Chapter 10.4.1

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Later, as we stood in a room barely large enough hold all seven of us, I gently touched my lord’s arm. "You should know this – Old Sam will not trust anyone who will not drink his worst brew."
He glanced down at the holes in the floor, through which we could see the main room, then signed back. "It was a filthy trick."

"We all drank our portion without complaint."

He stared back with cold eyes. "Did any of you have a dead fly floating on the surface?"

Charles laughed out loud.

My lord turned on him. "What was that for?"

The knight widened his eyes. "Jason and Ison told me a joke before we left, about a monk and a priest and a nun who walked into a bar. But the Bard ducked. I just got it."

With a sigh, Lord Reinard turned away.

Sharp clapped his hands together to get our attention. "Quickly, now – change. We have time to get to Rockridge tonight, if we hurry."

"It’s a day’s walk away," Lord Reinard protested. "And it’s already afternoon."

"There’s a shortcut through the mountains."

"And there’s a storm coming."

"It makes more sense to seek shelter during the storm, than afterwards." Sharp smiled as he pulled out a bundle of rags from his pack and threw them at my lord’s feet.

"What’s this?" Lord Reinard unrolled the bundle. They were my oldest clothes: torn, ragged, and far too short in the sleeves and legs. The clothes of a stable-boy, a beggar, a cast-away.

"Your disguise," Sharp replied.

"But I have a beard!"

"You’re still a rich man, with all that fur and linen. You must play the part of a penniless wretch."
Petulant, my lord shed his fine coverings and pulled on the rags. When he turned around I saw, despite the hard set of his face, the fragile young boy I had once befriended. At that moment I wondered if certain doings could be undone, if a path could be rewalked, if a wasteland could bloom. If I played at that moment, would the gulf between us be bridged? Absently, I took my harp from the trunk.

"Not know," Lord Reinard snapped. "Get dressed so we can go."

Puzzled, I put the harp back down and pulled out the monk’s habit. Why had I even wanted to do that?

Sharp looked into my trunk. "You still have my sword. Will you please return it?"
Reasonably sure that he would not try to kill me again, I handed it over.

Chapter 10.3

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The stable was poor; the Inn was worse. As we stepped onto the porch, the beggar in rags thrust a filthy, sore-crusted hand at us. Lord Reinard stepped away, but Sharp dropped two silver coins into his palm.

"You’re quite generous," my lord growled.

"Silence is worth it," Sharp growled back, nudging Lord Reinard through the doorway.

Inside, the barmaid gave a us a gap-tooth grin. "Tham! Markth on the floor!"

Old Sam turned around, looked us over, and picked up four beer steins in each hand. The floor shook beneath his bulk as he strode over and set them on a table. He put his foot on a bench and rested his meaty hand on the hilt of the butcher knife he kept in his boot. His voice rumbled. "Have a seat, gentlemen."

Sharp nudged Lord Reinard forward, and the rest of us followed.

"Well, now," Old Sam said when we were all at our places. His eyes moved to Elise. "What have ye to sell me?"

Beside me, Charles reached for his sword. I caught his eye and shook my head. We would not be served by turning Old Sam against us.

"We have other business with you." Sharp moved his hand slightly, just enough to touch the purse laying there. He worked out a gold coin and caressed it. "We need a room."

"I have one, upstairs. You have it for a night."

"Four nights," Sharp said. "Longer if need be."

"No more than one."

The gold coin disappeared into the bag. Sharp made a show of counting the beer steins, then drew out seven tiny copper coins, which he stacked into a tiny tower.

Old Sam leaned forward. "Three nights are possible, but I’m expecting guests."

Sharp worked two gold coins free. "We won’t bother your guests, if they won’t bother us."

"Do I have your word on it?"

Sharp worked a third gold coin free. "I’m a generous man, and what ever you take away today, you’ll have twice as much when I leave. Can you say as much for your friends?"

Old Sam weighed this, then reached out his hand for the coins.

"Not yet," Sharp said. He added two more coins to the pile. "I’ll want my companions and my horses alive when I leave, and no one knowing of our stay here."

Lord Reinard paled at this – but was it the hint of death or the loss of wealth which bothered him?

Old Sam also paled, and hesistated. His eyes shifted sideways. "You’ll sleep well tonight."

I was glad that no one would be sleeping here at all. They might sleep too well.

"Then you can show us the room, once we’ve finished your beer."

