"Can't eat too much." Horas took a good long look at the abundance of food, and levered one more sourfish off the platter. Popping it in his mouth, he savored its bitterness, the sting it brought to the eye. That was good. "I'll have to catch them up. When did they leave?"
Feden looked startled. He snagged a round of flat cake, cut it in half, cut the halves into quarters, and tossed one of those eighth pieces to the dog, which caught the treat in its mouth and gulped it down without rising. He put a piece to his own lips, but lowered it again.
"The report's not come in yet." He beckoned, and one of the young guardsmen trotted over. "Find Captain Waras. I'll need his report."
"I'll go out myself and look."
"A strange thing," said Feden. "That Devouring girl asked about you, after you'd left."
That was something to make a man burn brighter, even better than the sourfish. "Did she, now? How was that?"
"She came back to report to me, rather later in the night, if you take my meaning."
Thinking of the imprisoned reeve from Clan Hall, Horas nodded.
"It was strange. She must have known you were going, but she asked again if you'd happened to stay the night. Said it was late enough when you left the council hall that maybe you'd had second thoughts about flying back to Argent Hall." Then the merchant smiled. "Seems you roped a bit of interest there. She's a little too-whew!-spicy for my taste."
Horas looked at the pieces of untouched flat cake placed on the master's platter, and made his own judgment about the merchant's tastes. Casually, he dabbled his fingers in the cleansing basin. "She still around?"
"Nay, she left at dawn with a packhorse and a spare, off to fetch some hired man she mislaid on West Track, so she said. I got to wondering if it was a lover she was going after, she was that eager to get out of town."
"Hierodules don't take lovers." But after all, she was out and about, and she had shown an unusual concern for the man she'd left behind on the road. Now he got to thinking about it, maybe she was hiding something from the temple.
"Lots of things we say we don't do, that we do do," agreed Master Feden with a hearty chuckle.
That got Horas to thinking about what she had promised, and why the hells hadn't he gotten what he wanted when it was offered? Was he crazy? Surely it must have been something he ate, to make him feel all woozy and beaten down yesterday when it was there for the taking, all the sweet juicy flesh, just like the globefruit, only better.
He patted his fingers dry on a cloth and tossed it back on the table, where its edge lapped over his platter and one corner dipped into the unfinished soup.
"That mercenary troop ought to be gone by now. Let me get out to see them."
"I've some fresh redberry juice. Are you sure you don't want to wait for Captain Waras? He'll know what's up." He called over the slave, sent her off with a slap on her hindquarters, a good clout that got Horas to biting his lip for it did make him think of what he might get up to with the Devouring girl if only he could catch up to her before she got lost one way or the other, or killed by accident, now that he thought about it, which was the likely outcome if she came across the strike force who would act first and say sorry for it later.
"I'll just head out," he said.
But after all, the guards who had escorted him to the compound had vanished, and there was some fuss over finding a guide to replace him since Horas was quite sure he would lose his way in the confusing labyrinth of streets. Master Feden jabbered, and there came Captain Waras with a snarl on his face and a surly attitude that would have gotten him whipped in Argent Hall.
"I've got my hands full rousting that mercenary troop," he informed Master Feden.
"What! What? They were meant to leave at dawn!"
"Seems they're negotiating with some merchants from town, who won't be budged. I don't want a fight on my hands, not if I can avoid one."
"Negotiating for what?" asked Horas. "I thought the council ruled they were to leave immediately and without hiring themselves out here."
"I was just about to send a troop of riders to set them on their way. Would you like to come? Is that redberry juice, Master Feden?"
"So it is. Just uncanted this morning. So sharp you'll cry."
"Might I-?"
Down the captain sat, right on the carpet, and the slave was sent to bring a third pillow and a third cup. It transpired that the captain was a devout follower of the game of hooks-and-ropes, as Horas had been back at Iron Hall when he had followed league play in Teriayne. Olossi had teams, as did many of the surrounding villages, and there had been a particularly good scandal last season having to do with a hookster and a very cunning bribe, which Waras explained in entertaining detail. They drained the pitcher of redberry juice, and as promised Horas had to wipe tears off his face. His tongue had gone numb.
"Best we go out," he said as he blinked away the last bitter tear.
AFTER ALL MASTER Feden would come, and then there must be a procession, because council masters did get all twisted up if they weren't given a chance to parade before the lesser, as Horas's old grandmother was used to say.
Out they went. Passing through the fields and waste country beyond the outer walls, they met a group of men and slaves returning with a palanquin carried in their midst. The curtains concealed the treasure within. Master Feden cursed roundly at a merchant he recognized in that group, and there was a nasty exchange, more of looks than of words.
When they reached the river's shore where the militia had posted its sentries, they found the mercenary company ready to move out.
Master Feden called the captain over. The fellow was an outlander, with a hooked nose and a closed face, the kind that never gives anything away. He'd been calm enough in the council meeting, even when the vote had gone against him. Horas knew this kind; they would speak softly to your face and knife you in the back when you turned to go.
"I'm sure you remember who I am!" said Master Feden in a stern voice. "You were told to be gone at dawn."
The captain had a cold expression. He wasn't a nice man. He was the kind people thought was nice, but Horas had learned in the mountains that a sunny day on the high slopes could turn deadly in the turn of a hat and never care who was left for dead behind the storm.
"Negotiations took longer than expected," said the captain with a glance at his men. They were a sleek bunch, tough as leather, sharp as a good blade. "We are leaving now." He spared a glance for the reeve, dismissed him in the most insulting way, and signaled to his soldiers.
"Negotiations for what?" Mester Feden cried.
The company moved, splashing across the shallows.
"I sold my wife," he said, over his shoulder.
The council master turned red. Captain Waras whistled beneath his breath.
"Damn him," said the council master, even redder. "I'd have thrown in a bid."
As the company passed, Horas tried to count them, but he gave up after forty. They were nothing, really. The strike force would overrun them, and even if a few scattered into the countryside, the main army would catch them, crush them, and eat them with supper as flavoring, as the saying went.
He was eager to get back to Tumna, but he must wait with Master Feden as the company crossed. A man threw a shoe, and there was some fuss, and a delay, and gods help them all if by the time he trudged back on weary feet into Assizes Court it wasn't noontide with the sun at its worst and the wind struggling to catch any breath in this furnace heat. He rested awhile and took a cooling drink, and in the end it was only the thought of that Devouring girl on the road and marching step by step farther away from him and his chance to get a piece of her that got him going. He shook Tumna out of her sunning stupor.