After stinging his mouth with the hot liquid, Talon asked, “What is this place?’’
“Kendrick’s? It’s an . . . inn, buried somewhere in the forests of Latagore.”
“Why?”
“Why what? Why are we here, or why are you alive?’’
“Both, I suppose,” said Talon.
“The second, first,” answered Pasko, as he sat down on the little stool and hefted his own mug of broth. “We found you amidst carnage unlike any I’ve seen since my youth—when I was a soldier in the service of the Duke of Dungarren, down in Far Loren. We’d have left you for crow bait with the others, save I heard you moan . . . well, wasn’t even a proper moan, more like a loud sigh. It was only by the hand of fate you survived. You had so much blood on you and such a jagged wound across your chest, we both took you for dead to start with. Anyway, you were breathing, so my master said to fetch you along. He’s a soft-hearted sort, I can tell you.’’
“I should thank him,” said Talon, though he felt so miserable for being alive while the rest of his family had perished that he didn’t feel remotely thankful.
“I suspect he’ll find a way for you to repay him,” said Pasko. He stood up. “Feel like stretching your legs?’’
Talon nodded. He started to rise and found that his head swam and his body ached. He had no strength.
“Gently, my lad,” said Pasko, hurrying to give Talon a helping hand. “You’re weaker than a day-old kitten. You’ll need more rest, and food, before you’re close to being fit, but right now you need to move around a bit.’’
Pasko helped Talon to the door of the barn, and they went outside. It was a crisp morning, and Talon could tell they were in a lowland valley. The air smelled and felt different from the air in his highland meadows. Talon’s legs were shaky, and he was forced to take small steps. Pasko stopped and let the boy take in his surroundings.
They were in a large stabling yard, surrounded by a high wall of fitted stones. The boy instantly recognized the construction as a fortification by its design, for stone steps flush with the walls rose up at several locations a short distance from the large building, which he took to be the inn. The top of the wall had crenels and merlons, and a walkway broad enough for two men to pass one another as they defended the grounds.
The inn was as large a building as Talon had ever seen, dwarfing the round house and long house of his village. It rose three stories into the air, and the roof was covered with stone tiles rather than thatch or wood. It was painted white, with wooden trim around the doors and windows, the shutters and doors having been painted a cheery green. Several chimneys belched grey smoke into the sky.
A wagon had been pushed to the side of the barn, and Talon assumed it was the one that had carried him here. He could see the tops of trees some distance off, so he assumed the forest around the inn had been cleared.
“What do you see?” asked Pasko unexpectedly.
Talon glanced at the man, who was studying him closely. He started to speak, then remembered his grandfather telling him to look beyond the obvious, so he didn’t answer, but instead motioned to Pasko to help him to the nearest steps. He climbed them slowly until he was on top of the wall and able to look over.
The inn sat in the center of a natural clearing, but the stumps of a fair number of trees revealed that it had been enlarged years before. The stumps were covered with grasses and brambles, but the road into the woods had been kept clear.
“What do you see?” Pasko repeated.
Talon still didn’t answer, but began walking toward the inn. As he did so, the layout of the inn called Kendrick’s unfolded in his mind’s eye. He hesitated. He had as much fluency with the Common Tongue as any boy in the village, but he rarely spoke it, save when traders came to . . . He thought of his village and the cold hopelessness returned. He pushed down the ache and considered the words he wanted. Finally, he said, “This is a fortress, not an inn.’’
Pasko grinned. “Both, actually. Kendrick has no fondness for some of his neighbors.”
Talon nodded. The walls were stout, and the forest on all sides had been cleared sufficiently to give archers on the wall a clear field of fire. The road from the woods turned abruptly halfway to the inn and circled around to gates he assumed were on the other side of the inn. No ram or burning wagon could easily be run along to destroy the gates and gain entrance.
He glanced at the placement of the building. Archers in the upper windows would provide a second rank of defenders to support anyone on the wall. He returned his gaze to the doors and saw they were also heavy with iron bands. He imagined they could be barred from the inside. It would take stout men with heavy axes to break those down. He glanced up, and saw the murder-holes above each door. Hot oil or water, or arrows could be directed down at anyone in front of the door.
At last he said, “They must be difficult neighbors.”