but your meals are yours.”
Justen nodded at the almost ritualistic phrases that Merwha had uttered every night.
“We leave at the second morning bell. Tomorrow night, with luck, we’ll be in Sarron itself.”
Gingerly, Justen dismounted. His legs did hold him, although the muscles above his knees cramped for a moment.
“Use the end stalls!” Merwha added with a motion toward the section of the stable farthest from the inn.
Justen flicked the reins and walked tiredly toward the end of the stable. The gray lumbered after him.
“It feels good to walk.” Altara fell in beside the younger engineer.
“It will feel better to sit down…I think.” Justen turned toward an open stall, leading the gray to the manger and tying the reins. Then he unfastened his pack and the black staff and leaned them against the wall before beginning to loosen the saddle girth.
By the time he had unsaddled, watered, fed, and brushed the placid gray, thrown his gear over his shoulder, picked up the staff, and closed the stall door, most of the others were waiting, except for Nicos and Clerve, who straggled out as he watched.
“Men…always bringing up the rear.” Altara smiled after she spoke, then gestured toward the inn. “Let’s go.”
“You’d rather we brought up…the front?” asked Justen with a wide smile.
“Justen…you might be promising more than you can deliver.”
“It could be fun to see,” added Jirrl.
Even before they reached the sign above the double doors, a young woman in trousers emerged and bowed to Altara. Her eyes flicked from Altara’s blade to Justen’s black staff. “You are the travelers from far Recluce?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” answered the chief engineer.
“If you would follow me…”
“Lead on.” Altara’s voice was cheerfully resigned.
“They expect miracles,” muttered Quentel.
“Then we’ll have to deliver them,” answered Jirrl.
“Easy enough for you to say, woman,” retorted Nicos. “Most of us can’t charm the iron the way you can. We need hammers.”
Justen grinned. The only things soft about Jirrl were her manners and her voice. Her arms were as hard as the black iron she forged with such apparent ease.
The entry foyer was vacant except for those from Recluce and their guide.
“The five rooms on the second floor are yours. No one else is staying here tonight, but the public room—” she turned and pointed through the archway—“serves some of the officers from the Tyrant’s forces. Some others, too. Supper begins at the first bell. That’s not long.” She bowed to Altara.
“Thank you.” Altara returned the bow. “Put your gear in your rooms, and wash up, if you’re so minded. Then we’ll eat together.”
The narrow stairs creaked, and the dark wood, although recently restained, was worn.
Altara and Krytella took the corner room, while Clerve and Justen ended up in the one that resembled a large pantry and contained just two beds and an open cabinet with three shelves. An empty basin and pitcher stood on the cabinet, and two worn towels were folded beside them.
After testing the beds, Justen tossed his pack on the one that seemed marginally harder and set the staff in the corner. Then he opened the shutters and looked out at the back wallof the barracks, then down at the narrow alley separating the two buildings.
“I’ll get the water, ser,” Clerve offered.
“Thanks.” Justen nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. He really wanted a shower, or even a bath. Neither seemed popular in Candar, although his nose was slowly becoming accustomed to the local variety of odors, most of them vaguely disagreeable.
He stood up and took two steps back to the window, trying not to sneeze at the dust raised when his sleeve brushed the dusty sill. If he sat, his buttocks ached. If he stood, his legs ached.
“Here’s the water.” Clerve grinned. “I brought a bucketfull, too.”
Justen turned and smiled back, reaching for the
Justen nodded at the almost ritualistic phrases that Merwha had uttered every night.
“We leave at the second morning bell. Tomorrow night, with luck, we’ll be in Sarron itself.”
Gingerly, Justen dismounted. His legs did hold him, although the muscles above his knees cramped for a moment.
“Use the end stalls!” Merwha added with a motion toward the section of the stable farthest from the inn.
Justen flicked the reins and walked tiredly toward the end of the stable. The gray lumbered after him.
“It feels good to walk.” Altara fell in beside the younger engineer.
“It will feel better to sit down…I think.” Justen turned toward an open stall, leading the gray to the manger and tying the reins. Then he unfastened his pack and the black staff and leaned them against the wall before beginning to loosen the saddle girth.
By the time he had unsaddled, watered, fed, and brushed the placid gray, thrown his gear over his shoulder, picked up the staff, and closed the stall door, most of the others were waiting, except for Nicos and Clerve, who straggled out as he watched.
“Men…always bringing up the rear.” Altara smiled after she spoke, then gestured toward the inn. “Let’s go.”
“You’d rather we brought up…the front?” asked Justen with a wide smile.
“Justen…you might be promising more than you can deliver.”
“It could be fun to see,” added Jirrl.
Even before they reached the sign above the double doors, a young woman in trousers emerged and bowed to Altara. Her eyes flicked from Altara’s blade to Justen’s black staff. “You are the travelers from far Recluce?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” answered the chief engineer.
“If you would follow me…”
“Lead on.” Altara’s voice was cheerfully resigned.
“They expect miracles,” muttered Quentel.
“Then we’ll have to deliver them,” answered Jirrl.
“Easy enough for you to say, woman,” retorted Nicos. “Most of us can’t charm the iron the way you can. We need hammers.”
Justen grinned. The only things soft about Jirrl were her manners and her voice. Her arms were as hard as the black iron she forged with such apparent ease.
The entry foyer was vacant except for those from Recluce and their guide.
“The five rooms on the second floor are yours. No one else is staying here tonight, but the public room—” she turned and pointed through the archway—“serves some of the officers from the Tyrant’s forces. Some others, too. Supper begins at the first bell. That’s not long.” She bowed to Altara.
“Thank you.” Altara returned the bow. “Put your gear in your rooms, and wash up, if you’re so minded. Then we’ll eat together.”
The narrow stairs creaked, and the dark wood, although recently restained, was worn.
Altara and Krytella took the corner room, while Clerve and Justen ended up in the one that resembled a large pantry and contained just two beds and an open cabinet with three shelves. An empty basin and pitcher stood on the cabinet, and two worn towels were folded beside them.
After testing the beds, Justen tossed his pack on the one that seemed marginally harder and set the staff in the corner. Then he opened the shutters and looked out at the back wallof the barracks, then down at the narrow alley separating the two buildings.
“I’ll get the water, ser,” Clerve offered.
“Thanks.” Justen nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. He really wanted a shower, or even a bath. Neither seemed popular in Candar, although his nose was slowly becoming accustomed to the local variety of odors, most of them vaguely disagreeable.
He stood up and took two steps back to the window, trying not to sneeze at the dust raised when his sleeve brushed the dusty sill. If he sat, his buttocks ached. If he stood, his legs ached.
“Here’s the water.” Clerve grinned. “I brought a bucketfull, too.”
Justen turned and smiled back, reaching for the
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