Chapter 12|The Grinning Goat
Shanis’ horse pounded muddy footprints into a heavily-rutted street, fouled with manure and stagnant pools of rainwater. Houses and shops in various states of disrepair crowded the narrow thoroughfare. The smell of wood smoke hung heavy in the air, carrying on a struggle for dominance with the pungent aroma of horse dung. She crinkled her nose against the fetid odors. She was surprised at the size of the town. She had always believed her home must be the smallest place in the world, but it seemed to her that this hamlet would scarcely fit onto Galdora’s green.
A short, fat man in a dirty, green tunic pushed a barrow of turnips down the street. He paused to scowl at the two young travelers before continuing down the way.
“A friendly sort, wouldn’t you say?” Larris sounded amused, but his expression was grave.
Shanis would have preferred to avoid the place entirely, but Larris had insisted that they stop. She had racked her brain, but could not come up with an explanation to dissuade him that would not have raised his suspicions. She tried to convince herself that there was little to fear so far from Galdora. No one would recognize her. Still, a nagging fear bored a hole in the back of her consciousness, irrational though it might be. Would she ever be free of the feeling that she needed to hide from every stranger’s gaze?
Oskar had gone with Allyn to purchase supplies, while Hierm was charged with purchasing two more horses for the group. Shanis’ friend had initially balked, but Larris had assured him that the horses were not a gift. The horses would speed their journey, the young man had reasoned, and provide them with a means to carry the supplies they would purchase. Hierm’s pride was not such that he could not see reason, though he was less than pleased with Khalyndryn accompanying him. Shanis had wanted to go with Hierm, arguing that she knew more about horses than her friend, but to no avail. Larris insisted on her coming with him.
“What makes you think the others will be able to find horses or supplies in this place?” Shanis asked.
“It is the last town of any size along the way to Lothan,” the young man answered. “I told them to spare no expense.”
All her life, Shanis had gotten her way, be it through fits of temper, or sheer determination. Larris, though, had a way of simply pronouncing his will, and assuming that it would be done. Strange, it seemed to work on her. She couldn’t win an argument with him, which made her dislike him all the more.
She and Larris reined their horses in at the front of a small inn. A faded sign named it The Grinning Goat. As they mounted the rickety steps, Shanis looked with disdain upon the sagging roof and weather-stained walls badly in need of whitewash. She hoped the condition of the exterior was not an indicator of the quality of the fare served inside. Memories of evenings spent on the front steps of Master Serrill’s inn, listening to the cheerful din of music and conversation, sent tremors of loneliness through her. Would she ever go home again?
The common room was dark and oddly cool for a warm summer day. On the far end of the room, a low fire smoldered and spat an occasional spark onto the dirty floor. A few patrons huddled over mugs of ale, their conversations merely a low whisper. A man in a greasy apron, eyes closed, reclined in a chair propped against the far wall. Larris selected a table near the door, and positioned himself with his back to the wall. Shanis sat down opposite him.
“Innkeeper,” Larris called in an imperious tone, “two ales!”
The innkeeper’s eyes popped open. The front legs of his chair crashed to the floor as Larris’ shout jolted him from his slumber. Scowling, he made his way across the room to their table. He fixed them with a sour gaze.
“You have coin?” he grumbled, beefy arms folded across his chest above his paunchy stomach. Shanis cringed at his dirty hands and the black filth under his nails.
Larris jingled a fat purse at his waist. With a curt nod, the innkeeper turned and slowly made his way into a back room.
“Take your time about it,” Larris mumbled, looking around the room with a pained expression.
“Do you treat everyone that way?” Shanis asked. Master Serrill would have shown this uppity lad the door, money or no. A rat-faced man at the end of the room apparently shared her opinion, glaring at the two of them over a cup of wine.
“I’m accustomed to having my instructions obeyed promptly. Besides, he should take pride in his work.”
“How is he going to feel proud if you take away his dignity?” Shanis replied hotly. It felt good to give him the rough side of her tongue. “You treated him like he’s nothing. Being a merchant’s son doesn’t make you a noble. Besides, I’ll wager he’s spat in your ale.”
Larris winced, and opened his mouth to reply when the innkeeper returned. He plopped two frothy mugs of ale down onto the table, foam splashing onto Larris’ tunic. Shanis smirked.
“Four coppers.”
