Read Online Intrigues: Book Two of the Collegium Chronicles (a Valdemar Novel) by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mercedes Lackey
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Epic, Fantasy - Epic, Fantasy - General, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Valdemar (Imaginary place)
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without even a glance at Mags and the gamers.
After he was gone, Mags sauntered off, looking as if he was going nowhere in particular. But he met Dallen in the alley behind the building; making sure no one had seen either of them, he hopped up into the saddle, and off they went.
It was a very good thing that Companions were a common sight here in Haven, and an even better thing that he had brought the cloak that went with his Grays to conceal the very non-uniform clothing he was wearing. No one gave him more than a cursory glance. The most that happened was that traffic parted a little to let them pass, with perhaps a smile or a wave.
It became apparent that Chamjey was headed in the direction of the Trade Road—and probably was going to one of several extremely large and busy inns on the outskirts of the city, all situated on either side of the Trade Road, and all devoted to merchant-travelers. These inns catered to everyone from the simple peddler with a donkey to merchants specializing in gems and other small and extremely valuable items. If you were going to have a clandestine meeting with someone, you had a choice, after all—you could slip away in the dead of night, try and find a secluded spot, and hope no one had followed you, or you could “hide” in the sort of place you had every right to frequent and do it at the busiest time of day. Chamjey had picked the latter, which was very shrewd of him.
:Now that we know where he’s going?: Dallen said suggestively.
Mags knew exactly what Dallen was going to suggest. :Aye. Might’s well cut straight there, then you disappear whilst I lurk and figger out how I kin get close ’nough to listen.:
Dallen moved into a canter; at this point the best thing that they could do would be to get far ahead of Chamjey and minimize his chances of spotting them.
When they arrived at the spot, it was the busiest time of the day. It wasn’t going to be hard to hide amid all the noise and bustle of the inn-yards. The inns swarmed with people; travelers arriving, travelers leaving, local merchants turning up for a meeting or merely a meal. And as for the animals, there were horses, donkeys, even a chirra or two—small carts and enormous “show wagons” where the side could be let down to form a stage—there were so many draft animals and vehicles that moving them in and out was a science. The practitioners of that science were grooms and servants and in at least two of the inn-yards, a blacksmith.
Mags had no idea how anyone kept anything straight, but amid the chaos no one was going to notice one slightly undersized, slightly shabby young man. Especially one that walked as if he had somewhere to go and a purpose. You didn’t want to loiter in a place like this, that made you look suspicious, and you might be thought a potential thief.
Mags even had taken the precaution of bringing a “messenger” bag with him, a flat satchel that went over one shoulder and was used by paid runners in the city to convey documents and small objects. That, all by itself, would insure his invisibility.
With Dallen safely tucked away in one of the out-of-the-way stalls reserved for Companions—for, yes, Heralds came here too—Mags walked the inn-yards, looking like a young man with an errand, bag prominently on his hip. The air was thick with the scent of horse and hay, sweat, dust and the occasional whiff of something good from the kitchens. There were boys with shovels and buckets scampering about just to get droppings from the animals before they got stepped on—the last thing you wanted was for your inn patrons to come into your common room with manure from something they’d trodden on in your yard. And the noise—you had to shout to be heard over it. Hooves clattering, wheels rolling, music and laughter from the inns themselves, and people in the yard talking or yelling at one another.
He sensed Chamjey coming closer and closer, and finally positioned himself at the crucial moment
After he was gone, Mags sauntered off, looking as if he was going nowhere in particular. But he met Dallen in the alley behind the building; making sure no one had seen either of them, he hopped up into the saddle, and off they went.
It was a very good thing that Companions were a common sight here in Haven, and an even better thing that he had brought the cloak that went with his Grays to conceal the very non-uniform clothing he was wearing. No one gave him more than a cursory glance. The most that happened was that traffic parted a little to let them pass, with perhaps a smile or a wave.
It became apparent that Chamjey was headed in the direction of the Trade Road—and probably was going to one of several extremely large and busy inns on the outskirts of the city, all situated on either side of the Trade Road, and all devoted to merchant-travelers. These inns catered to everyone from the simple peddler with a donkey to merchants specializing in gems and other small and extremely valuable items. If you were going to have a clandestine meeting with someone, you had a choice, after all—you could slip away in the dead of night, try and find a secluded spot, and hope no one had followed you, or you could “hide” in the sort of place you had every right to frequent and do it at the busiest time of day. Chamjey had picked the latter, which was very shrewd of him.
:Now that we know where he’s going?: Dallen said suggestively.
Mags knew exactly what Dallen was going to suggest. :Aye. Might’s well cut straight there, then you disappear whilst I lurk and figger out how I kin get close ’nough to listen.:
Dallen moved into a canter; at this point the best thing that they could do would be to get far ahead of Chamjey and minimize his chances of spotting them.
When they arrived at the spot, it was the busiest time of the day. It wasn’t going to be hard to hide amid all the noise and bustle of the inn-yards. The inns swarmed with people; travelers arriving, travelers leaving, local merchants turning up for a meeting or merely a meal. And as for the animals, there were horses, donkeys, even a chirra or two—small carts and enormous “show wagons” where the side could be let down to form a stage—there were so many draft animals and vehicles that moving them in and out was a science. The practitioners of that science were grooms and servants and in at least two of the inn-yards, a blacksmith.
Mags had no idea how anyone kept anything straight, but amid the chaos no one was going to notice one slightly undersized, slightly shabby young man. Especially one that walked as if he had somewhere to go and a purpose. You didn’t want to loiter in a place like this, that made you look suspicious, and you might be thought a potential thief.
Mags even had taken the precaution of bringing a “messenger” bag with him, a flat satchel that went over one shoulder and was used by paid runners in the city to convey documents and small objects. That, all by itself, would insure his invisibility.
With Dallen safely tucked away in one of the out-of-the-way stalls reserved for Companions—for, yes, Heralds came here too—Mags walked the inn-yards, looking like a young man with an errand, bag prominently on his hip. The air was thick with the scent of horse and hay, sweat, dust and the occasional whiff of something good from the kitchens. There were boys with shovels and buckets scampering about just to get droppings from the animals before they got stepped on—the last thing you wanted was for your inn patrons to come into your common room with manure from something they’d trodden on in your yard. And the noise—you had to shout to be heard over it. Hooves clattering, wheels rolling, music and laughter from the inns themselves, and people in the yard talking or yelling at one another.
He sensed Chamjey coming closer and closer, and finally positioned himself at the crucial moment
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