It had taken a lot of convincing to get yet another uncle who’d been a soldier to teach her basic sword moves. She’d managed, and she’d mastered them, which was all that counted.
At the time, she hadn’t been certain what she would do with such skills. A grown village woman wasn’t expected to use weapons. By the time Eddis had reached her seventeenth summer, she knew that whatever else she wanted out of life, being a villager wasn’t any part of it.
Her family hadn’t understood. “They probably still don’t,” she sighed faintly. At times, she missed them very much. “But not that way of life.”
Her oldest sister had wed at sixteen, was a mother at seventeen, and had never been beyond the most distant of Caffer’s hay fields. It hadn’t been easy for Eddis, breaking with the only way she’d ever seen or known, moving from Caffer to the nearest market town, finding enough work here and there to keep herself fed, currying horses in exchange for a corner of the stable where she could sleep, hoarding her money a copper at a time so she could haggle for that first used sword.
“Forget all that,” she told herself. “It’s done, and it wasn’t easy, and sometimes it was frightening, and some bad things happened, but it’s over. You won, and you got what you wanted, Eddis—your own company of guards, the chance to travel and be paid for it, to see new lands and meet new people. Sometimes, you get to fight. And you still enjoy all of it.”
She got to her feet, shoved the men’s pay packets in her belt, stuffed all but three coins of hers in her purse, and snugged the ties down. The loose money went into the pocket sewn inside her tunic. That should cover food and drink.
She shook still-damp hair back over her shoulders where it lay cool between her shoulder blades. M’Baddah and his son must be at the tavern by now. No matter. Her stomach was reminding her it had been too long since that bit of travel bread at the base of the cliff.
The tavern door was at an angle across the courtyard from the inn, just a few long strides away. Now she could smell fresh-baked bread and hear laughter. The small courtyard was cool, the air definitely damp, and the sun nowhere in sight, though it was barely two hours from midday. She crossed the area quickly, slipped through the open doorway, and paused there, letting her eyes adjust to the interior gloom.
The deep walls and strong shutters kept the place warm this time of year. The interior was one large room with plenty of long trestles and benches. There were smaller tables here and there that could accommodate six, if people sat close.
M’Baddah had taken one of the tables against the far wall, and as she started across the room, he got to his feet and pulled out a four-legged stool for her. He and M’Whan had shed their lightweight armor and now wore loose, sleeveless red tunics over black shirts and loose black pants. Both had thick pottery mugs before them. M’Baddah’s small knife was stuck in a dark loaf of bread. Eddis drew her stool in close to the table and handed over the folds of leather.
“A small bonus, thanks to that little disagreement on the road,” she said, her voice low, and her movements unobtrusive. The Keep had the most law-abiding citizenry she’d seen anywhere, and the taverner was known to keep a close eye on his customers, as did the guards who came here. Still… no point in tempting anyone. The men slid the packets out of sight. M’Baddah came partway to his feet again, but M’Whan pressed him back down.
“You said you would rest, Father. A cup of pressed fruit and a small ale for you, isn’t it, Eddis?”
She nodded, and he went off to the counter. M’Baddah cut a thick slice of bread and handed it to her, his face expressionless.
“Your leg is all right?” she asked.
He nodded. He didn’t like being fussed over, she knew, and she kept her voice neutral.
“It is fine, and I am fine. M’Whan thinks it his fault.”
Eddis shook her head. “We were in a bad spot, and he disabled and killed the one man with a distance weapon, and it’s his fault? M’Baddah—!”
“You know his problem, my Eddis. He thinks however much he trains, and however skilled he becomes, he will let me down. I cannot persuade him this is not so.”
He went abruptly quiet as M’Whan returned with two wooden cups. She tore off a bit of the dark brown, pungent bread, then washed it down with a swallow of fruit juice before topping off the cup with some ale.
“Apricots—oh, that’s nice.”
There was silence around the small table for some time, as they finished the bread. Eddis poured the last of the ale into the apricot juice and drained the cup.
“I think I’ll last until nightfall, now.”
“I asked the taverner for you,” M’Baddah said. “The same stew as last time: venison in a thick broth, and plenty of tubers and carrots. And the taverner’s wife still makes one pot with and one without the onions.”
“Good.” Onions made her ill, which had been another good reason to leave her home village. She leaned forward on her elbows. “Now. Have you heard anything yet about customers leaving here?”
M’Whan shook his head. “I asked in the stables, Eddis. They said some hide merchants came in earlier, but they won’t leave until everything they brought sells—two carts of goods and another of weapons and metals.”
“Weapons? Interesting. Most tanners stick to their hides. Still, they’ll be fighting snow over the passes if they delay too long,” Eddis said. “Not our concern. What escort?”
“I did not learn that yet,” M’Baddah put in. “But I hear there is an ore-monger who wants a guard for himself and his purse in the next day or so.”
“Too soon for me,” Eddis replied.
Too soon for M’Baddah, she thought. Whatever special potions he carried, he’d still taken a quarrel in the thigh, and she wasn’t about to head out with her lieutenant wounded. If all else failed, she’d claim exhaustion herself to keep them here until he was all right. She glanced around the room. There weren’t many people around at this hour; a few men sharing a jug of wine at a nearby trestle might be either off-duty guards or armsmen. No one she recognized.
“My Eddis,” M’Baddah said, “I agree there is no hurry for us. You look tired, and this season has been good to us. We can afford to wait for a client or even return north without one. Also,” he added with a sly smile, “I will need time to sell that horse of yours.”
She smiled back. “I know. Still, if we can find a client, a few days from now, I’d rather not—”
“I understand,” he said. “You have been poor and hungry, and you choose not to be these things again.” He shrugged. “It will not be a problem, my Eddis. You have a good reputation.”
“We have,” she corrected him.
“We, then. What?” he asked as M’Whan’s gaze went beyond them, toward the door. Eddis turned to look.
Two tall, ruddy men stood just inside the open doorway, and one of them was laughing cheerfully and loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.
Eddis groaned. “Oh, gods, it’s Jerdren. I should have known.”
“But I thought you liked Jerdren?” M’Whan asked rather anxiously.
“I do. Sort of. Sometimes. But he’s… impetuous. Trouble. Remember the fight he started last time we met up with him?”
“I remember.” The youth cast up his eyes. “Because we slept in the stable that night after getting kicked out of the inn.”
“Well, that’s Jerdren for you,” Eddis said resignedly. “You just never know what he’ll do, but you do know it’ll be loud and probably involve fists. That’s fine for some village where the worst that happens is the people around him get shoved into the stable for the night. The Keep—they’ll shove you into the dungeon and leave you there.”
M’Whan shook his head. “He knows that too, doesn’t he?”
“I think so. Gods, I hope so. Still, why would that stop—”
A cheerful, carrying voice filled the room, silencing her and briefly quieting most of the chatter around them.