The Magic of Recluce (17 page)

“I can help you,” offered the boy.

I didn't protest as he unstrapped the saddle, since Gairloch didn't seem to mind, merely
whuff
ing and shaking his head. Besides, the youngster's hands were far defter than mine, and my legs were still shaking.

With Gairloch mainly settled, and the saddle and blanket racked to dry, I was ready to try The Silver Horse itself. My leg muscles spasmed as I limped across the muddy courtyard to the inn. Faint light glimmered through the small leaded windowpanes facing the stable.

The open outer door was of rough pine, covered with peeling white paint. The inner door, which I checked as I pushed it open, was of good red oak, but the varnish was worn and cracking and the hinges had been reset too many times. It took some time for me to wipe all the mud off my boots using the worn rush mats, but I managed, not that it mattered much. The floor was scarred and stained wood, with dirt-heaps in the corners.

Inside, only one of the lamps in the narrow hall was lit, and it smoked and flickered.

“Hello, the inn…” I called.

A muffled voice answered from somewhere. “…coming…”

“…At this hour?” questioned another voice, sharper than the first, and nearer.

Waiting, I looked around the inn. On my right, through a square opening the size of a double door, was a dining area, and the faint glow of coals glinted from the stone fireplace. On the left I noted a small sitting area with three wooden benches covered with oblong cushions. A second wall lamp, damped low, illuminated the sitting area. The bench backs were spooled and unpadded. In the center of the benches stood a battered low wooden table, used primarily as a bootrest, if the indentations on the table edge were any indication.

As in Freetown and on the road, travelers seemed few indeed.

“Yes?”

The voice was the sharp one and belonged to a waspish lady dressed in a faded brown dress and stained yellow apron. Her face was clean, if angular, and her silver-streaked hair formed a neat bun at the back of her head.

“How much for a room, and some supper?” My voice was hoarse, rough from the wet and cold.

The eyes raked over me. “A silver a night.” She paused, and the dark vulture eyes took in my soaked cloak. “Paid in advance. That includes bread and cheese in the morning. Dinner is extra—what's available on the bill of fare. Not much is left tonight.”

After fumbling with the obvious front pouch, I produced a silver and five coppers. “For me and for my horse.”

Part of the vulture look vanished as she took the coins. “You rode in this weather?”

“It seemed like a good idea when I started. Freetown wasn't a place I wanted to stay. Then there wasn't any place to stop, and…” I shrugged.

The woman glanced at the door, then back to me. “Hrisbarg is part of the duchy, and Majer Dervill likes to stop here.”

I got the message. “Travelers don't always know the local weather, madam, and I was just hoping for a warm inn and some hot food.”

“We can help there. Just go in and sit down. Annalise will see to you shortly. Unless you want to see a room first?”

“I think I'd like to see the room. At least to lay out the cloak and dry out.”

“Clean towel and basin are another copper.”

“Two towels, with fresh water in the morning,” I countered.

She smiled. “In advance.”

So I paid another penny, wondering if I should have asked for a chit, but deciding against it. The towels were thick and clean, both of them, if a shade gray, and the basin held clean lukewarm water.

The room itself was barely large enough to hold the sagging double bed and battered red-oak wardrobe. The bed had a single coarse sheet over an even lumpier-looking mattress, covered with a heavy brown blanket. A wall sconce held a single scrawny candle that the thin innkeeper had lit from her lamp.

The door had no lock, but with so few guests I decided to risk my cloak and pack for the moment.

When I returned to the dining area, another body sat at the table closest to the fire, a man in a dark blue uniform and a posture that was arrogant even while slouched at the table and cradling a mug of something.

I took a wall table for two on the other side, not quite so close to the fire.

After a casual look at me, the soldier took another deep swallow from the mug. “Annalise!”

“A moment, please,” returned the pleasant voice I had heard but not seen earlier.

I stretched out, enjoying the warmth of the room and beginning to feel more human and less chilled.

“Thank you, Herlyt. I didn't know we had another customer.” The blond girl, probably not even my age, nodded to the soldier.

“But…”

She ignored him and walked straight to my table, long blond braids swinging at her shoulders. “Good evening, sir. I'm afraid the larder is a little low tonight. We still have some bear stew, and a pair of chops, I think. Wheat or corn bread, and stewed spice apples. Also some white cheese.” The open smile displayed strong if uneven white teeth. The open low collar of the peasant blouse showed some other strong features, especially as close as she stood.

“Which is better, the chops or stew?”

“The stew,” called Herlyt. “Take the stew. Those chops have been heated every night for a week. Get me another mug, Annalise.”

Annalise raised her eyebrows, then nodded faintly.

“I'll try the stew, cheese, apples, and a few slices of wheat bread. What is there to drink?”

