Mansel led them away from the harbor and deeper into the town. He was looking for the kind of inn that didn’t cater to sailors, and when he found one he went straight in.
“Try not to seem too hurt, Zollin,” he whispered. “I don’t want any more crazed mobs calling for your blood.”
“Me either,” Zollin said, swaying lightly on his feet.
They went inside the inn and Zollin stayed by the door with Eustice while Mansel talked to the innkeeper. They were escorted up a flight a stairs and shown into a small room.
“Why’s he all wet?” the innkeeper asked.
“He got mobbed by some sailors and knocked off the quay. That’s why he’s so shaky,” Mansel lied. “I need to get him warmed up and dry.”
“Well, I can dry his clothes near the fire,” the man said, not quiet sure he believed Mansel.
“That would be grand. And if you can send up some wine, we’ll be paying with gold.”
“And food,” Zollin said, trying not to slur his words. “Something hot.”
“I feed all my guests,” the innkeeper said.
“Great. Give us a few moments and we’ll have him out of these wet clothes for you then,” Mansel said.
“I’d like to see the gold,” the innkeeper said.
“Here, take it,” Mansel said, holding out a golden coin with a crown embossed on it. “And get us that wine. And don’t skimp, either-we want several bottles of your best.”
The innkeeper put the coin between his teeth and bit down to test how soft the gold was. Then he looked up, pleased.
“I’ll get it right up here,” he said happily. “And the best food in Lorye too.”
“Excellent,” Mansel said.
He closed the door behind the innkeeper and turned back to Eustice.
“Let’s get him out of these clothes,” he said.
They stripped the cold, wet clothes off of Zollin and then wrapped him in a blanket and sat him on the bed. A serving girl knocked timidly on the door. When Mansel opened it, she handed him three goblets and a bottle of wine.
“Master Orrin said there was wet clothes,” she said.
Eustice handed them to her, along with Zollin’s boots.
“Get those dried quickly and there’s a silver mark in it for you,” Mansel said.
“Yes, my lord,” she said. “Right away.”
She hurried out, and Eustice handed Zollin a goblet of wine. He drank it greedily, letting the wine warm his insides and spread a feeling of strength through his arms and legs. After a few moments, Zollin had drunk three goblets of wine and the innkeeper returned with their supper. It was a thick stew with hearty loaves of golden-crusted bread. Zollin ate two bowls and then fell asleep.
“Did you sell the horses?” Mansel asked Eustice.
The mute servant shook his head.
“Good. I want to ride out of here before dawn. Do you think you can fetch them without drawing too much attention?”
Eustice nodded enthusiastically and hurried out.
“He’s a useful one to have around,” Mansel said to Zollin, even though the young wizard was asleep. “I’ll keep watch, why don’t I,” he said as he paced back and forth through the room. “So far this little adventure seems right on course-according to our luck, anyway.”
Chapter 3
It had taken all of Offendorl’s physical strength to fight back the seasickness. He was alone on a trade ship sailing south. He had booked passage on a ship sailing to Brimington Bay that included sharing the shipboard rations. Unfortunately, the sailors seemed to exist on bland gruel and stale biscuits that were more often than not crawling with weevils.
He had been carried from Orrock to the southern coast of Yelsia by Bartoom, but the dragon was not gentle. The trip and Offendorl’s wounds had almost been enough to stop his ancient heart, but a fortune find of Zipple Weed had given him the boost in stamina he needed to rejuvenate his body. He would live, but the magic and battle with Zollin had weakened the master of the Torr. Normally his servants would have nursed him back to health, but he had abandoned the last of his tongue-less eunuchs after the battle when he had called Bartoom to carry him away. The dragon was a vile creature, in Offendorl’s estimation, but it had served a purpose. The trip to the coast, which would have taken over a week on horseback, was traversed in just one day by the dragon, but the beast was neither gentle or caring. It did as it was bid because Offendorl had learned its name and inscribed it on a golden crown, giving him full control of the dragon.
He could have been back in his tower high above the Grand City by now if only he could have suffered the dragon’s harsh treatment, but he had sent the beast away to the Walheta Mountains between Yelsia and Falxis, preferring to travel home by sea. But that had not been a great solution either. The ship was dank and smelly. Offendorl’s cabin was little more than a closet with a bunk and had no access to fresh air. For over a week the elder wizard had lain in a state of semi-consciousness, too sick to move and too weak to work the magic he needed to regain his strength.
A normal person’s body would heal naturally, but Offendorl was over 400 years old. His body was kept alive through magic, and even though Offendorl was an incredibly powerful wizard, it had been over a century since he had participated in a magical battle. He had over-extended his resources and now he was caught with barely enough strength to stay alive and no one to help nurse him back to health. The only good news had been the strong winds that were pushing the small trading vessel south. They had made excellent time over the last week, completing over half of their journey.
The captain of the ship had prepared a canvas seat for Offendorl on the deck, and he was determined to make his way to that chair. He had only brought a bottle of wine and the golden crown-which he carried in a burlap sack-to his cabin. The wine was long gone, wasted because his stomach refused to keep it down. The crown was hidden beneath his bunk in the tiny cabin, but he doubted that anyone suspected the ancient wizard of possessing treasure. He left it behind and staggered out of his room. He needed spirits and food to regain his strength and he was determined to get more than the sorry fare the sailors had been giving him.
His first challenge was to climb the stairs that led from his cabin up onto the deck of the ship. There was no handrail to lean against, and Offendorl was forced to crawl up the steps. He was queasy and out of breath by the time he reached the top, but he forced himself to keep moving. He didn’t want to appear weak.
The sunshine felt glorious and the fresh sea air invigorated him a little. It was enough to keep the elder wizard moving. He saw the canvas chair under an awning not far from the helm of the ship. The captain was standing near the ship’s wheel, his long, blue sea coat immaculate. Offendorl tried to steady his gait but the ship was plunging through the gentle swells like a galloping horse.
“Ah, you are getting your sea legs, I think,” said the captain.
“Yes,” Offendorl croaked, falling into the canvas chair. His voice sounded terrible, a combination of vomiting for several days and lack of use.
“I was afraid you would miss our glorious journey, my friend,” said the captain, approaching from his position by the helm. “We have been blessed with good winds, yes?”
Offendorl nodded. “I need better food and spirits. I cannot continue on the gruel and tepid water your men bring me.”
“I was under the impression that you were seasick,” the captain explained. “Rich food would be wasted on you, no?”
“No, I need food and drink to regain my strength.”
“Well, I will have food prepared, my friend.” Then, turning to one of the sailors, he said, “Hines, bring our guest a ration of grog.”
“Aye Captain,” the sailor said, hurrying away.
“What is grog?” Offendorl croaked.