“Where is the Mark’s army going then?” Jon Tayt asked.
Collier chuckled. “If you will not be part of it, then I certainly should not inform you of the Mark’s intentions. He is mustering soldiers from all the Hundreds and stationing men at all the passes. Anyone seeking to cross will be forbidden to do so. Anyone crossing from the other kingdoms will be detained and questioned. I thought, at least, I should warn you, my erstwhile friend and expert in all things trivial. Do not cross the mountains, Tayt. Stay to the lowlands for now.”
A disgruntled frown came to Jon Tayt’s mouth. “That is my business, leading others across the mountains!”
A wry smile came in return. “I did offer you a sheriffdom, Tayt. You will remember that. Sometimes integrity comes at a steep cost. Enjoy your meal. I will pay the landlord ere I leave. Coin will be scarce for you in the months to come.” His look became serious. “If you change your mind, send word for me at one of the king’s camps. The password is ‘Comoros.’ You saved me two days’ ride, which I thank you for. How is the village named after your dog? Other than windy?” He nodded deferentially to Maia.
“What?” Jon Tayt asked, looking more and more surly as the news sunk in.
“The village. How is Argus doing? How many live up in the mountains these days?”
Maia’s thoughts darkened as she remembered that night—the lightning, the Dochte Mandar, and the fate that had come to the villagers. The taste of the warm cheese turned bitter in her mouth.
“The same as always,” the hunter muttered angrily.
“I thought I saw smoke coming from the mountains earlier today. Was there a fire?”
Maia’s stomach began to clench with dread. Were these questions innocently asked? Collier was an astute man. He had noticed them and observed them before calling them over to his table. He had commented on the kishion’s marked absence from their conversation. Was he a hunter himself?
“Yes, a lightning fire struck last night. Wicked storm blew in over the mountains.”
“From the cursed lands,” Collier said. “Something foul is always coming from there. The Dochte Mandar are up to something. Do you know anything about it?”
Jon Tayt shrugged. “I do not do work for the Dochte Mandar either,” he said firmly. “Every year or so, one of them wanders into Argus and then crosses the mountains, but they never come back.”
Collier frowned, picking from the heel of bread on the tray. “I do not trust the Dochte Mandar,” he said simply, his voice very low. “Maybe King Brannon of Comoros was wise to expel them from the realm.”
Maia focused on chewing a piece of meat, trying to keep any emotions from showing on her face. Collier was watching her closely, she knew, watching for a reaction. She dipped another piece of bread in the flavorful cheese, though the hunger had shriveled in her stomach.
“Well,” Collier said with a breezy voice as he rose. “This inn may have the best supper in Roc-Adamour, but it does not have the best rooms. If they lack space, come to the Vexin Inn up the hill, where I am staying tonight.”
“You do not stay at the mansion?” Jon Tayt asked. “The stables there are spacious. You showed them to me once.”
“No one stays at the manor unless the king is on the way. Even we lowly servants stay farther down the mountain. It was good to see you, Tayt.”
“You as well, Collier, though I have even less reason to favor the Mark now. He just killed my work.”
“You have always managed to fall on your feet, Tayt. My regrets to your purse, but heed my warning. Do not try crossing the mountains. I do not think my voice would lessen any punishment if you were caught flouting this one.” He looked again to Maia, and his swagger softened. “It was a pleasure meeting you, my lady. I only wish I had learned your name.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” she said, nodding to him respectfully. But she did not oblige him.