“Mulled cider, hard beer, Largo wine, and redberry.”

“Redberry.”

“Real drinker you got there, Annalise. Real manly fellow.”

Annalise shrugged as if to dismiss the soldier. Then she grinned. “Would you like anything else?”

“Not right now, thank you.” I managed not to grin back at her, but she
had
asked.

Before turning from me, she wiped any expression from her face. Then she retrieved the mug from the soldier. “Another hard beer?”

“What else? That's all you'll ever provide, and I still have to pay for it.” The bearded man stared at the fire as tentative flames hissed over a pair of green logs.

Annalise disappeared through an open door into what I took to be the kitchen, reappearing with two mugs almost without leaving my sight.

Thump
. Herlyt's mug arrived without a word from the girl.

“Here you are, sir.” My mug came with a plate that held cheese and wheat bread. “Are you from Howlett, Eagle's Nest, or Freetown?”

The stiffened position of the soldier alerted me.

“I guess I'd have to say not any of them. Came down the coast road and decided not to stay in Freetown with all the rain and gloom. They told me there were no ships anyway.”

The soldier relaxed fractionally, and the girl nodded. “That's a long ride.”

I grinned. “It's a cold ride.” Then I sipped the redberry, breaking off some cheese to go with a chunk of the wheat bread.

As I ate, forcing myself to take each bite slowly, she withdrew to the kitchen, and the soldier retreated into his mug.

“Sir…?”

An enormous steaming bowl appeared in front of me, accompanied by a smaller plate of spiced and sliced red apples. Both dishes were heavy earthenware, with the fine cracks of age radiating through the glaze.

Herlyt had been right about the stew, though; it was spicy, hot, and tasty. But I pushed back the bowl before I finished it, knowing that to eat any more would leave me ill, and then some.

“Will there be anything else?”

I glanced over at the soldier, slumped face down on the table.

“Later?” I asked, testing her earlier grin.

She shrugged, but did not smile.

“How much?”

“Five or a half-silver.”

After draining the redberry, I gave her a silver and got back five coppers, one of which went to her, and into her belt before she went into the kitchen.

With a regretful look backward, I climbed the creaking stairs to my room, checking my pack immediately once I had closed the door. Nothing had been touched.

Even as I struggled out of my trousers, I wondered if Annalise had really meant anything by that nod.

She hadn't…or at least I collapsed into sleep with no gentle tapping on my door or other interruptions.

T
HE MORNING DAWNED
no less dreary than the day before, drizzle and intermittent rain dropping from formless gray clouds that churned but never seemed to move.

I woke once before I got up, when the angular innkeeper replaced the water basin with fresh water, both quietly and efficiently, and with barely a glance toward me or the wardrobe. After that my eyes closed but my mind spun, asking question after question. Like, why was the Duchy of Freetown getting so much rain? Or why had a chaos-master been in the strange coach barreling toward the port? And why had he used a coach?

With a groan, I eased my feet over the side of the sagging bed, wincing as I did. My thighs were as sore as I could ever recall, even after beginning Gilberto's conditioning exercises, and my shoulders were stiff. Sitting, even on the bed, was painful.

Washing helped, as did some stretching.

Then I checked my clothing. The cloak was dry, all the way through, as were my trousers. The dried mud on the legs mostly came off with a little scraping and the moistened edge of the towel I had used the night before. Still…I could see that washing my clothes was going to be another requirement before too long, unless I wanted to smell like the stable.

Outside the wind whistled, and the rain splatted against the inn. After dressing and pulling on my boots, I checked my pack, smiling as my fingers touched the book.
The Basis of Order
—I still hadn't gotten around to looking at it, but I supposed I would, sooner or later. My father had a reason for everything.

I closed the pack and folded the cloak across it, debating whether to bring them downstairs with me. Finally I shrugged. Why not?

Without even a single light, the narrow hallway appeared gloomier than the night before. My boots scuffed on the bare wood of the floor.

“…attack on Freetown…”

“…any of them around here.”

I paused at the top of the stairs, deciding to wait a moment to see what else the speaker said.

“The courier said there were two blackstaffs, and several others, including a black warrior, a damned woman.”

“Majer, I wouldn't even know what a blackstaff looked like. All we have are two commercial travelers and some well-off young student. The commercial travelers I see three or four times a year. The student—he's barely old enough to let loose on his own.”

“Did you see any weapons with him?”

“Weapons? Hardly. A short knife.”

“Where is he?”

“You might check by the fire.”

“Come with me, and point him out, Natasha…if you would be so kind.”

“Certainly, Majer…assuming he is there.”

Click…click…

As the heavy boots passed the stairs, I eased down the stairs further, casually, as if I had not heard a word, but trying not to step heavily.

