She rode through the village, the most prosperous place she had seen since leaving Ithra, and judged it poor at best. There were no recognizable shops; only a smithy at the end of the street whose huge chimney was belching smoke, and another stall that appeared to belong to a woodworker, probably the local barrel maker, cartwright, wheelwright, and woodcarver all in one. It was a very strange place and it was too quiet, as if everyone strived to be about his or her business inconspicuously. Even the few children she saw were sullen and stared at her with suspicious eyes.
Reaching the marked building, she could scarcely believe it was the inn; a large, ramshackle house, perhaps. Still, there was a hitching rail in front, with two horses tied to it. She rode around the building leisurely, looking for anything that might resemble a stable, finding only a large corral where a tumbledown shed stood, one side of it completely collapsed. Her mount had endured worse.
Sandreena dismounted and untacked the animal. She put her saddle and bridle on a rail - it still was slightly sheltered by what remained of the roof and the three walls. She quickly brushed down her horse and picked its hooves. A well provided clean water, and she used grain from the sack she carried behind her saddle.
Ensuring everything was as secure as it was likely to be, she turned her attention to her own needs. She expected a bath would be out of the question, and instead vowed to bathe at the first stream, lake, or river she found, but hoped that at least the bed was something more than a bag of straw.
She didn’t worry about her tack, as her mount was a well-trained warhorse. Anyone foolish enough to approach her would be in for a very rude shock.
Sandreena made her way around the modest building to the entrance and entered. The interior of the inn was no more promising than the exterior. The low ceiling made it feel cramped and the long narrow bar and one table provided all its accommodation for eating and drinking and Sandreena assumed large gatherings never occurred.
A single door to the back seemed the only other passage and when no one appeared after a minute, she shouted, ‘Hello! Is anyone here?’
Quickly a woman’s voice answered: ‘Who’s there?’
‘Someone in need of a meal and a room,’ and muttering more to herself than to the disembodied voice, she added, ‘and a hot bath if that’s possible in this hovel.’
A pinched-faced woman of middle years appeared from the door at the rear of the building. She wore plain grey homespun, a stained faded yellow apron and a blue scarf over her greying black hair. ‘What do you need?’ she asked curtly.
Sandreena felt a sudden urge to turn round, ride back to Krondor and strangle the Father-Bishop. Biting back a frustrated and angry retort, she simply said, ‘Something to drink. Ale?’
‘No ale,’ said the woman. ‘Beer.’
Sandreena nodded. The mug appeared before her and she took a drink. It was weak and sour, but it was wet. ‘Food?’ she asked after she had drained a third of the mug.
‘I have some homush cooking. Should be ready in a few minutes.’ Sandreena had no idea what homush was, but she had eaten a wide variety of things in her travels and knew that if the locals ate something, it probably wouldn’t kill you. ‘I sometimes have mutton, but there was no one here to slaughter a sheep this week. I’m waiting for my husband and sons. They are due back from trading in Dunam.’
Sandreena nodded. She had ridden through Dunam on her way from Ithra. It was a small trading town with a small harbour. She assumed it was where the locals had their goods shipped, which seemed likely if that’s where the innkeeper and his sons went for supplies. She had seen other towns like it, ancient communities left over from the days of coastal sailing, before the big deep-water ships started plying their trade, leaving the smaller stops along the once prosperous trade routes to wither away.
She looked at the older woman and said, ‘A two-horse rig, with a bay and a dapple grey pulling it?’
‘That’s my Enos,’ said the woman. ‘Did you see them?’
‘They should be rolling in any time now,’ said Sandreena. ‘I came across them on the road a little while back. They were fighting off some bandits.’
‘Bandits! Black Caps?’
Sandreena said, ‘I don’t know about any black caps, but they were a scruffy lot. One of them died and the others rode off. Your man and the boys are fine.’
The woman didn’t lose her strained expression, but relief showed in her eyes. All she said was, ‘Food is almost ready. It is four coppers for the beer. The meal is two.’
Sandreena reached into her belt purse and pulled out a silver real. Kingdom silver was as good as Keshian in this part of the world. ‘I need a room.’
The woman nodded as she scooped up the silver coin. ‘I have one through there.’
‘Bath?’
The woman shook her head. ‘You can bathe down in the creek. No one will bother you.’