“Well, it’s unlikely that you’ll ever make either man’s acquaintance, but stranger things have been known to happen. Here we are.’’
Talon looked up and saw that they were standing before an inn, a sign above it bearing the faded image of a grinning face, a man with a dark beard wearing a plumed hat. Below it was written, “Admiral Trask.’’
Caleb pushed open the door, and they stepped into a smoky room, the air thick with the smell of roasting meat, tobacco smoke, spilled ale, and wine. Talon’s eyes began to water.
Caleb pushed his way past several dock men, sailors and travelers, until he reached the counter. The innkeeper looked up and grinned. “Caleb! It’s been too long, old friend!’’
“Randolph,” answered Caleb, taking his hand. “This is Talon. Do you have a room?’’
“Yes,” said the innkeeper. “You can have your pick. The one in the back?’’
“Yes,” said Caleb, understanding the question.
“Are you hungry?’’
Caleb smiled. “Always.”
“Then sit down, and I’ll have the girl fetch you your supper. Any baggage?’’
“You know I travel light.” Talon and Caleb both carried all their gear in light packs they wore across their shoulders.
The innkeeper tossed a heavy iron key to Caleb, who caught it neatly. “Sit,” he said, “then retire when you’re of a mind to.’’
They took their seats, and in a moment a girl appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray on which rested an abundant heap of steaming food: hot chicken, roasted duck, a slab of lamb, and steamed vegetables.
When she placed the tray on the table, Talon glanced up and his mouth fell open. He started to rise, but a firm hand from Caleb pushed him back into his chair. Lela looked down at him with a friendly smile, but there was no hint of recognition in her eyes. “Can I bring you drinks, fellows?’’
“Ale,” Caleb said, and she hurried off.
“What—?”
Caleb spoke in a low voice, “She’s not who you think she is.’’
In less than a minute, the girl returned with two large pewter jacks filled with foaming ale. “What’s your name, girl?” asked Caleb.
“Roxanne,” she replied, “sir. Is there anything else?’’
“No,” said Caleb, and the girl left them.
Softly, Talon said, “That was Lela.’’
“No,” said Caleb. “You’re mistaken.”
Talon looked at his friend, then nodded curtly. “Yes, I must be mistaken.”
They ate in silence.
They spent three days in Krondor, making arrangements to travel with a caravan. Caleb and Talon would serve as guards, in exchange for transportation and food. The caravan master was pleased not to have to pay the mercenary bonus, and counted himself fortunate.
The mystery of why Lela was working at the inn under the name of Roxanne was not discussed, and Talon assumed it was yet another of those things which might never be explained to him. Yet it was oddly reassuring to discover a familiar face in such strange surroundings, even if under circumstances that could only be called bizarre.
Krondor was a revelation to Talon, for while Latagore had seemed fabulous to his untutored eyes when he had visited it for the first time, it seemed a provincial village compared to the capital of the Western Realm of the Kingdom. The city was teeming with people, from distant lands as far away as the Keshian Confederacy, the captive nations in the Empire’s southern reaches. Dialects and languages strange to the ear could be heard in every market and inn.