Larris reached into his money pouch, and withdrew a silver coin. He pressed it onto the table with two long, tanned fingers. The innkeeper reached for the coin, but Larris did not remove his hand. The man’s eyes widened, and he regarded Shanis’ companion with a questioning look.
“I would hear the news.” Larris spared a glance at Shanis. “Please,” he added. Shanis grinned at the way the boy’s mouth twisted as it formed the last word.
The innkeeper rubbed his hands on his dirty apron. His eyes flitted from the coin to Larris’ face, then back to the coin. “We don’t get much news here, young sir.”
“Four coppers, you said?” Larris dragged the coin back toward himself.
“Understand M’lord, this here is the middle of nowhere. We don’t get much news here. Leastways, none that isn’t as stale as Madrin’s bread.” The man tilted his head to his right, as if to indicate the direction of the baker’s house, and smiled a broad, gap-toothed grin.
“Anything at all.”
“Well, mostly the usual. There’s talk of war with Kyrin, of course.” The man scratched at his bald pate with beefy fingers.
“Any battles?”
“Not as I’ve heard. But things is pretty tense on the border, so they say.”
“Has Lerryn done any recruiting in the area? I’ve heard that the prince has been traveling about raising troops for the army.”
“No word of the prince hereabouts. But I did hear tell that there’s some nobles camped just north of town. Don’t know why they’re here. We don’t get many nobles pass this way.”
“Interesting.” Larris face indicated that the information was anything but. “Any other strange happenings?”
Shanis frowned. What was he talking about? The innkeeper apparently shared her confusion.
“Beggin’ your pardon, young sir?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Larris shrugged. “Anything odd, out of the ordinary going on?”
“Don’t know about that.” The innkeeper rubbed his ample girth. “The herders been saying that the wolves are coming down out of the mountains a bit further’n usual. I’d say that’s about everything.” He punctuated the statement with a firm nod.
“I thank you.” Larris slid the coin across the table. It quickly vanished into the dirty apron pocket. Making an awkward bow, the man returned to his chair.
Larris looked into his mug of ale, as if searching for some impurity. With a shrug, he lifted it to his lips, and took a long pull. His eyebrows raised in surprise, and he nodded to Shanis. She took a sip, and found it surprisingly good, rich and dark, with a hint of honey.
She rocked back in her chair, and gazed intently at the young man seated across from her. She supposed he was handsome, in his own way. His long hair was wavy and brown where Allyn’s was straight and blonde, his complexion bronze where Allyn’s was fair. His brown eyes met her gaze, and he smiled. What was it about him that seemed so familiar? Had she met him before? She shook her head, and broke off her gaze.
She still didn’t entirely trust him. What were all these questions? This need to know “the news”? He was always pry
ing. Of course, she had to admit that their travels together had thus far not been entirely unpleasant. Having a horse to ride had certainly been a welcome change from walking, not to mention Oscar’s floating contraption. She sat now, in a filthy tavern, gazing across a filthier table at this strange young man. He met her stare with an impudent grin.
“What are you smiling at?” she asked.
“Why don’t you like me?” The expression on his face was earnest. “I want to know.”
“What?” She wasn’t sure how to answer the question. Obviously, she couldn’t reveal the reason for her resistance to his constant questioning.
“You heard me. Why don’t you like me?”
“What’s there to like?” That was unkind. She felt a moment’s regret as the young man’s eyes fell, and he gazed into his mug of ale. “It’s just that you ask so many questions. Why don’t you just leave me alone?” Spoken aloud, her reasoning did not seem to her as solid as it once had.
“That’s why you don’t like me?”
“It’s what I don’t like about you,” she said after a moment’s pause. “Not the same.”
“So there’s a difference?” he said, tilting his head and frowning.
“Only a small one,” she grumbled. Would he never stop pelting her with questions?
“Why shouldn’t I ask you questions?” he asked.
“There you go again. Now you’re asking me questions about asking me questions. Do you ever stop?” She was surprised to realize that she was laughing.
“I ask you questions because I want to know you better,” he explained, gesturing with his mug. “Considering the time we’ve spent riding together, I don’t know very much about you.”
She took a long pull from her mug, using the time to think. Why did he want to know her better? Suspicion flared anew, but she quelled it. He seemed to mean it in a genuine way.
“I’d have to say, you know just as much about me as I know about you,” she said.
