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clouds seemed thicker, but how could I really tell?
& click&
As I sat on the edge of the soft bed and pulled off my boots, I heard
Krystal s door open and close, but no sound of voices. Off came the tunic and
trousers, and I reached up and turned off the lamp.
With the quilt around me, I was asleep in instants, although I thought I
heard a faint knock on my door once, just as I was dropping off; but I was too
sleepy to get up and check, especially since it was probably my imagination.
Still& I wondered, but I dreamed of neither red-headed girls nor of
dark-haired women.
XIX
ONCE I STEPPED outside the inn the next morning, I could sense more
strongly what I had felt the night before and what Isolde had alluded to in
saying we would be safe there without weapons. For all the faded blue paint on
the shutters, the weathered timbers and gray-painted plank walls, the building
radiated order. No barred windows, no heavy doors, no guards-just order.
Enough order that it just would not appeal to anyone bent on disorder.
The clouds and fog of the previous day had vanished, except for higher
puffy gray-and-white clouds that scudded quickly across a bright-blue fall
sky.
I looked at the inn again. The thick shutters were supported by heavy iron
hinges, with iron hasps for the sliding locks that would be on the inside when
the shutters were closed against weather or other forms of attack. The iron
was clean and black, the hinges clearly functional. The red oak of the door
had faded under the varnish to a grayed gold that almost matched the big
bronze door handles on the double doors that were now folded back against the
planks for the day.
From a timber projecting above the open doors and perhaps two cubits below
the second-floor window hung the neatly painted sign-Travelers Rest. The gray
paving-stones were laid edge-to-edge from the front wall to the curb, a
distance of five cubits or less, and stretched from one side of the building
to the other. Already, the stones had been swept.
Glancing up to the room where I thought Tamra had slept, I could see a
glimpse of red through the half-open window. But the sea breeze gusting up
from the harbor fluttered the fabric enough to tell me it was only one of the
bright red curtains. Then I looked toward the back of the building, but
Krystal s room window was around the corner. She had either left earlier, or
was still asleep.
I shrugged and shouldered my pack, which didn t seem nearly so heavy as
when I had left Wandernaught, and, after a last look at the Travelers Rest,
turned my steps toward the livery stable that had been listed on the wall
behind the front desk of the inn. If I had to reach the Westhorns, it wasn t
going to be on foot, not unless I wanted to take years. A thousand kays or
more-I still resented Talryn s flat pronouncement. Someone definitely wanted
me out of Recluce for a while.
 Watch it, outlander!
I dodged a thin man wearing a short cloak, a ragged tunic not concealing a
mail shirt underneath, and a short sword in a battered scabbard. Then I smiled
politely, and stepped aside. He stopped and studied me.
I waited, shifting my hands on the staff ever so slightly.
 Told you to watch it&  His speech had a twang to it. Above his short
gray-and-ginger beard, his face bore large pockmarks. The odor of stale beer,
dirt, and other assorted filth almost forced me back another pace.  But you
look like the peaceable type& so just hand over that pack.
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I stood there for a moment, frozen, not having expected an attack within a
block of the inn.
 I said, hand it over!
I smiled, moving the staff up into a defensive posture.  I think you have
the wrong person. I hoped my voice didn t shake the way my knees threatened
to.
 Ha! His blade whistled out.  Now! Let s have that pack!
All I dared to do was wait. The sword edge glittered even in the cloudy
light of the morning.
 Be a shame to carve you up, outlander& 
I would have liked to shrug, but I didn t, instead watching his eyes.
Clunk. I blocked the short blade, knocking it away.
 You do know how to use that staff a little, but not enough& 
& clunk& clink& clunk&
The responses were nearly automatic as I concentrated on anticipating his
moves.
& clunk& clink& clunk&
He wasn t nearly so good as Krystal or even Demorsal. So I waited,
parrying, turning the blade rather than meeting it edge-on.
& clink& clink& clunk&
Sweat was pouring from his face, and he was breathing hard.
& clink& clunk&
Crack!& Whsssttt&
 Aüieee& !
Clank&
Suddenly, it was over. The small man, not much above my shoulder, I
realized, backed away from me, leaving the sword on the dusty stones,
clutching the back of his wrist where I had struck to disarm him.
 Black bastard& witch spawn&  He did not move, but stayed well beyond the
reach of the staff.
I didn t really know what to do. I didn t want the sword. I really didn t
want to hurt the man. He was more hungry than evil, but I couldn t exactly
turn my back on him.
 So& up to trouble already, Lerris?
I recognized the voice, took a quick glance over my shoulder to see Myrten
strolling toward me. Even as I glanced back, the man who attacked me was
darting away down the street and twisting into an alleyway on the right.
 That was stupid, youngster.
 What? Still holding my staff with one hand, I reached down and picked up
the fallen sword. Just a plain blade.
 Looking away from him. Good thing he didn t have a throwing knife. Myrten
wore a bright green tunic and dark green trousers. His cloak was heavy
dark-gray leather. Like me he carried a pack, but his was half-slung over his
left shoulder. He looked more like a clean-shaven minstrel or a bard than the
thief I felt he innately was. Two large knives hung from his belt, but I could
sense the small pistol under the left-hand false knife.
I looked up the street. No one else had followed us out of the inn. Myrten
was right. I shrugged.  I didn t expect something quite so soon.
 What you expect isn t what happens, particularly when you get close to
chaos. He half-laughed.
I shrugged.  Want the blade?
 You could sell it, he suggested.
 Me?
Myrten laughed again, a short bark.  You re right. That would be more than
a little out of character. I ll sell it and split the profit.
That seemed more than fair.  Fine. But where?
 Let s just keep walking. There s bound to be something. Myrten seemed
much more at ease on the streets of Freetown than in Nylan.
 What about-
 We re not traveling together, and we ll certainly leave Freetown
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separately.
At the next cross-street, Myrten stopped. With dirt and clay packed over
the paving stones and squarish mud-holes where some stones were missing
entirely, the street looked more like an alley frequented by thieves or worse.
Myrten ⬠¢ nodded toward the left.
I frowned.
 It s early. Too early for the real professionals. Myrten stretched his
legs out, moving quickly, especially for a man so short.
 What about our friend?
 Him? He was just hoping for an easy mark.
Most of the doors we passed were shut and barred with cold iron. Iron
doesn t have any magical power, despite the rumors. It s effective because it
takes so damned much chaos to break through it that doing it isn t worth the
effort. That was what Magistra Trehonna had said. It made sense, I suppose,
which was why swords still carried the day and firearms were a novelty.
After we had traveled nearly fifty rods down the narrow street, crossing
yet another, wider street like the one on which the Travelers Rest was
situated, Myrten slowed. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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