***
The White Lady tavern lay on the outskirts of the city on the edge of a lush, terraced garden. The White Lady was Dunethport’s finest tavern. It was a gracious, three-storied building, plastered white, with a slate-tiled roof. Marshal Osforth always insisted on staying at the Lady whenever they visited Dunethport; in fact, he was such a regular that the tavern reserved its best chamber, with a view over the harbour, just for him.
The stable-hands looked on in amusement, while the three tower guards hoisted the shaken marshal out of the carriage and escorted him into the tavern.
“Two thousand gold dracs!” Osforth muttered as they climbed the stairs to his chamber, “where am I supposed to find that sort of money?”
You could sell that mountain of furs and jewels in your safe for a start, Seth thought sourly, and that armoury of ceremonial weapons you’ve never touched!
Servants had already brought up the marshal’s two large trunks of belongings to his room. When they reached Osforth’s chamber, Garth was busy warming a pot of wine over the fireplace. Seth led Osforth over to an armchair near the fire, while Kal and Darin hovered in the doorway. The marshal waved all three of them away as soon as he settled into the chair.
“Leave me,” he snarled, not able to bear the sight of the three men who had witnessed his humiliation any longer, “Garth will see to me now. Get out!”
Seth glanced over at Garth, who was uncorking a small bottle of Enisflower, a powerful sleeping draught. Just a couple of drops would have the marshal sleeping like a baby. Garth, his leathery face, giving nothing away, nodded.
“Go on lads – go dry yourselves off. The marshal won’t need you again this evening.”