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forty, a bit more than Orgos. I couldn’t say if the darkness of his skin was just tan from the sun or it was something in his blood. The blackness of his hair (long enough to flow down to his shoulders) and eyes suggested the latter. He was the tallest of the group and stood well over six feet, his physique less obviously powerful than Orgos’s, but well defined. His arms could have come off the athletic statue that stands at the entrance to the Cresdon arena. It seemed like he brooded a lot. He didn’t say much, but when he did, everyone stopped what they were doing and got out their notebooks.
    “While you’re with us,” said Mithos, “the party will cover your costs.”
    “What?” I said. “A party? When?”
    “Give me strength,” muttered Garnet. Renthrette gently rested her hand on his forearm in a soothing gesture. So, I was right! That charmless streak of thunder and rainy weather? He didn’t deserve her.
    “We are what I meant as ‘the party,’ ” Mithos explained. “The group. And so long as you are with us, we will pay.”
    I didn’t need any further explanations.
    “Right. Great. Er . . . thanks, I mean. Well, then, I think I’ll go for the charcoal-grilled duckling and mushrooms in garlic and black pepper sauce. Sounds good to me. And some strong blue cheese. And I’ll have another pint, or perhaps a good strong cider if they have one. We’ll worry about dessert later, yes?”
    “Quite,” said Mithos dismally. Renthrette and Garnet stared at me wide-eyed and ordered the cheese, bread, and pickle salad that was here termed the “harvester’s lunch.” I hadn’t been able to afford to eat like this for months and hadn’t actually eaten like this for rather longer. I looked around the room with interest and pretended not to notice that the price of my duckling would feed three harvesters and their children. Orgos beamed again and showed his teeth. When he smiled I forgot he was a ruthless killer, which was, I suppose, a disconcerting thought.
    The “cider” came in a dusty green-glass bottle that looked like it had been ignored for a very long time. I raised it to my lips, caught the acrid vapor of strong alcohol in my nostrils, and sipped. The others, including the barman, watched with horrified curiosity while Renthrette muttered darkly about how no one should be drinking whatever it was that I was drinking. It went down like warm oil and tasted like apple syrup, crushed glass, and the kick of a Hrof ostrich. This was my kind of adventure. I finished it, wondering aloud if I should continue with more of the same or a dram from that nameless, ancient keg at the back of the shelf. The innkeeper said he thought it was one of those beers made by monks in the mountains, flavored with coriander and orange. How could I resist?
    The room had begun to oscillate slightly by the time the duckling arrived, but settled down once I’d got some food inside me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had so enjoyed eating. I had a sensitive palate and Mrs. Pugh’s culinary horrors had been a real strain, as I told them. Renthrette paused in her lettuce chewing and made knowing eye contact with Garnet. Orgos tried some of the duck and joined in the laudation with extravagant gestures worthy of the Cherrati tradesman he had been earlier. Garnet stoically refused to sample any of it and remarked that his cheese was “really rather good.”
    “Consider it an inauguration then, Will,” said Mithos. “We can’t afford to feed you like this indefinitely.”
    I tried to respond but my mouth was full. Stuffed, actually.
    “Also,” he added, “this will be the last decent meal we get before Stavis, since I’d like to cover some mileage before nightfall. We’ll be under canvas most of the week.”
    “Why Stavis?” I asked. I had asked before, but I felt that now that they knew I was going with them I might get an answer. Also, though it was largely due to the food and the alcohol, I was feeling