They made the journey in three days, spending both nights on the road, beneath wardstone barriers. They didn’t see any nightdrakes or daydrakes this time, and the absence of the former, like a lull in a deadly storm, made Corwin uneasy. Of the latter, he didn’t want to speculate.
Corwin had never been to Andreas before, and the sight of it in the distance filled him with a kind of nervous awe. The city resided in a narrow, rocky valley at the base of three mountains. Unlike most of the freestanding walls in the other Rimish cities, the wall here rose out of the sides of the mountains like stone arms on a giant—the kind that would like nothing more than to gobble up unsuspecting humans. Barren scrubland filled the valley. The only sign of life aside from the always-present everweeps was the smoke rising up from the chimney of the gold-order house, a freeholding to the east of the main gates. The golds were formed only recently, and with space inside the cities so limited, they’d built their houses outside the walls in all the cities. Corwin once heard his brother claim the isolation was a good thing, for it kept the public from overhearing the unpleasantness of the Purgings. Corwin didn’t know if that was true or not, but he didn’t plan on going near enough to ever find out.
The royal castle of Andreas, a forbidding fortress carved into the central mountain itself, kept watch over the town below. The city looked impregnable even without wardstone magic. It was impregnable, as proved during the War of the Three when the northern forces broke their army against Andreas’ wall after the western forces had retreated behind it.
Or maybe it’s inescapable, Corwin thought as they entered the city. He’d never seen a place so filled with people in the middle of the day. They swarmed down the streets like bees over a hive. Then again, the congestion made sense. There were no fields to tend and even fewer herds to flock here. Andreas relied on the coal and precious metals it produced for its livelihood—and the people who labored inside its walls and mountain caves day after day.
“We will need to stable the horses,” Kate said once they’d made it through the gates. “They’re not allowed on the streets here.”
Corwin glanced at her, making sure he’d heard her right. The cowl she wore over her head, mouth, and nose muffled her words. They were all wearing them—Signe’s idea to help them remain anonymous. The small, shoulder-length hoods were common in this city, where the dust and grime from the mining hung in the air, coating the streets, buildings, and people in a gray film. The peasants passing by them were dressed in gray and brown, adding to the overall dingy feel. Their stark garb surprised Corwin. When the Andreas nobility visited Norgard, they wore bright, garish costumes bedecked with the precious gems harvested by the cartload here.
They stabled the horses in the livery next to the Relay house, then gathered outside on the street. Raith excused himself with plans to check in with his order’s house.
Once he was gone, Dal turned to Corwin and said eagerly, “Where should we go first?”
Corwin motioned to Kate. “What do you think? You and Signe know this city better than the rest of us. Where is the best place for information?”
Kate’s brow furrowed. “No idea. Women riders aren’t welcome here, no matter what the Relay’s rules are. We hardly left the Relay house.”
“You hardly left the house,” Signe said, scowling. “I wouldn’t let these men make me unwelcome. I go where I wish.”
Dal grinned. “I’ll bet not a one of them complained.”
“Where do you suggest then, Signe?” said Corwin.
“The Boarbelly Inn,” she answered without hesitation. “It’s the biggest gaming house in town. The innkeeper is a friend, and he knows everything there is to know about his city.”
Corwin supposed it made sense. Gaming houses were often hubs of gossip. “All right, we’ll try there.”
“If you don’t mind, your highness,” Kate said, “I would rather not venture any farther than this. May I get the rooms rented instead? I recommend that inn over there.” She pointed to a faded sign that read “The Guided Torch.” A single curved-handled torch framed the sign, the symbol of Andre, patron god of Andreas.
“I can go with her to help,” Bonner offered. He looked road weary, with dark circles under his eyes and a telltale stiffness when he moved.
Corwin took in Kate’s expression, trying to read her thoughts as always. Their journey here had been uneventful, aside from the Redrush ferrymen charging them double for the crossing, but tension hung thick in the air every night they stopped for camp. Kate never seemed to stray far from Bonner’s side. At first Corwin mistook it as a sign of intimacy between them, only their interactions spoke more of friendship than of love. Even if Bonner did have an annoying habit of touching her every chance he got—tickling her sides, patting her head, hugging her. Corwin was forced to conclude then that Kate simply didn’t want to be caught alone with him. The feeling was mutual. Having her around made him restless. Try as he did to ignore her, he kept obsessing over her every move and gesture. It was like having an itch that couldn’t be reached for scratching.
Corwin gave his blessing to the plan, and once Kate and Bonner had departed, Signe led the way. The congestion in the city grew the farther in they went. Twisting, narrow roads drew them deeper and higher, the constant incline soon making Corwin’s legs ache. He supposed the return journey would be a relief, but for now it daunted. At least it wasn’t terribly hot, with the buildings casting long shadows as they rose up several stories high on both sides of the street.
The Boarbelly Inn occupied the farthest corner of the town square, the highest point of the city aside from the nobles’ houses and the castle itself. Above the entrance perched a carved wooden boar, reared up on its stubby hind legs. Signe hopped up and patted the boar’s foot on her way through the door. Corwin could see from the worn wood it was a common act, probably done for good luck.
The interior of the inn was dim and smoky, but considerably quieter than it had been outside. More than a dozen round tables filled the place, half of them occupied. Some of the patrons were eating and drinking, but most were absorbed in games, everything from cards and dice to elaborate board games played with stone pieces, like Kings in the Castle and Five Fates.
Signe’s boast of being welcome here proved true, as several of the patrons and even more of the workers called out to her in greeting as she removed her cowl. She waved back to each in turn before approaching a table occupied by the fattest man Corwin had ever seen. Yards of belly spilled down from his triple chin to a nonexistent waistline. When the man raised his goblet in greeting, the fingers holding it resembled bent sausages.
“Signe Leth!” he said in a voice as big as his stomach. “My eyes haven’t looked on your pretty face in weeks. Come give the fat man a kiss.”
Grinning, Signe stooped and brushed her lips against one plump cheek. “I have not missed your fat face nearly so much as your belly.” She gave his gut a hard pat, and the man howled with laughter.
Corwin and Dal exchanged bemused looks. It seemed no one was a stranger to Signe.
“Sit down, you beautiful girl, and introduce me to your friends,” the fat man said.
Signe pulled out the chair next to him and sat down while Corwin and Dal took seats opposite.
“This is Gordon Bombasi, innkeeper here,” she said. She motioned to Dal, then Corwin. “And this is Ronan Dorn and Clash Farley.”
They’d both chosen their false names before entering the city. Corwin had worn his before, during his years spent away from Rime. He hoped the name, along with the cowl and the beard he’d been letting grow, would keep him from being recognized.
“Welcome to the Boarbelly, the crown gem of Andreas,” Gordon said, his voice still booming loud enough to make Corwin wince. Of all the people to seek information from, surely this man should be the last choice. Everyone in the city would soon know their business.