Read Online Sartor by Sherwood Smith - Free Book Online Page A

same age as Rel.
    The oldest gave Rel a furtive glance, which Rel noted. He
also noted the relief that lightened the man’s face on seeing that Rel
was not going to make trouble about being left with the supposed bad bed.
    “Brisk night,” this man said, coming forward to
stand near the floor vent, through which the kitchen fires below sent warm air.
    Rel shrugged. “Winter’s comin’ on,”
he replied in the same conversational tone.
    The two young journey-weavers were obviously brothers—both
blond, skinny, with snub noses that betrayed in their ruddiness the consumption
of too much winter punch. Their flirtation with the innkeeper’s daughter
had apparently been cut short. And—yes, they were looking for trouble. It
was clear from their expressions that they had decided (maybe hoped) Rel’s
acceptance of the worst bed meant he was a coward.
    “Well, that was one mighty bright comment,” the
first brother said, sneering.
    “Think you can come up with another?” Brother
Two followed his sib’s witty jab with a verbal lunge of his own.
    Rel hid a sigh. As the brothers shuffled with many side
glances to what they considered the commanding positions in the small room, Rel
had noted several things: the two might be hotheads but they had no training;
the first one was wild-eyed in his belligerence, but the second one’s
wide eyes and huge pupils betrayed fear underneath his bravado; the old man
withdrawing quietly to a corner to fuss with his pack.
    Three years ago, Rel would have felt obliged to fight, and
he’d despised himself afterwards for the damage he caused foolish people.
He’d learned since that brute strength was not always necessary.
    “I’ll try,” Rel said, standing up.
    His left hand scratched his head, his right gestured
emptily, elbow slightly out as he appeared to stumble against the table. Another
step, and Ow!, Whoog!, his elbow collided with one Brother One’s
midsection, making breathing into an operation that took intense concentration,
and his dropping left hand thumped against Brother Two’s nose, causing
tears of pain to blind that fellow.
    “Oh, pardon! I didn’t see—here, want a
hand?” In Rel’s clumsy efforts to help, somehow Brother Two got his
elbow knocked against the table in just the wrong place, sending agony zapping
up his arm into his already aching head, and Brother One’s shin collided
with a chair.
    “Here—so sorry, please, I’ll have you
steady in a trice—”
    “No!” Brother One gasped.
    “Heegh,” Brother Two whuffled.
    They retired to sit on their beds, and the older man slid
something back into his pack, and he sat down, smiling. “Traveling far?”
    Rel saw the smile of congratulation, the speculation in that
steady blue gaze, and said, “Around. Pa wants to retire, wants mountains
at his back, that being a habit.”
    “Retire here, in Oneh Kaer?” the man asked with
a skeptical smile.
    Rel gave a shrug. “Nobody’s ever heard of it. Sounds
just about right to Pa. He said he wants somewhere boring, a place no one ever
hears about, with mountains at the back that no one ever crosses. He having a
constitutional dislike for waking up to surprises.”
    “Ah,” the man said, nodding. “Come from a
military background, do you?”
    Rel shrugged. “Pa spent a life guarding the coast o’
Khanerenth against pirates. Me, I like to travel. Usually work as a caravan
guard.”
    Comprehension cleared the old man’s brow. Khanerenth—famous
for its military school—fighting pirates—border guard—it all
added up to training but no trouble.
    The still-groaning brothers had also registered the same
information, and Rel saw the signs that they had decided to retire honorably
from the list.
    “Well, you could tell your pa here’s the place,
then,” the man said. “There is the old road up behind town, but no
one’s been over from it since before my grandfather’s day.”
    “Where’s it lead to?” Rel asked.
    The old man sighed. “That was