He fingered her coin and looked her over. Then he jerked his head at a wagon toward the back. “Jacobo’s caravan travels the Aerins.”
There were wagons of all types in this courtyard, ranging from flat carts for hauling lumber to covered wagons that could serve as semi-permanent homes. The people who came out of them were equally eclectic in their look and dress. There were brown-skinned Minadans who wore heavy furs over their native tunics and tucked their bright pantaloons into winter-friendly northern boots. Plenty of traders from the three cities were here too, clad in sturdy neutral-colored clothing. The trader women wore trousers like Kyra, so she actually looked less out of place here than she did in the rest of Forge.
Jacobo’s wagon had seen its share of repairs. The awning was patched in several places, and not all the wood of the wagon’s body matched the rest. Kyra slowed as she came closer, unsure what to expect. A trader stepped out from behind the wagon and fixated on her immediately. His skin was tanned, tough, and wrinkled, and there was more than one scar across his face. He looked like someone who had weathered storms, ice, and hunger, and thought little enough of it that he did it over and over again.
“Are you Jacobo?” said Kyra.
He gave a careful nod. “I’m Jacobo. And you are?”
Kyra extended her hand. “My name is Kyra. Of Forge.”
The trader glanced at the tall man at the gate. “Gregor let you in here?”
“I made a convincing case,” Kyra said, indicating her coin purse. She wasn’t quite sure if admitting to a bribe was the best idea, but this trader didn’t seem the type who appreciated being lied to.
Jacobo chuckled. “I reckon he wasn’t too hard to convince. Well, maidy, why take the trouble of searching out my company?”
“I’m looking for a Far Ranger,” said Kyra, hoping she was projecting at least some confidence. “Your people have a reputation for a long memory.”
“Depends on what you mean by long.”
“Have you heard any stories of Demon Riders crossing the mountains before this year? Mayhap in the past twenty years?”
Jacobo gave her a curious look. “That’s an odd question. Why do you want to know?”
“I work under the Palace defense minister. We’re trying to learn more about the barbarians.” All true, except that Malikel had no idea she was here.
“The Palace has never come to us for information before. And you don’t look like the usual fatpurse’s crony.” Kyra was wondering how to persuade Jacobo to talk when he continued. “About fifteen years ago, a trade caravan was attacked near Forge, in the forest right above the upper waterfall. The wagons were destroyed and the crew was scattered, some killed. One survivor said they were attacked by felbeasts—that’s what they’re called across the mountains.”
Fifteen years? Kyra didn’t know her exact age, but she’d guessed she was about seventeen or eighteen years old. If there had been a clan around the three cities about that long ago…She tried not to let her excitement show. “You said there were survivors?”
“You say you’re from Forge?” asked Jacobo abruptly. “You don’t look it. Your skin’s a shade darker than most, and the slant of your cheekbones…”
“Not everyone from Forge looks the same,” said Kyra, scrambling to make sense of his words. Did he know something?
“How old are you?”
“I don’t know.”
Jacobo kept studying her. “I’ve met one of the survivors from that caravan,” he said. “I could send word to him, see if he has anything to add, if that suits you.”
Kyra rummaged around in her belt pouch and pulled out a piece of parchment. She scribbled Flick’s address, thinking it better not to leave anything that would lead directly back to her. “You can find me here if you learn of any news. I’d be grateful.”