In a few moments, he had dressed and was making his way down the tavern stairs and out into the warm night air. He didn’t like being abroad at night, but the moons were still up, peering dully through the mist, shedding some light on the village and the surrounding country. And if his powers were enough to let him face a Weaver with confidence, certainly they were more than a match for any road brigands he might meet.
Soon Tihod was out of the village, following a winding, rutted mud road through the moors of the Wethy Crown. Under the red and white moons, the jumbled boulders and swaying grasses took on a ghostly quality, as if wraiths lurked behind each stone. The sky to the north flashed again and again with lightning, but the night remained silent save for the soft wind and the intermittent call of a distant owl.
He walked for several hours, pausing at dawn to pull a piece of dried meat from his travel sack and drink from a small spring by the road. With first light, he caught sight of Helke Castle, an austere ash-colored fortress that towered above the city of Helke. To the west he could see the waters of the Gulf of Kreanna, dark as a scar and dotted with whitecaps. The wind had begun to freshen, and Tihod smelled a storm brewing. It would rain later in the day. A sea captain knew such things.
By the time he reached the city walls, the gates had been opened, and though the guards at the south gate eyed him with the suspicion and contempt such men seemed to reserve for Qirsi travelers, they let him pass into the city without question. He went first to the marketplace, where he found a Qirsi peddler and asked about the Grey Seal.
“I hear it’s a fine tavern,” the man said, spreading his wares on the ground and pausing occasionally to examine his work with a critical eye. “Good food, excellent ale, and, as o’ late, decent music as well. The cost is a bit dear, but tha’ doesn’t seem to stop them tha’ goes there from fillin’ themselves.” He looked up, meeting Tihod’s gaze. “It’s no’ one o’ ours, though, cousin, despite the name.”
Qirsi taverns and inns often bore names such as the White Dragon, or the Grey Falcon, as a way of letting Qirsi patrons know that they would be welcomed. They were, of course, free to spend their gold in any tavern, regardless of whether it was run by a Qirsi or an Eandi, but most Qirsi tended to limit themselves to those establishments run by others of their race.
“Yes, I had heard that,” Tihod said. “I need to find someone there.” Then, as an afterthought, he asked, “Is there an inn within the city walls where I might take a room?”
“ ’Course there is. The Silver Whale, on the west side o’ the city. Not far really from the Seal. Go t’ the west end o’ the marketplace, then follow the prior’s lane toward the sanctuary. There’ll be three narrow alleys on yer right-the first will take ye t’ the Seal, the second t’ the Whale.”
“Thank you, cousin.” He began to fish into his pocket for a coin to give the man, but the peddler shook his head.
“It’s bad luck t’ take free coin before the first sale o’ the day. Me father always said so.” He grinned. “Now, if ye’d like t’ buy somethin’. .”
Tihod laughed, quickly picked out a Sanbiri blade that looked to be worth perhaps half the price the peddler was asking, and paid him five qinde extra for it.
“A wise purchase, cousin.”
“Thank you,” Tihod said. “With what I’ve paid, I expect you’ll tell no one of our conversation.”
The peddler began once more to arrange his goods. “I recall no conversation, cousin,” he said absently.
Smiling, Tihod left the man and followed his directions to the Grey Seal.
The inn looked much as he had imagined it would: well tended, with polished wooden tables within and a fine bar made of oak and brass. The barkeep was an older man, grey-haired and stout, with thick arms and a full beard. He eyed Tihod warily as the merchant stood in the doorway, searching the tavern for Cadel. When Tihod didn’t see the assassin, he stepped to the bar, placing a five-qinde piece on the smooth wood.
The barkeep glanced at the coin, but remained where he was. “I think perhaps you’re in the wrong place, friend,” he said, the word friend devoid of any warmth. “The Silver Whale is down the next lane from here. I believe you’d be more comfortable there.”
“Thank you, friend,” Tihod answered in the same tone. “I intend to take a room at the Whale. But I’ve heard that you serve a fine ale here, and I’ve heard as well that you have a singer who’s worth hearing. I was hoping to speak with him.”
“I haven’t seen him today.”
“That’s all right. I’ve nowhere in particular I need to be. Why don’t we start with that ale, then?” He sat, placing his travel sack on the stool beside him and making it clear that he had no intention of leaving the tavern anytime soon.
“It’s a bit early for ale, isn’t it?”
“I had a long night.”
The barkeep stared at him for several moments before finally taking the five-qinde piece and filling a tankard. He started to make change from the gold piece, but Tihod stopped him.
“There’s no telling how long I’ll be here. We’ll consider that payment for the next few ales.”
The man frowned, then nodded and turned his back on the merchant, perhaps hoping to convince himself that Tihod wasn’t actually there.
Tihod was still sipping this first ale-he had to admit that it was quite good-when he heard voices coming from the top of the tavern stairs. Glancing back, he saw three men, two of them were clearly brothers. They both had yellow hair, fair skin, and the same lean build. The third man, however, was tall and dark, broad in the shoulders, with long black hair, sharp pale eyes, and a beard. Looking closer, the merchant saw a scar on the side of the man’s face. Judging from the descriptions he had heard of the assassin, he knew that this had to be Cadel.
He turned fully so that he was facing the men. Still, none of them appeared to notice him until they had reached the bottom of the stairway. Even then, the brothers gave him no more than a passing glance. But Cadel faltered when he saw him, the smile fleeing his lips, leaving a look as deadly as any blade the man might have carried.
The brothers halted as well.
“You all right, Corbin?” one of the brothers asked, looking from the singer to Tihod.
“Yes, fine,” the singer said, never taking his eyes off the merchant.
“Why don’t the two of you go ahead and eat? I’ll be along shortly.” The other men hesitated and Cadel looked at them at last, flashing a quick smile. “It’s all right.”
The two men moved off toward the back of the tavern, and Cadel approached Tihod, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger.
“What is it you want?”
“We need to talk. Perhaps we should go somewhere more private.”
“No. Here is fine.”
“I disagree, Corbin.” He put just the faintest emphasis on the name, but it was enough to make the assassin’s eyes flick toward the brothers.
“Where?” Cadel asked, his voice thick.
“You tell me.”
The singer exhaled through his teeth before walking back to where his friends were sitting and speaking with them briefly. Striding back toward the stairs, he cast a dark look at Tihod, and said simply, “Upstairs.”
Tihod followed him to a small room with a single bed and a large chair. Cadel closed the door behind them, then whirled toward Tihod so suddenly that the merchant backed away.
“Now, who are you?” the assassin demanded. “And what do you want with me?”
“You may not believe this, Cadel, but I’m a friend. As to who I am, I won’t give you a name, but I think you know already that I’m with the movement.”
“I have no friends in the movement.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say so. And here I came all this way, just to warn you that Lord Tavis of Curgh is on his way to Helke to kill you, along with a Qirsi companion who is a somewhat more formidable foe than the boy.”
Cadel’s eyes had widened slightly at the mention of Tavis. “How far are they from here?”