t said it. Not yet.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t.”
He jabbed the point of his knife into the table as Aryann struggled through the door, both hands grasping the handle of the pail as water splashed over the edge. Ghaul rose to help, dagger wobbling in the table top. She smiled and the corner of his mouth twitched. Despina strode across the room, cloth in hand.
“It looks like Aryann will get some much needed practice tonight,” she said pulling Ghaul’s dagger from the table and brushing away the crumbs left from dinner. Aryann shot her an embarrassed look, then broke into a bigger smile. “That solves part of our sleeping arrangements. I’ve decided I’ll sacrifice-you can sleep with me, Khirro.” She winked at him and Elyea laughed.