Silme returned the greeting, but the cart lurched past before she could answer the farmer's query.
As the wagon jounced toward the forest, its wheels left no mark on the frozen soil. At the border of Forste -Mar's town square, Larson and his companions left the wheat fields behind for sagging paddocks of lean-fleshed goats.
"You promised." Brendor's face reflected a pleading, childish innocence which Larson could never resist. It reminded him of the doe-eyed entreaties of Ti Sun, a Vietnamese boy who had always managed to relieve him of his rare chocolate bar unticlass="underline" Larson's body snapped taut as he tried to force the thought from memory. Imagined gunfire deafened him momentarily, but Silme's soft reply to the child checked Larson's wandering consciousness.
"I only said I'd try. Not everyone can learn magic. You're fortunate to possess even the ability to cast a shave spell wrong. Only a handful of people in the entire realm control as much spell energy as you can now." Silme paused, obviously trying to twist her explanation to her favor. "If you are destined for power the dragonmark will appear. Until then, you'll be happier in town. The wandering life is insecure and often unpleasant. A child-"
Irritated by his mind's erratic lapses into memory, Larson interrupted with a tongue thick and furred as that of a man awakening from a drinking binge. "He knows more about traveling than we do for chrissakes! His uncle was a goddamn snake oil salesman." Suddenly Brendor found an ally.
Until that moment, neither Gaelinar, Silme, nor Brendor had paid Larson much heed. Now they whirled to face him simultaneously. The Kensei cleared his throat. "His uncle was a what?"
"A healer." Larson adopted the native term. "A traveling healer." He put a protective arm about Brendor's shoulders, and the boy's mouth twitched into a contented smile. "I'll bet he's never had a home."
"Just Crullian's wagon," Brendor answered on cue.
Silme tossed her head and continued walking into the town proper. "Come on."
Though the argument remained unsettled, Larson knew it had turned in Brendor's favor. He and the boy exchanged furtive smiles as they followed the sorceress in silence. Brendor's round face and partially concealed grin reminded Larson of his younger brother, Timmy, when they had once conspired to dye theif sister's underwear green. This familiarity in a world of dragons and berserk wizards soothed, and Larson clung to the normalcy Brendor added to their party.
As they walked, Gaelinar gave Larson a few "we will talk later" looks, then drew up beside the elf. "Silme has business in town, and I think it best I accompany her. You can handle buying mounts and rations." No doubt entered Gaelinar's steady voice despite Larson's numerous previous displays of incompetence.
Grateful for the Kensei's confidence, Larson determined at least to purchase supplies without error. He accepted the pouch of coins Silme offered and listened attentively as she described the lay of the town. " Kortr the horse trader lives on the south side of the main track. You can get a decent horse for five silver, four if you bargain well."
Larson examined the sod-chinked log dwellings ahead which were criss -crossed by hard-packed thoroughfares. Five golden-haired girls passed in
Mickey Zucker Relchert a giggling huddle. When they noticed Larson, their laughter ceased abruptly. Quickening their pace, they marked Larson's progress with nervous glances. Puzzled, he watched the retreating figures and considered their strange reactions.
Silme stopped on a large throughway, and her companions surrounded her as she continued. " Hlathum the food seller lives in the cottage beside Kortr. Tell him you want two weeks' traveling rations for three-" She corrected herself. "-four and mention my name. He won't cheat you. As for the innkeeper, Ura always acts like someone pissed in his ale. Don't let him charge you more than a silver for our suite. And:"
"Silme!" Gaelinar interrupted in a tone sharp as his katana. "The elf and the boy are perfectly capable of walking, talking, and breathing without your expert advice. Let's go."
As Silme and Gaelinar started down a side street, the sorceress added over her shoulder, "Get some dinner at the inn. We'll meet you there tonight."
Recalling the fear he'd inspired in the passing girls, Larson failed to acknowledge Silme's farewell. Without his more experienced companions for the first time in days, doubts rushed down upon him. The girls' reaction reminded him that he inhabited an elfs body, and Gaelinar's explanation when they were still in the distant woods seemed acutely important now: Mostly, the sidelong glances and whispered comments which follow any stranger viewed as different will accompany you throughout the world of Midgard. Larson wondered how he would fare in the town where Bramin was raised.
Unaccustomed to the horse-and-cart traffic of Forste -Mar, Larson found road crossings almost
GbDSLAYER unbearable. Invariably, he waited long minutes while slower vehicles dawdled down the byways or earned vicious epithets when he tried to dodge before more swiftly moving carts. Twice, Brendor pulled him away from the steel-shod hooves of galloping mares. After that, Larson let the boy set their pace and wondered idly whether he could readjust to cars and trucks if he ever returned to the States.
Despite the overlong and often hostile gazes the populace accorded Larson, his marketing went smoothly. After he mentioned Silme's name, his session with Hlathum became brief and painless. The foodstuffs lay wrapped in portions in a large sack which Larson slung across his back. As if to conclude business as swiftly as possible, the horse merchant requested only seventeen silver for the four mounts Larson later stabled at the inn. Self-content and hungry, the elf ushered Brendor into the dimly-lit interior of Ura's Inn and selected a table in the farthest corner.
The round-topped table was pine, beer-stained and pushed tight against the chamber wall. Larson caught an outer edge and inched it forward. He maneuvered a chair into the vacant corner and sat. Back pressed to the wall, he surveyed the barroom and its patrons sitting at tables arranged in three neat rows of three. Each table bore a single candle which chased darkness in a broad semicircle, enhancing shadows on the ceiling. Raw-boned, blond-haired humans conversed in couples or groups of four or five. A man proportioned like a middle linebacker stood alone at the bar. A pewter mug rested near his elbow, but the huge stranger seemed more interested in Larson than in his drink. While Larson met the man's stare with forced nonchalance, Brendor took a seat at his left.
A boy scarcely older than the healer's nephew strode around the tables and positioned himself between Larson and Brendor. He shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "Can I get you something?"
Larson replied without thought. " Bami -bam, boy-san."
Brendor started. The sudden movement drew Larson's attention from the man at the bar. "Excuse me, sir?" asked the serving boy nervously.
"Um:" stammered Larson. Lulled by the familiar surroundings of a tavern, he suddenly realized he had ordered in Vietnamese. "W-what do you suggest?"
The boy knotted his hands on the tabletop, obviously unsettled by his customer. "Special today is lamb breast, fresh bread, and cheese with ale."
"Fine." Larson slanted a friendly glance at Brendor. "Sound good?"
Coins clicked as Brendor closed a hand over the pouch of silver Gaelinar had rescued from the bandits. "I'll have the same."
The boy nodded and trotted behind the bar to relay the order. Larson returned his attention to the tavern's interior. Struck by the smokeless clarity of the candle light, he would have paid all the money remaining in Silme's pouch for a pack of cigarettes or a single joint. A gesture in Larson's direction swung his gaze to the exit where a man in ragged homespun downed his drink in a single gulp, abandoned his two companions, and ducked out the door. The man's two friends avoided Larson's stare.