“Fair enough. Ask me anything. I don’t mind questions.” He rocked back on the legs of his chair, tucked his hands behind his head. “You ask me a question, then I’ll ask you a question.”
“I don’t want to know anything about you,” she mumbled, taking another drink.
“Well, I want to know about you.” The front legs of his chair dropped to the floor with a thump. He leaned forward, folding his hands together and propping his elbows on the table.
Silhouetted in front of the window, his appearance again struck Shanis as vaguely familiar. She shook the thought from her head. “Why do you want to know anything about me?”
“Aha! That was a question,” he laughed. “I’ll answer it, and then you’ll have to answer one from me.”
Shanis was about to protest when she felt an icy chill, harsher than the damp cold of the common room, envelop her body. She shuddered and drew her arms up against her chest.
“Something wrong?” Larris’ face conveyed genuine concern as he reached across the table and placed his hand on her arm.
“Just a bit of a chill,” she whispered through chattering teeth. She wanted to point out to him that he had just asked his question, but the tremors that ran through her seemed to have rattled her brain.
“You must be taking ill.” Larris frowned deeply. “I’ll tell the innkeeper to add a log…” He halted in mid-sentence. He gazed past her, eyes wide open, the blood draining from his face.
“What is it?” Shanis turned around to look.
Six armed men had entered the room and filed over to a large table near the fireplace. Three looked familiar. A reed-thin youth with an unruly shock of brown hair that obscured his eyes sat closest to the fire. A large, bulky boy bigger even than Oskar sat next to him. A lanky young man with long blond hair and a smile that displayed straight, white teeth sat next to the large youth. The three others made their way to the other side of the table. Her breath caught as she spied one of them. Pedric Karst!
She stood, ready to confront him, her chills forgotten. The sour-faced boy looked up, and their eyes met for a moment. Did he recognize her without red hair? A whispered warning from Larris drew her attention to the other two men at the table. One of the men, a gaunt, wrinkled man with strange purple eyes, she had never seen before. The other she knew.
She crumpled into her chair, the sound of Prince Lerryn’s voice calling for ales all around echoing in her ears. She felt numb. Why was he here? How had he found her? Had he found her? What was he doing with Karst? Amidst the torrent of questions, one thought came through clearly. She leaned toward Larris.
“We need to leave,” she whispered. “Now!”
Larris cocked an eye, then nodded his agreement. Slowly, calmly they stood, both of them keeping their backs toward Lerryn’s table. She felt his arm encircle his waist, and he drew her close to him. Forcing herself to relax, she laid her head against his shoulder, and they walked casually out the door, like lovers on a stroll.
When they reached their horses, they unhitched them, and led them several paces down the road, so as not to mount up in front of the window of the common room.
“Allyn will take care of the others,” Larris said softly as they mounted up. “No doubt he has seen.”
Shame flooded through her. She hadn’t even thought of her friends, only of herself. But would Lerryn even know the others? She was the one he was after. No doubt he would remember her; the girl with the sword. The girl who had killed his guard. She bit her lip. Perhaps neither he nor Karst had recognized her. Few people ever looked past her red hair and her sword.
An entirely different thought flashed through her mind, giving her pause. Larris had obviously recognized someone in the group that had entered the common room. He had reacted to them first. Was he running from someone too? She mulled things over as they made their way down the south road and out of town.
Rounding a bend, they came upon their companions waiting for them. Hierm had acquired two solid mounts. Everyone was mounted and ready to ride. Allyn exchanged glances with Larris, then turned to Shanis, motioning for her to take the lead. As she trotted her horse forward, she passed Hierm. The look in his eyes indicated that he too had seen Lerryn.
The whisper of a sword being drawn from its scabbard interrupted her thoughts. She felt the cold edge of Larris’ blade pressed against her throat. She froze. What was he doing? From the corner of her eye, she could see that Allyn had drawn his bow. The archer had his bow drawn and an arrow aimed at the center of Hierm’s chest. Obviously the two of them were considered the most dangerous of the group.
“Anyone moves,” Allyn said calmly, almost cheerfully, “and your friends die.”
His matter-of-fact tone chilled her. She looked back at Larris, who appeared equally determined.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered through gritted teeth.
“You said that you didn’t want to ask me any questions,” he replied in even tones, “but now I have one for you. Why are you running from my brother?”