He turned his mind away from that; dwelling on his lost past only led to despair and he knew he must make the best out of what life offered him. He watched the lake grow in size as they cleared the woods. Then, as they crested another rise, he saw the city of Latagore.
The midday sun threw the city into sharp contrast: edges and lines, shapes and contours. Talon’s eye almost refused to define the chaos of it; then order began to emerge. Kendrick’s had been the largest man-made structure he had seen so far, and the sheer scope of the city nearly overwhelmed his senses. The city rested upon the shore of an inlet, miles across, which gave it the appearance of having been set down by some giant hand in a crook of the shoreline.
Caleb glanced over and saw Talon agape. “What do you see?’’
Talon knew that question. Robert asked it all the time, as did Magnus when he was tutoring Talon. It wasn’t about his impressions or feelings, but rather the detail of what he observed: facts, as Robert put it.
Talon instantly became analytical. “The city has a wall around it, extending into the water . . . I’d judge a hundred yards or more into the water.” He narrowed his eyes. “There’s a large building in the middle of the city that rises high enough to overlook everything for miles. I don’t know what it’s called.’’
“It’s called a citadel. It was once a castle erected to defend this lakeshore. The city grew up around it.’’
“There are five large . . . things that stick out into the water.’’
“Docks.”
Talon’s eyes wandered for a moment, and then he was struck by the size of the lake. Surely this couldn’t be just a lake. It must be a sea.
Caleb’s voice jerked him out of his reverie. “What else?’’
Talon began to list the details that appeared to his almost supernatural sight. Each time he encountered something alien he would struggle to describe it, Caleb would supply the word, and he would move on.
As they passed down the road, heading toward the plain upon which the city rested, Talon lost his vantage point and was forced to rely upon memory. When they reached a stand of trees which cut off all sight of the city, Caleb said, “You did well. You missed things, but you’re new to this business of paying attention.”
“Paying attention to what?” asked Talon.
Caleb smiled—a rare occurrence—and said, “Why, to everything. You pay attention to everything.”
“Why?”
They worked their way along the road, through the woods, and past a meadow as Talon waited for his answer. At last Caleb said, “When you hunt, to what do you pay attention?”
“To everything,” answered Talon. “The direction of the wind, the scents upon the air, the sounds of the woods, to anything that has left tracks.’’
Caleb nodded. “Always think of yourself as being on the hunt.’’
“Always?” asked Talon.
“Always.”
“Why?”
“Because it’ll keep you alive,” said Caleb.
They rode in silence for another hour before reaching a crossroads and an inn. It was an hour after midday, and Caleb said, “We’ll rest the horses and eat here. Then we’ll be in the city by supper.”
Talon had no argument. They had spent two days on the road, and while sleeping under the wagon had been no burden, he welcomed the idea of a hot meal.
The inn was a tiny place, a way stop for those few people who either found themselves just a little too late in the day to reach Latagore or who, like Caleb and Talon, were stopping for a midday meal. The sign above the door showed a man holding a pitchfork in one hand and a large mug in the other. The paint on the sign was faded, but Talon could see that the man’s expression was one of sublime happiness.
“What is this place?” he asked Caleb quietly as the wagon ground to a halt.
“It is called the Happy Farmer Inn.’’
Hearing the wagon, a boy appeared from out the back and listened as Caleb instructed him on how to take care of the two horses. As the wagon was empty, the horses were still fit and required only water and some hay. They would need more rest and grain on the long climb back up into the hills with the wagon loaded.
Caleb led Talon into the inn and crossed to an empty table in the corner. He removed his black slouch hat and adjusted the sword at his side so that he could sit comfortably at the table, then motioned for Talon to sit down opposite him.
A middle-aged woman with an agreeable manner approached and asked their pleasure. Caleb ordered a meal and ale for both of them and sat back to observe the other customers.
The common room was quiet, with only four other men taking their midday ease. Two were obviously traders of some fashion, portly men in sturdy but finely fashioned travel clothing. The other two sat at the next table, heads together, speaking quietly. They appeared to be fighting men of some stripe; both wore simple clothing—tunics, trousers, and overjackets—but no jewelry was evident to Talon. However, their boots and weapons were well cared for, which Talon took to mean they spent a lot of time walking and fighting.