The porter door lock clicked open and they were met by some of the garrison wearing the colors of Dos-Aralon.
“You’re the first word we’ve had from the north in a long spell,” the gate captain stammered, shaking Sturnin’s hand. “I’ve sent for the garrison commander. You want to speak with the governor, too? Do you need to stay at the barracks?” The gate captain’s men crowded around to get a good look at Sturnin and the huge sword strapped across his back.
“No, I’ll stay in town. But send a man with her to the Wee Kirke if you would,” the knight replied, nodding towards Ticastasy. “She hasn’t slept all night. Go on, lass, I’ll join you later.” Then ignoring her completely, he turned to the gate captain and started hammering out his requests. “I’d like to see your stockyard and armory. Then you can show me the battlements and the cisterns. We need to start carrying in water right away.”
The gate captain motioned for a soldier and spoke to him in a near-whisper. The escort nodded and offered to take Ticastasy to the inn. She followed, but something wasn’t right. The gate captain looked nervous and kept glancing back at the barracks. Frowning, she followed her escort away from the knight. She scanned each of the sentries, trying to figure out what was wrong. As they passed the heavy battlement walls and entered Landmoor, she passed by the window of the barracks. She glanced a second time, just to be sure.
Standing in the window was a Bandit officer wearing black and gold.
XXVIII
Blain Kirke sliced into the hot roast goose with his knife and burned his fingers as he stripped a piece of the salty meat away. He savored the taste, enjoying the blend of ground sader and peppers that flavored it. Kirke was a plain-looking man with big shoulders, rust-colored hair, and a thick mustache that made him appear to frown. His hair was cropped short in the Shoreland style, but he still hadn’t lost his Inlander way of speaking. Scooping up a hunk of bread, he dabbed it in the stew and chewed, wondering how long the stores in the basement would last.
Allavin Devers’ last visit had not been very encouraging, and for days after he’d left, Blain had wondered if the woodsman was right. He shouldn’t have wasted his time thinking about it. Allavin knew the Bandit army’s movements better than anyone else. If he said there was trouble coming to the Shoreland, there would be trouble.
Travelers from the north had all but stopped in the last fortnight, causing no small amount of worry to the local innkeepers. Blain had enough Aralonian pieces to hold out for a lot longer than that. He was able to eat his dinner without the gut-gnawing worry of a man about to lose everything to the Shae moneylenders. But still, the lack of word from the north worried him.
Taking a sip from his tankard of ale, he watched the slow pace of the kitchen as they prepared early for the evening meals. He shook his head. He didn’t want to let any of the serving girls go. It was too soon for that anyway. They were good girls, but he’d lost Nerissa to some seedy pub in Windrift not many months ago. The others just weren’t as good as her and struggled to bring in the share of coins that Nerissa’s smile had brought them.
Dabbing a hunk of bread in the stew, he continued eating, wanting to be finished before the real crowds started. He always liked to wander and observe during the mealtime, to see what dishes worked and which didn’t. It wasn’t an easy business, and complaints spread faster than sewer fumes.
Tanita approached him from behind. “Blain, there’s a girl here to see you.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I can’t hire anyone,” he answered. “Who let her go? That sneering wretch Bissom?”
She shook her head. “She said Allavin Devers sent her.”
Blain brushed his hands together and then wiped the crumbs from his mustache. “Bring her on back. Be quick about it.” He’d finish the goose later.
Leaning back in his chair, he folded his big arms and stared at the door. Tanita brought the girl into the kitchen and pointed him out. She nodded, smiled a quick thank you, and then hurried over to the table. Her boots were muddy, her clothes a mess, and her hair was tangled and damp.
“Sit down, lass,” he said, pushing the other chair over with the toe of his boot so she could join him. “Looks like you’re in trouble.”
She nodded, leaning forward and looking at him with the nicest brown eyes he’d seen in a long time. A good scrubbing with soap, and he could imagine what she would look like underneath. A pretty girl, no doubt about that.
“I’ve a warning to give you,” she said, keeping her voice low enough so that only he would hear. Her hand rested near his plate. “A warning for my friends. Please, they’re in danger and don’t know it.”
He frowned. “Are they bringing trouble here?”
“It’s not their fault,” she promised. “But Allavin Devers said I could trust you.”