Once she had dressed, she sighed audibly and put on her boots. Again she wondered about taking a squire as she struggled to get the stubborn things back on.
By the time she was dressed, the washing on the tree was no longer dripping, though it was still thoroughly soaked. She gathered it up and carried her load up the hill to the inn, her helm under her arm and her mace in her left hand.
Reaching the door, she saw another horse in the run-in next to hers and recognized it as the bandit’s mount. She then found the wagon at the back door, being unloaded by the two boys she had encountered earlier in the day. She shouted, ‘One of you see that my horse gets a bag of grain and I’ll give you a copper.’
Both boys looked at one another, as if weighing the offer against what their father might do if they left off the unloading. Silently they nodded. They then raised their fists, pumped them up and down twice and on the third pump, one of the boys shouted ‘Odd!’ as the other shouted ‘Even!’
The one who had shouted ‘even’ smiled and leaped down from the wagon, lifting a bag of grain off the ground and carrying it to the run-in shed. The other boy glowered at Sandreena but said nothing as he continued his work.
Inside the inn, Sandreena spread her cloak out over the back of a chair closest to the fire and put her wet tunic, trousers, leggings, and small clothes down next to it on the floor.
‘Supper is ready,’ said the woman as she came out of the kitchen. If she had any objection to the guest drying her clothing before the fire she did not voice them.
Sandreena put her bag and weapons under the table, but kept them close at hand.
Glancing around the room, she reaffirmed there were only two entrances, one at the front and the one from the back of the building, where she assumed both her room and the kitchen lay, as well as the family’s quarters. As inns went, this wasn’t the worst - that honour had been claimed by a hovel in Kesh - but this inn was only marginally better.
When the woman appeared, her husband and their two boys followed her in. As food was placed before Sandreena, the man said, ‘You. From the road.’
She nodded, not entirely sure if that was an accusation or a question.
‘You said you’d pay my boy a copper to feed your horse.’
‘Yes.’
‘Give it to me.’
Sandreena didn’t argue, but pulled out a coin and put it on the table. The man snapped it up. ‘That is for his work. The oats are two more.’
She put a silver real on the table and said, ‘For today and tomorrow. If I stay longer, I’ll pay in advance.’
The man nodded. ‘I’m Enos, this is Ivet, and my boys are Nicolo and Pitor. Your room is at the end of the hall.’
Sandreena nodded. ‘My Temple received reports of bandits. I see they were true.’
The man paused as he started to turn away, and then turned back towards her. ‘Why does your Temple know about us? Who told them?’
Sandreena was a little surprised by the questions. The man seemed more concerned with how the information reached the Temple of Dala, than the fact that someone had arrived to help.
‘Does that matter?’
Enos shrugged.
‘I don’t know. I was simply ordered here by my Father-Bishop. It seems the Empire is too busy elsewhere to protect you.’
‘Protect us?’ said Enos with a bitter, barking laugh. ‘They are worse than bandits, the tax men. They come, they take, and they leave. They do nothing for us.
‘Pirates and bandits; smugglers and . . .’ He stopped himself. ‘We don’t need help. We manage.’
Sandreena weighed her words carefully. She said, ‘I’m sure you do, and I’m not here to help you.’
The man’s eyes narrowed, as if he didn’t understand, but he said nothing.
‘I’m here to gather information to take back to my Temple.’
‘What sort of information?’ asked Enos suspiciously. Sandreena said, ‘Why this out-of-the-way village is being ravaged.’
Enos and Ivet’s look of alarm was barely hidden, but the boys positively went white with fear. Something here was far from ordinary and she felt as if she had just stuck a stick into a hornet’s nest.
She didn’t need the sudden look of panic that swept over the family to warn her something bad was about to happen. She had had too many unpleasant encounters in the last few years to be taken completely unawares, but she had let her attacker get too close.
She stood, and in a single fluid motion, kicked her chair straight back, as she lifted the table and turned it over. Kneeling, her mace was in her hand before she turned. The chair had struck a man in the legs, slowing him just long enough for her to be ready when he swung his sword at her, aiming to remove her head from her shoulders.