Annalise stood by the desk counter, her eyebrows raised. Then she pointed toward the doorway and mouthed something.

I grinned, waved, and ducked through the main doorway, yanking on my cloak as I did so. While the majer and Natasha looked for me by the fire, I dashed through the rain to the stable, glad I had brought the pack with me.

Sploosh, sploosh…sploosh, sploosh, sploosh
…My boots sloshed through the puddles in the courtyard clay.

The wide sliding door was ajar. The stableboy was nowhere to be seen as I scurried toward Gairloch.

Rain or no rain, storm or no storm, I needed to put some distance between me and Freetown's finest. While they might be persuaded that I was not a blackstaff, something told me that the majer was under orders to round up anyone who might be from Recluce. The questioning would not be gentle.

I would have liked to see whether Annalise had anything in mind besides flirting…but that was out now. Besides, she only had played up to me to avoid Herlyt, or because any man with a horse was bound to have money.

Trying to saddle Gairloch in the dim inn stable was a joy, knowing that I didn't have much time. First, I got the saddle blanket on sideways. Gairloch whinnied at that, but he didn't actually buck until I threw on the saddle.

Thunk
. The saddle slammed down on my feet and onto the planking.

“All right, you miserable beast.” I rearranged the saddle blanket, then eased the saddle into place, but could barely get the cinch closed.

Gairloch, gray-looking in the gloom, skittered but did not make a sound as I fumbled with the closures. Something…

Finally, I reclaimed my staff from the straw and placed the black wood firmly, but gently against the pony's forehead.

“Whufffffff…” When he let out his breath I yanked the cinch tight. I suppose I could have kicked him, the way the saddler in Freetown had, but using violence unnecessarily bothered me…besides being boring. The staff trick worked, although why the pony would pay attention, I still didn't know. That bothered me, too, but not as much as kicking him would have.

I had trouble with the hackamore, until I slowed down and forced myself to be calm. All that left was tying my pack in place and putting the staff in the lance cup. Then I untied Gairloch and walked him to the sliding door of the stable.

“Hallo! Hallo, the inn!”

That voice was too hearty for my liking. Even behind the stained beams and planks of the stable door, I could picture yet another duchy cavalry officer, dripping rain from his shiny blue or gray waterproof, looking for a warm brew and a solid stew, or for the majer with even worse news or more punitive orders.

“Damnable innkeeper…no stableboy on a morning like this…”

Realizing he was coming in, stableboy or not, I tied Gairloch to the beam fronting the first stall, then swung the door open.

“You…keeping an officer in the rain…” The officer, wearing a gold leaf on his collar, had been reaching for the door. He stood at least a half-head taller than me, and his horse made Gairloch look like a toy.

“My apologies, officer. But the stableboy is ill…”

“Leave that pony, man, and take care of a real horse!”

“Yes, sir,” I answered. “The end stall on the right is the only one free. It's dry and clean.” While I wanted to clunk the arrogant bastard on the skull, I doubted that I could have reached the staff before ending up spitted on his saber.

“That's fine, but make sure he gets a rubdown and a brushing…and no cold water, or I'll drown you in it.” He thrust the reins at me.

“Yes, sir.” I took the damp leathers and chucked them. The horse was better-trained or less stubborn than the ones I'd seen at Felshar's. He actually followed me. The cavalryman watched to make sure I was headed where I said.

“Who has the pony?”

I did not turn, but gave a shrug. “Young fellow, not much older than me.”

“I'll be back in a shake, man, and don't forget it.”

Sploosh…sploosh…
His steps toward the inn were quick.

I wrapped the reins around a post, tying them in a quick knot that I yanked tight. Then I dashed for Gairloch, untying his leathers, and scrambled into the saddle right inside the stable. I remembered to duck as we stepped into the downpour. I was still trying to get on my gloves as he stepped through the open doorway.

Whhnnnnn…

Clearly, the cold rain on his face did not please him, but when the latest cavalry officer and the majer got together, I definitely didn't want to be around.

I kicked Gairloch gently with my heels and he began to walk, then trot. I grabbed his mane to steady myself, but let him move. The rain, like icy needles, lashed at my unprotected face and head, since I hadn't bothered with the cloak's hood.

I was lucky I'd even remembered the cloak, the way things were going.

Guiding Gairloch around the small lake that covered half the road in front of the dry-goods store, I looked ahead, trying to make out the turn where the road to Howlett began. Supposedly Hrisbarg was one of the wool towns, the only one inside the duchy. Howlett was a wool town, too, but it was across the border in Montgren, another duchy, except it was ruled by a countess who didn't like the duke.

I chucked the reins again once we were back into the more solid mud.

“Halt! In the name of Candar! Rogue wizard! Rogue wizard!”

