to push the brute off ’im before we could get away.”
“What happened to the raiders?” asked Taran. “Where did they go?”
Dyler shot him a look. “How should I know? We didn’t wait to see. I hope our lads massacred the lot of ’em.”
On hearing he’d been stunned, Rienne took a closer look at the silent Jaspen. A worried look in her eye, she asked Paulus to give the two men beds for the night.
“You can’t expect them to make their way home after this,” she said. “Come on, someone help me get them upstairs. They need peace and quiet, not all these questions. And bring that brandy bottle.”
A couple of villagers came forward to help the two men stand. Taran would have helped, too, but Rienne flashed him a deterring glance.
He and Cal went back to their table. The evening had been drawing to a close before the two farmers burst in. Now Paulus shooed the rest of his customers out. Once they had gone, he sat down next to Taran and took a healthy swallow of his own brandy.
“That’s a bit close for my liking,” he said. “We’ll have to start sleeping with scythes by our beds if this carries on. Kingsmen won’t always be there to chase the demons off.”
When neither Cal nor Taran commented, he shot them a narrow-eyed look. “Please tell me this has nothing to do with what you wanted to talk to me about.”
Rienne came back down the stairs and Taran glanced at her questioningly. “They’re both sleeping,” she said. “They should be alright by morning.”
He turned back to the barkeep. “I don’t know for sure, Paulus, but it’s a very strong coincidence if not.”
He told his tale and Paulus listened quietly, sipping his brandy until Taran had finished. Then he shook his head.
“I really don’t like the sound of this. I never heard the like from your father, that’s for sure. A dead noble, a dangerous weapon you can’t return, and now these raids? This is serious stuff, my boy. If you’re prepared to admit you’re out of your depth, then you need help.”
“Well, yes, I know that,” agreed Taran, “but where can I go? You know the trouble my father and I had trying to find other Artesans. There aren’t any, at least not in Loxton province. Who could I turn to about something as serious as this?”
Paulus hesitated before replying and eyed Taran oddly. “I told Rienne today that I’d heard rumors about a witch being in command of the garrison near the Downs.”
“And I told you what we think of tales like that,” snorted Rienne.
“But what if it’s true?” Before any of them could respond, he stared pointedly at Taran. “What if it’s someone like you?”
Taran shook his head. “It can’t be. After all these years of searching, don’t you think I’d know if there were other Artesans nearby? And even if I’d failed to find them, my father would have known. He’d have told me.”
Paulus wagged a finger. “Amanus didn’t know everything, my boy. Too many swordsmen have come through here saying the same thing for me to discount it completely. But even if it’s not true, isn’t this Staff a military matter? If the demons are looking for it, there are likely to be more raids. The garrison ought to know.”
“I suppose so,” said Taran. “But even if you’re right, we can hardly go marching up to a garrison of Kingsmen and say, ‘Hey, does anyone here know anything about Andaryan weapons?’ You know what they’re like, they would laugh in our faces. We’d either be locked up as troublemakers or thrown out before we got a chance to explain.”
“Well, now,” said Paulus, “I just might be able to help you there. I’ve never told you this because I was asked to keep it quiet, but I happen to know a young chap in that garrison. His name’s Captain Tamsen. From what he told me, his commanding officer is quite interested in outlanders. Since you’ve asked me, my advice is to go there and
“What happened to the raiders?” asked Taran. “Where did they go?”
Dyler shot him a look. “How should I know? We didn’t wait to see. I hope our lads massacred the lot of ’em.”
On hearing he’d been stunned, Rienne took a closer look at the silent Jaspen. A worried look in her eye, she asked Paulus to give the two men beds for the night.
“You can’t expect them to make their way home after this,” she said. “Come on, someone help me get them upstairs. They need peace and quiet, not all these questions. And bring that brandy bottle.”
A couple of villagers came forward to help the two men stand. Taran would have helped, too, but Rienne flashed him a deterring glance.
He and Cal went back to their table. The evening had been drawing to a close before the two farmers burst in. Now Paulus shooed the rest of his customers out. Once they had gone, he sat down next to Taran and took a healthy swallow of his own brandy.
“That’s a bit close for my liking,” he said. “We’ll have to start sleeping with scythes by our beds if this carries on. Kingsmen won’t always be there to chase the demons off.”
When neither Cal nor Taran commented, he shot them a narrow-eyed look. “Please tell me this has nothing to do with what you wanted to talk to me about.”
Rienne came back down the stairs and Taran glanced at her questioningly. “They’re both sleeping,” she said. “They should be alright by morning.”
He turned back to the barkeep. “I don’t know for sure, Paulus, but it’s a very strong coincidence if not.”
He told his tale and Paulus listened quietly, sipping his brandy until Taran had finished. Then he shook his head.
“I really don’t like the sound of this. I never heard the like from your father, that’s for sure. A dead noble, a dangerous weapon you can’t return, and now these raids? This is serious stuff, my boy. If you’re prepared to admit you’re out of your depth, then you need help.”
“Well, yes, I know that,” agreed Taran, “but where can I go? You know the trouble my father and I had trying to find other Artesans. There aren’t any, at least not in Loxton province. Who could I turn to about something as serious as this?”
Paulus hesitated before replying and eyed Taran oddly. “I told Rienne today that I’d heard rumors about a witch being in command of the garrison near the Downs.”
“And I told you what we think of tales like that,” snorted Rienne.
“But what if it’s true?” Before any of them could respond, he stared pointedly at Taran. “What if it’s someone like you?”
Taran shook his head. “It can’t be. After all these years of searching, don’t you think I’d know if there were other Artesans nearby? And even if I’d failed to find them, my father would have known. He’d have told me.”
Paulus wagged a finger. “Amanus didn’t know everything, my boy. Too many swordsmen have come through here saying the same thing for me to discount it completely. But even if it’s not true, isn’t this Staff a military matter? If the demons are looking for it, there are likely to be more raids. The garrison ought to know.”
“I suppose so,” said Taran. “But even if you’re right, we can hardly go marching up to a garrison of Kingsmen and say, ‘Hey, does anyone here know anything about Andaryan weapons?’ You know what they’re like, they would laugh in our faces. We’d either be locked up as troublemakers or thrown out before we got a chance to explain.”
“Well, now,” said Paulus, “I just might be able to help you there. I’ve never told you this because I was asked to keep it quiet, but I happen to know a young chap in that garrison. His name’s Captain Tamsen. From what he told me, his commanding officer is quite interested in outlanders. Since you’ve asked me, my advice is to go there and
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