L. Modesitt - The Chaos Balance

“He’s a smith,” answered Ayrlyn. Her eyes flicked to Nylan’s left shoulder.

The smith shook his head.

“Glare!” snapped the woman. “Not only…never you mind. Wister, take ’em home to Furste, and tell him that I don’t want to see any of his kin in town for a while. Not until he’s done some thinking.”

“Tomorrow’s market day.”

“We won’t sell to any of you-not tomorrow.”

After the four horses-two bearing riders and two bearing bodies-trudged east out of Henspa, Nylan crossed the street again, Ayrlyn at his side.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Jennyleu. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I’m glad you were here.”

“I can’t say as I be so glad you are here, angel, but fair is fair. I saw you trying not to fight, and I saw Gustor not listening, and then that sneak brother of his. Weren’t they cousins I’d sent ’em to darkness long ago.”

“Who are you?” asked Ayrlyn. “Why…?”

“Me? Why’d they listen to an old lady? Oh…I figured out a way to card wool faster, long time back, me and Vernt did, but Vernt died, and I had to do it by myself-three younguns, you know. One thing led to another. Own half the Black Bull now. My boy Essin owns the other half.”

“We were looking for a good meal,” Nylan said. “We have some coins.”

“Bull’s better’n most, do say so myself. I’ll go over with you.”

“There won’t be any trouble?” Ayrlyn glanced after the vanished riders.

“Furste’s Vernt’s little brother. He’ll fume, and he’ll call me names, but Essin’d take him apart if I couldn’t. Don’t you worry.”

“Daaaa!” exclaimed Weryl, extending a chubby fist.

“Fine boy.” Jennyleu nodded. “Be bigger than you, I’d wager.”

“I think so.” Nylan grinned sheepishly. “He already kicks hard.”

“Tell you what. You eat at the Bull. You stay there tonight, and go to the chandler’s tomorrow.”

Ayrlyn gave the slightest of nods to Nylan, and he answered. “We’d be happy to. Sleeping on a bedroll gets tiring.”

“No pests in the rooms, either,” Jennyleu added. “Bring your mounts.”

The two angels untied their mounts and the gray and followed the matriarch, first to the inn stable, and then, packs over their arms, to the Black Bull.

A tall mahogany-haired man with a matching beard met them at the recently painted white door. Nylan noted that the polished plank floors had been recently swept, perhaps even mopped.

“Essin, these are travelers, like any others. Treat ’em right,” Jennyleu announced.

Nylan glanced up at Essin. The young giant would have overtopped Gerlich by a head. No wonder Jennyleu said Essin had no troubles with people.

“Pleased to meet you, angels.” The innkeeper grinned. “Saw the last of that fight.” He shook his head at Nylan. “Any fool could tell you were trying not to hurt him. Then that little sneak Buil messed it all up. He ever did. I always said he’d get Gustor in big trouble.” A rumbling cough followed. “You can have the big room for the regular.”

“How much is regular?” asked Ayrlyn.

“Four coppers for the two.”

The flame-haired angel extracted the coppers. “What about the stable?”

“Comes with the room, ’less you want grain instead of hay. A copper more for each mount-that’s all the grain they can eat.”

Ayrlyn handed over three more coppers. “They’ve carried us a long ways.”

“Good to see folks who understand.” Essin palmed the coins. “Stew comes with the room. Brew or jack’s extra. Be serving pretty near after you get your gear stowed. You can carry your blades in the public room, but no bare steel, ’cepting an eating dagger.” The big young man gestured, and a small girl scurried over. “Lessa, these are angels. They get the big front corner room.”

“Sers-you are warriors?” asked the girl, who barely reached Nylan’s chest.

“Yes,” Ayrlyn answered.

“Good. I want to bear a blade when I’m bigger.” She headed up the wooden stairs as if she expected them to follow.

Ayrlyn smiled and headed up the steps. After a moment, Nylan shifted his grip on Weryl, who grabbed for the brass lamp in a wall sconce, and followed.

After going down a short wide hall, Lessa opened a solid wooden door, oiled, rather than painted.

Nylan was impressed-the room had two windows and a wide bed with a coverlet, plus a table with a pitcher and wash basin, and a chamber pot in the corner. The windows were not glazed, but bore both solid outer shutters and louvered inner shutters. There was a small lamp on the wash table. “This is nice.”

“My favorite,” said Lessa. “You can bolt the door, but you don’t need to. No one ever does anything bad here.”

Nylan kept from grinning at the serious tone. “Thank you.”

“Someday, I want to use a blade like yours.” Lessa bowed slightly, then slipped out.

“We were lucky,” Ayrlyn said quietly. “I was lucky here before, and I’m beginning to understand why.”

“Because Jennyleu runs this town?”

“It looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“I told you that not all women in Candar were oppressed,” Nylan said.

“Not all-but too many. Places like this are rare.”

Nylan set the saddlebags in the corner, along with the bag containing Weryl’s clothes. “I’m hungry.”

“So am I.” Her face darkened. “Did you have to dive into the dust? Your shoulder isn’t that well.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that. I just didn’t want another blade touching me.”

“Nylan-”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Let me check it.”

Nylan set Weryl on the floor and slipped off the carrypak harness, waiting as Ayrlyn lifted his shirt. Her fingers were cool and precise on his skin.

“Everything you’ve done has spread the stitches…but there’s no infection. That’s probably because you can use the order fields now that you’re stronger. You will have a darkness-huge scar there, to match the stitching in the shirt.” She let his shirt fall. “Now, I’d like to get some of the dust off.”

“After you, dear.” The engineer took Weryl, and Ayrlyn poured water into the wash bowl. One-handed, he opened the two wallets. One had two silvers and a handful of coppers, the second a silver and four coppers.

“That’s a lot for here,” observed Ayrlyn.

Did that mean that he’d killed two of the wealthier young men in town? Nylan worried. Or that people carried more of their assets in a low-tech culture? He didn’t know.

When they had both washed, and washed Weryl, they started out the door.

“Do you think things will be safe?” asked Nylan.

“Not everywhere…but here.” Ayrlyn nodded toward the floor below.

At her expression, Nylan grinned. He couldn’t imagine many travelers taking on Essin-in anything.

The smell of cooking, not grease, struck Nylan even before his boots touched the bottom step of the stairs. He followed his eyes and nose to his left and through open double doors into the public room.

There were no more than a half dozen tables, with four simple dowel-backed chairs around each square wooden table. Three tables were taken-one by a single man in dark brown leathers and a beard nearly as dark, one by three older men with only mugs before them, and one by two narrow-faced men.

Ayrlyn and Nylan took the remaining corner table, and were barely seated when a round-faced woman appeared.

“Sers…the stew comes with the room. A copper extra for chops, but forgo them tonight. Greenjuice is one, and brew or jack two.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Stew, and juice,” said Ayrlyn.

“The same,” Nylan added, “but could I have a wedge of cheese, a small one for my son?”