We were turning onto the lane that stretched ahead to the Howlett road. I kicked Gairloch in the flanks again, and he began to run, but only for perhaps a hundred cubits before he settled back to a quick walk.

Clang! Clang!

For all the shouts by the cavalry officer and the chimes on the alarm, no one followed us, at least not immediately and not that I could tell. It seemed pretty stupid. I mean, just because someone thought I was a blackstaff from Recluce, and just because I left in a storm, the idiot was trying to rouse the whole town of Hrisbarg.

Then again, I had been lucky, damned lucky that I looked so young. Why was everyone on the entire continent out against anyone from Recluce? Just what had happened in Freetown?

I kept looking over my shoulder, trying to feel whether anyone chased us, but could not see or feel anyone. All I felt was the rain, the ice, and the cold.

The road was empty, at least as far ahead as I could see through the mist and the rain. As Gairloch settled into a walk, I leaned next to the staff, nearly brushing it with my cheek before drawing back from the heat.

Trying to feel what might be around, I reached out with my feelings, my thoughts, trying to get a sense of chaos…anywhere. Other than a vague sense of unease connected with the road ahead, I could find nothing.

The staff cooled as we rode westward through the mud and rain. Traveling the road to Howlett was worse than the road from Freetown had been. Water slopped out of the sky and froze in chunks on the browned and dead grasses. The rain coated the oaks with ice sheaths, and turned the thorn bushes that twisted from the shardstone road walls into a tangled crystalline barrier.

The road itself—half ice, half black mud—
squuushed
with every step Gairloch took. Once again, I missed the desolate wizard's road that had covered most of the distance between Freetown and Hrisbarg.

Each step of the pony made my stomach churn, and with every other step, the wind gusted and threw the icy rain under my cloak. I worried about his hooves and fetlocks, or whatever they were called; but I worried more about me. So we kept going.

As I shivered in the saddle, I recalled fondly the heat of the day when I travelled to Nylan, at least in comparison to the chill that had already numbed my legs from boot-top to thigh. My buttocks remained painfully unnumbed.

My staff rested in the lance cup of the old cavalry saddle. That meant I swayed into it every so often, since it protruded well above the saddle. Flexing the reins every so often split the ice off them, but I had to keep brushing ice off the saddle and my cloak. The only thing the rain refused to freeze to was my staff.

The staff had saved me at least twice, and made me a target of everyone in Candar, or so it seemed. This last time, I had managed to escape without even using the staff, or letting anyone know I had it, but they were still after me.

We stopped twice, both times to let Gairloch drink and to let me stretch the kinks out of legs that felt like permanent cramps.

In time, close to midday, the rain stopped, the wind picked up, and ice began to form on the remaining puddles. Then I began to sense warmth in the staff again, as the road straightened and began to climb toward a low hilltop. Through the mist I could make out some sort of building.

“Oh…of course.” Since the duke and the countess didn't like each other, the building was a border station…and another damned problem, since someone might well have warned the guards. I shrugged, pulled off my left glove carefully, and touched the lorken—hot enough to melt ice, and that meant some sort of danger.

“Well, Gairloch, they said you were a mountain pony…how
much
of a mountain pony?”

He didn't answer, didn't even flick his head, just kept walking.

I tried to think it through. Probably no one had warned the road guards. But even if they hadn't, word would get out that someone from Recluce had entered Montgren, and no one seemed to be very friendly to anyone from Recluce, especially blackstaffers.

In the end, the answer was simple—avoid the border checkpoint. Accomplishing such a simple answer was more difficult. Tangled low brush sprang from the roadside at every point, and most of it was ice-covered.

Reining Gairloch to a halt off to the side of the road by a higher patch of brush that would shield us from scrutiny, should any of the guards possess a spyglass, I tried first to study the slopes and the land around us, low rolling hills covered with sparse clumps of bushes and an occasional cedar, with white oaks along the watercourse lines between the hills.

Few people in the duchy lived alone, or away from the towns. On the hillside that sloped away to my right, a black line ran nearly perpendicular to the road—the uncovered remnant of a stone wall nearly buried by the meadow turf. But no trees. As I stared, I could sense the same wavy heat lines that concealed the black ships of Recluce, except these were older and fainter and tinged with unpleasantness.

In a way it was too bad the wall wasn't headed where I was, but the disorder bothered me.

I shrugged. We couldn't stand behind the bushes forever.

Whheeee…eeeeuhhh…

“I know…I know…”

So I turned around and let Gairloch pick his way downhill to where the road turned out of sight of the border post, nearly half a kay. As I recalled, there was another brook that looked like it meandered down in the same general direction as the border post, but with the hill between us and the post.

I chucked the reins and Gairloch stepped across the flowing water and out onto the meadow. Keeping the hill to my right, we began following the watercourse, roughly parallel to the road.