I looked down into the pale, warm liquid, steeled myself, and took a hefty gulp. It tasted sour but yeasty, and I knew it would do me no harm. Around the table the others did the same, though Charles drained his stein and set it down with a grin. Lord Reinard, however, stared into his drink with a horrified gaze.

For an instant I was back in Slatten with Wallen, a wide-eyed boy with much to learn about life. Occasionally we would come face to face with some unpleasant duty, some ugly truth in the beauty of life. His eyes would open and his mouth would drop, and a pink tinge would cover his pale cheeks. I saw that look on Lord Reinard now as he stared back at Sharp with horror.

"Drink it," the Bard said firmly, leaving no one in doubt as to who was the leader here.
Lord Reinard blinked, then clenched his hand. But beneath Sharp’s firm gaze he picked up the stein and drank quickly, so quickly that the beer splashed onto his cheeks and dripped down his pale beard.

"Ye’re good men," Old Sam said easily, and grinned. He slapped Sharp on his back – and I knew that if Elsie and the soldiers decided to stay, they would sleep safe after all.

Chapter 10.2

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This was our plan. My lord, Sharp, and I would travel on foot to Rockridge Castle, a trio of poor travelers seeking shelter from the bitter winter weather. Once inside the castle, Sharp would persuade the Lady Victoria to help us. She would bring the Lady Laurice out of her cloistered tower and into our hands, and we would capture her, collect our horses and the others at the Old Night Inn, and bear her off to Songless Castle. Once there, she would be given accommodations befitting a lady, but no freedom until she married her betrothed.

Our disguises were as much story as the cloth of our clothes, and I was proud to have woven them. I would be a Silent Monk, and Sharp would be himself, returning from a journey to Slatten. Lord Reinard was to be Wallen, the once proud son of a man who had married a young, cruel second wife. She turned father against son and had Wallen driven out into the snow, with only the clothes on his back. These were stolen by thieves who then beat him almost to death. In desperation, this young man had thrown himself on the mercy of the Bardhall. While the Masters agreed that he was indeed a needy soul, they wondered if he was strong enough for the trials of the craft. And so, as a test, he was to travel for a winter with Sharp, and give him complete obedience.

Even I wondered at how well this would go.

Charles would be our hidden dirk, should things turn nasty. He was to travel separately to Rockridge, supposably in disgrace for having let harm come to his lord’s treasured servant. He was to take the job of a common soldier there – as long as he was not called upon to give his allegiance to Lord Guerney, his honor would be safe.

Elise, Jason, and Ison were to stay at the Old Night Inn and protect the horses. At least, that is what my lord thought they would do. The four of us had agreed that they would take the horses up to Krast and hide them at Elise’s sister’s house, a much safer place, and more convenient for a hasty escape.

Chapter 10.1

Half a day’s ride from Krast, a lord and his hunting party sought shelter from acoming winter storm. The weather had chosen to cooperate with our tale, as a veil of white flakes drifted from storm-dark clouds and frosted our clothes, hair, and new grown beards. The Easter Green Forest lay to our left, a long valley of ebony trees bedecked with ice as a lady wears jewels, and the sheer cliffs of the Dragon’s Mouth mountains lay on our right. Around us crouched the mud and wattle huts of a meager, nameless village.

"There’s the Old Night Inn," Sharp said, pointing to disorganized lumber stacked in the vague shape of a building. A courtyard of filthy mud was hemmed in by a jumble of stone. Beside the door lay a bundle of filthy rags. There was a scream behind the half-open door, then rough shouts and splintering sounds. The door was thrown open and a body, dripping blood, was flung onto the new white snow. The bundle stirred, sat up, then lay back down again.

Lord Reinard’s face fell. "This? I was hoping for a good meal and a soft bed."

"It’s not a place where one of your standing would stay," I replied, with cold-stiffened fingers.

"It most definitely is not."

"Thus no one will think to ask questions here. We can stable the horses without fear of discovery."

"But will your... Will Elise be safe here?"

"She will have Jason and Ison with her." As well as her own skill with a long knife, and her sister’s reputation.

Slowly my lord dismounted, and the rest of us followed. He stood for a long time, staring at the inn, then asked, "Will someone come out to tend to our mounts?"

Sharp took a deep breath. "In this place, we must stable the horses ourselves. If you will follow me..."

Frowning deeply, Lord Reinard took the reins and walked after the Bard.