"Good." Welstiel nodded approval. "We will take the horses and walk them back out. I have seen no other servants up and about. No one will find Buscan until midmorning, as it appears he stays up late into the nights."
He reached out a hand to propel Chane toward the front entrance. Chane found this odd, as Welstiel rarely touched him.
"There is nothing more for us to do here," Welstiel said. "We wait for the dhampir to arrive. When she finds no records and no one to help her further, she will have no choice but to turn back."
A sudden connection occurred to Chane. Welstiel had come to hide records of his family, and Magiere searched for records of her own father.
"No records regarding the Massings," Chane said. "And none regarding her… How did that the captain put it, 'her family'?"
He turned and found Welstiel returning his steady gaze.
"Do not forget your place," Welstiel said in a voice stripped of all emotion. "You are here to serve the bargain we made, and that is all."
Chane's discovery would have to be handled carefully or he risked giving Welstiel further cause for conflict. He nodded calmly.
"We deserve some comfort," Welstiel said in a more sociable tone. "Let us find out if Keonsk boasts a decent inn. A bath and laundered clothing are in order, as well as comfortable beds for a change."
Welstiel's quick shift to placation left Chane wary as he followed his companion out to the horses. Again he pictured Osceline's body by the locked door with the smooth flesh of her throat still intact.
His own change of habit disturbed him.
Chapter 12
T he wagon rolled up to the gates of Keonsk at midday. Leesil dug through his pack and pulled out an orange paisley scarf. He pulled his hair back behind his ears and tied the cloth around his head. It was so large that the ends hung down to his shoulders.
Magiere wrinkled her nose as if she'd bitten into a rancid pear. "Where did you get that?"
"I traded with one of the Mondyalitko for some apples."
"You paid for that with our apples?" she asked. "Where's your gray scarf?"
"I lost it in the forest the night we fought Vordana."
"The color doesn't work."
"Of course it does. My shirt is brown."
"You look like someone lit your head on fire. You'll stand out like a fever blister. Take it off, and find something else."
"I don't have anything else."
"I think it's rather striking," Wynn put in.
"You would," Magiere muttered.
Port and Imp pulled to a stop as a guard at the gate stepped out and held up his hand. His expression was serious. Nine others stood inside the entrance in varied armor and red surcoats.
"Your business?" the guard asked.
'To the market… for supplies," Magiere said. "And one of our horses injured his leg. We need someone who knows horses to have a look at it."
The guard lost some of his harsh manner. "The township of Nesmelorash is a half-day south. It would be best if you could make it there."
Leesil saw genuine concern in the guard's wary expression, but he knew Magiere wasn't going to turn aside.
"We're heading east," he explained. "Is something wrong?"
"Pardon," the guard said. "Your business is welcome at market. But the grand prince is not in residence, and there is contention over who should take charge until he returns."
Leesil's nerves began to tingle. This guard wore good quality mail, and the scabbard of his sword bore a family crest. He was at least a captain, if not a minor noble, and likely educated, as most guards didn't use phrases like "in residence. " Why was he on guard duty at the city gate?
"What contention?" Leesil asked. "Why isn't someone in charge while the grand prince is away?"
The guard looked each of them over. Though he gave Leesil a serious inspection, he paused longest upon Wynn huddled in the wagon's back with Chap. The sight of her seemed to further soften the guard's manner.
"Baron Buscan, the city's protector, was assassinated last night," he answered. "Prince Rodek left an illegal contingent of his soldiers in the city, and other houses are using this and the lack of authority here to raise charges against the Antes. It's not safe."
The mention of assassination brought Leesil immediate thoughts of Sgaile, the elven anmaglahk sent after him in Bela. He was about to ask if any elves had been sighted in the city and then thought better of it. It was unlikely anyone would see a member of this caste of assassins, as silent and undetected as Sgaile had been.
"Thank you, but we can take care of ourselves," Magiere replied.
With a troubled nod, the guard stepped back and let them in.
On impulse, Leesil called out, "Sir, what is your name?"
"Captain Marjus of the Varanj."
Port and Imp pulled the wagon into the market area. Most booths were closed, but a few people were visible among those tables and carts conducting business. There were also soldiers in red surcoats, like the captain's, patrolling the fringe of the area. Leesil spotted men in light yellow surcoats, as well, who kept their distance from Marjus's cohorts.
"Now what?" he asked. "This is bad luck. An audience at the castle is next to impossible, since mere's no one there to hold one."
Magiere watched the soldiers and didn't answer.
"We are most likely going to be here a day or two," Wynn said. "We should find a respectable inn, a stable for the horses, and something warm to eat while we consider what to do."
Leesil smiled. "A capital plan. Magiere?"
"Yes. I see a stable ahead on south side of the market."
It took little time to find a nearby inn, a place called Jendu Stezhar, the "Acorn Oak," which looked clean and respectable. They soon settled to spooning in mouthfuls of milky potato soup in its common room. The innkeeper was a good-natured gray-haired man who wasn't offended when Leesil requested an extra bowl for Chap.
Since the vision of his dead mother, each time Leesil ate warm food or succumbed to the smallest comfort, he wondered if she had suffered… was suffering. Then he looked at Magiere's pale face. He couldn't force her to turn away until she knew what she was and how she had come to exist, or she had exhausted all hope of finding these answers.
He spooned another mouthful of soup, ready to discuss matters at hand, when he gave more notice to a tall middle-aged soldier in a yellow surcoat sitting near them. The soldier had short-cropped brown hair and a thick scar down his left cheekbone, and he was on his third tankard of ale since their arrival.
Leesil was uncertain how much should be said in close proximity to any of the Keonsk soldiers… of any house. He saw Magiere glance in the man's direction.
Innocent Wynn blurted out the first question before Leesil could stop her. "So how do we acquire permission to search records at the castle?"
The scarred soldier looked up from his ale. "Girl, the grounds have been locked down tighter than a cask of autumn wine."
He answered her in Belaskian, and his voice was sad rather than angry. Wynn turned sideways in her chair to see him better.
"What do you mean 'locked down'?"
Leesil tensed. "Wynn, let's not bother the-"
"I mean the house of Varanj has locked the gates. Until my prince returns, no one but a redcoat gets anywhere near the castle. That swine Buscan is dead, may his spirit rot in the earth along with his corpse."
Wynn had spilled their intentions, and there was little they could do to wash their presence from this captain's awareness. It appeared factions within the houses were at odds, as well as the contentions between houses Marjus had mentioned at the city gate. This Antes captain gulping his ale didn't care for the grand prince's own counselor.