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Authors: Lynn Flewelling
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with sloping walls on either side. The narrow bed and washstand nearly filled the cramped space. Alec found a cheap tallow candle in a cracked dish on the stand and lit it from his own, then pushed back the shutters of the window over the bed.
The back of the tavern stood out over the water on pilings. Looking out, Alec found a sheer drop down
to the water below.
A thick crescent moon cast a glittering trail across the lake's black surface. It was pleasant up here at the top of the house, quiet and warm. It occurred to Alec that he could probably count on one hand the times he had ever been alone inside a proper house, and never in a room so high. After pausing a moment to savor the new sensation, he sighed and headed back down the stairs.
Looking out over the noisy commotion of the tavern, he spotted Seregil talking with the host and was struck once more by the difference between «Aren» and Seregil; their movements, their stance, the set of their mouth, all as distinct as if they really were two separate men.
Seregil glanced up just then and motioned impatiently for him to come. Dodging past servers with flagons and wooden trenchers, Alec made his way through the crowd.
"Of course, we have only just arrived in town," Seregil was saying, "but I shall present myself to your most honored mayor tomorrow." Coughing delicately into his fist, he added, "I seem to have taken sore in the throat today, but I'm certain a night's rest will repair my voice. In the meantime, I am certain that you will be pleased with my apprentice's abilities."
The landlord darkened noticeably at this, and Alec gave Seregil a startled glance, which he pointedly ignored.
"You mustn't fear," Seregil went on airily. "This lad is constantly surprising me with his rapid progress. Tonight you shall have a demonstration of his talents."
"We shall see, Master Windover," the taverner growled doubtfully. "Your boy claims he'll be good for business, so the sooner you start, the better."
Though he made a sort of bow to Seregil, Alec was certain he caught a glint of malevolent humor in the man's eye as he left.
"You've been busy," Seregil remarked dryly as he checked the tuning of his harp. The crowd shifted restlessly around them, anticipating entertainment.
"There's nothing wrong with your voice!" Alec whispered in alarm.
"There are a few things I need to do tonight that don't allow me to be the center of attention for the whole evening. You'll be fine, don't worry. I understand you beat our landlord down to one and a half for the room. I didn't think you'd bring the old robber down below two. I am curious, however, as to how you propose to bring in Plenimarans."
"I don't know," Alec admitted, "it just seemed like a good thing to tell him at the time."
"Well, hopefully we'll be on our way before we have to keep too many of your promises. But in case we're not, a word of caution—stay clear of the soldiers, especially if you're out alone. These are Plenimaran marines, and there's not much most of them aren't capable of, if you take my meaning."
"I don't think I do," said Alec, puzzled by Seregil's tone.
"Then try this. They have a saying among them: 'When whores are few, a boy will do. Got that?"
"Oh." Alec felt his face go hot.
"Anyway, consider yourself warned. Now I think it's time for you to prove yourself, my bardling."
Seregil rose and cleared his throat before Alec could make further objections.
"Good people," he announced, gesturing for their attention. "I am Aren Windover, a humble bard, and this lad is my apprentice. While journeying to reach your fair town, I fear I have contracted a temporary inflammation of the throat. Nonetheless, I pray you will allow us to offer you entertainment."
He resumed his seat amid enthusiastic cheering and pounding of mugs. Favorite ballads were called for, and more ale.
Alec's mouth went dry as a roomful of expectant faces turned his way. He'd sometimes been a member of such gatherings, but never the
The back of the tavern stood out over the water on pilings. Looking out, Alec found a sheer drop down
to the water below.
A thick crescent moon cast a glittering trail across the lake's black surface. It was pleasant up here at the top of the house, quiet and warm. It occurred to Alec that he could probably count on one hand the times he had ever been alone inside a proper house, and never in a room so high. After pausing a moment to savor the new sensation, he sighed and headed back down the stairs.
Looking out over the noisy commotion of the tavern, he spotted Seregil talking with the host and was struck once more by the difference between «Aren» and Seregil; their movements, their stance, the set of their mouth, all as distinct as if they really were two separate men.
Seregil glanced up just then and motioned impatiently for him to come. Dodging past servers with flagons and wooden trenchers, Alec made his way through the crowd.
"Of course, we have only just arrived in town," Seregil was saying, "but I shall present myself to your most honored mayor tomorrow." Coughing delicately into his fist, he added, "I seem to have taken sore in the throat today, but I'm certain a night's rest will repair my voice. In the meantime, I am certain that you will be pleased with my apprentice's abilities."
The landlord darkened noticeably at this, and Alec gave Seregil a startled glance, which he pointedly ignored.
"You mustn't fear," Seregil went on airily. "This lad is constantly surprising me with his rapid progress. Tonight you shall have a demonstration of his talents."
"We shall see, Master Windover," the taverner growled doubtfully. "Your boy claims he'll be good for business, so the sooner you start, the better."
Though he made a sort of bow to Seregil, Alec was certain he caught a glint of malevolent humor in the man's eye as he left.
"You've been busy," Seregil remarked dryly as he checked the tuning of his harp. The crowd shifted restlessly around them, anticipating entertainment.
"There's nothing wrong with your voice!" Alec whispered in alarm.
"There are a few things I need to do tonight that don't allow me to be the center of attention for the whole evening. You'll be fine, don't worry. I understand you beat our landlord down to one and a half for the room. I didn't think you'd bring the old robber down below two. I am curious, however, as to how you propose to bring in Plenimarans."
"I don't know," Alec admitted, "it just seemed like a good thing to tell him at the time."
"Well, hopefully we'll be on our way before we have to keep too many of your promises. But in case we're not, a word of caution—stay clear of the soldiers, especially if you're out alone. These are Plenimaran marines, and there's not much most of them aren't capable of, if you take my meaning."
"I don't think I do," said Alec, puzzled by Seregil's tone.
"Then try this. They have a saying among them: 'When whores are few, a boy will do. Got that?"
"Oh." Alec felt his face go hot.
"Anyway, consider yourself warned. Now I think it's time for you to prove yourself, my bardling."
Seregil rose and cleared his throat before Alec could make further objections.
"Good people," he announced, gesturing for their attention. "I am Aren Windover, a humble bard, and this lad is my apprentice. While journeying to reach your fair town, I fear I have contracted a temporary inflammation of the throat. Nonetheless, I pray you will allow us to offer you entertainment."
He resumed his seat amid enthusiastic cheering and pounding of mugs. Favorite ballads were called for, and more ale.
Alec's mouth went dry as a roomful of expectant faces turned his way. He'd sometimes been a member of such gatherings, but never the
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