Cimozjen turned to look, hiding his face by pretending to take a deep draw on his drink. “Sovereigns, it is,” said Cimozjen. “Those wide-set eyes are a giveaway. Now we know that some of them are here in town. Do you see him, Four?”
“Yes. Do you wish me to kill him?”
“No, do not kill him.”
“But that is the goal of our adventure, is it not?”
“I want justice, not revenge,” said Cimozjen. “Also, if we kill him now, we probably lose any chance of running down any of the others who might be involved in this. Given how he was let free, we have to assume Rophis and maybe some of the other crew could be involved, too. Just keep an eye on him for us, will you? All things considered, you’ll be the least conspicuous doing it.”
Minrah adjusted herself so that her back faced the room. “Let’s just cross our fingers that he doesn’t recognize us.”
Minrah and Cimozjen nursed their drinks and resisted the agonizing urge to turn around and check up on their quarry. Finally, Minrah turned and sat sideways at the bar, leaning back against Four.
Cimozjen glanced at her, and saw that her eyes were elsewhere. “Careful, Minrah,” said Cimozjen. “Let him not catch you staring.”
“I’m looking at his reflection in the window over there,” said Minrah, her face aimed at her companion, but her eyes turned away. “He’ll think I’m talking to you. He’s speaking with those stirges. He’s handing them something, leaning over their table. Hoy, and look who just walked in.”
“Who?” asked Cimozjen, not wanting to turn around.
Minrah never answered his question, although she didn’t need to. Cimozjen heard someone stomp across the floor and slap the bar so hard he felt the tremor at the other end. “Bottle of Orla-un brandy, barkeep,” snarled an unmistakably bitter voice.
“But that’ll cost your whole take,” said a second, gentler voice.
“I don’t care,” came the clipped answer. Then her voice rose to a shout. “Death beware, for Aundair dares!”
Cimozjen turned around. The woman was demanding attention, and it would be conspicuous not to give it to her. He turned slowly on his stool to see the angry, truncated face of Jolieni snarling across the tavern floor.
“The unholy Cannith beast is dead,” she said, fist in the air. “Vengeance is mine.”
The proprietor set a bottle of brandy on the bar beside her and walked down the bar to fetch some glassware. She slid her hand across the wood and let fly a gold coin, sending it scooting across the stained wood to the bartender. She grabbed the brandy by the neck, ignoring his offer of glasses. She started to stalk across the floor to her table, but her eye caught Four standing in the corner with Cimozjen and Minrah. Slowly she raised the hand holding the brandy, to point menacingly at Four.
“You’re lucky it wasn’t you,” she called. She held the gesture and didn’t break eye contact with Four until after she had seated herself and taken her first pull at the bottle.
Minrah turned away. “She’s awfully excited for winning a bet over a warforged.”
“It did kill her friend,” said Cimozjen, “and she is a woman of great anger. Still.…” As Cimozjen tore his gaze away from her, he saw Pomindras saunter out of the establishment. “And there he goes.”
“Who?” asked Minrah.
“Pomindras.”
“Should we follow him?” asked Four.
“No. If we do, we increase the chance he’ll recognize us. We dare not make him nervy, or we might be facing down a whole tavern full of his friends.”
Within a half bell of the commander’s departure, the Dragon’s Flagons was galloping full tilt, every table packed with rowdy and violent people, most of whom Cimozjen noted bore the marks of those who’d fought in the War.
As the number of Aundairian veterans grew, the quantity of alcohol remaining in the establishment shrank and the atmosphere became more and more unstable. Minrah edged closer to Cimozjen, intimidated by the raucous noise and coarse language. For his part, Cimozjen tried to ignore the vulnerable feminine bundle pressed to his side so he could keep his attention on the potential threat of everyone else in the tavern. Beside him, Four raised the battle-axe slowly to an ever more threatening position.
“This is what it sounded like when someone tried to kill me,” he said. “Only now I might not be able to tell when it starts. That was an advantage my home provided me. It opened whenever trouble arrived.”
“Let’s get ourselves out of here,” said Cimozjen, praying for an opportunity. And, shortly afterwards, one came. Jolieni’s friend, the one who had calmed her down from the fight only the night before, came to the bar to order another small cask of wine.
“Evening,” said Cimozjen over the noise of the crowd and showing a smile that said he was genuinely pleased to see the man.
The Aundairian looked at him. “It is a good evening indeed,” he said. “For you?”
“Always!” Cimozjen took a chug from his glass and leaned closer. “Tell me, I’m trying to remember this Aundairian drinking song. I’m hoping that you know it.”
“Most of the songs I know have to do with barmaids,” said the Aundairian.
“The words run something like: Fine wine, drink mine till I’m blind … but I’m unable to recall what might come next,” said Cimozjen, straining his voice against the background noise.
The man’s face brightened immediately. “Hey, yeah, that’s a fun one!” he started sing the song at a full, throaty shout.
“Fine wine,
Drink mine till I’m blind!
This cask is my task and I’ll not waste my time!”
Cimozjen joined in and the two belted out the rest of the verse together, very loudly.
“From the tap to the dregs
Keep on rolling the kegs
For this soldier he begs for more wine!”
As Cimozjen had hoped, the song quickly caught fire in the general atmosphere of inebriation, and when the chorus had taken hold of the collective attention, he and his companions exited the tavern into the chill autumn air and made their way by moonlight back to their boardinghouse.
Chapter SIXTEEN
Coincidence
Zol, the 24th day of Sypheros, 998
The morning dawned steely gray and dismal, with heavy clouds overhead dimming the light. After Minrah and Cimozjen had broken their fast, the three companions took an easy walk to the University of Wyrnarn to read the latest in the Korranberg Chronicle.
Afterwards, they worked their way from the upscale Distant Exchange markets to the merchants in Chalice Center and around the University, and then through the questionable Whiteroof ward all the way to the area known as Eastbank, asking tanners, leatherworkers, toolmakers, and traders of all sorts if they were familiar with the markings on Torval’s shoe.
“It’s not a good sign that no one knows it,” said Minrah. “That means his mark isn’t famous, and therefore neither is the cobbler.”
“In that case, we should look in the poorer sections of town,” said Cimozjen.
“We are, in case you hadn’t noticed,” said Minrah, casting a look at the houses and shacks jammed together on the streets, and the makeshift tents that filled the alleys.
“Of course I noticed. It was my way of pointing out to you that we are undertaking the right approach at this time.”
Minrah sighed in despair. “This might all be a rabid goblin chase, anyways. The cobbler might have been an apprentice that couldn’t earn enough, and went on to another line of work.”
“Pray that is not the case,” said Cimozjen.
“Not likely, I will,” said Minrah. “The gods’d kill the cobbler off just to spite me.”