Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

When he finally stepped out from the kitchen, Steven recognised him immediately from Gita’s description.

‘Yes, sir, what do you need?’ He collected an armful of dirty trenchers that had been left along the raised counter.

‘Three beers, and two half-goblets of wine, one red and one white.’

Ranvid froze, then turned to look Steven in the face. ‘You plan to mix them to make a whole pink?’

‘No,’ Steven said, ‘I don’t like to drink that much.’

He placed the trenchers in a bucket half filled with greasy water that made Steven lose his appetite and drew three beers from a wooden cask behind the bar. ‘I knew a woman once who drank pink wine,’ he said conversationally.

‘I hear she died,’ Steven continued the exchange he’d memorised.

No, she’s still around.’

‘I’d like to meet her.’

The innkeeper placed the beers in front of him, then poured out two half-goblets of wine from ceramic pitchers. Steven paid with a few copper Mareks and reached for the drinks, but almost imperceptibly, Ranvid shook his head. ‘You want food?’

‘No, thanks,’ Steven said, his stomach still recoiling from the sight of the oily bucket. ‘We have to be moving on.’

‘You want food.’ It was not a request this time.

Steven sipped the surprisingly good white wine and agreed, understanding belatedly that the man wanted him to wait beside the bar. ‘Actually, why not? What’s good?’ Anything but stew, he thought to himself.

‘The stew is tasty.’

He swallowed hard. ‘Good then. Four stews, and bread, please.’

A fine choice.’ Ranvid turned to the kitchen and shouted, ‘Four up!’

Someone called back, ‘Come get them yourself.’

Ranvid motioned for Steven to wait and disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later, Steven winced at a loud slap, a shriek and the sound of a large pan full of something wet and sloppy tumbling to the floor.

The innkeeper returned and grinned. ‘Your food’ll be right out.’ He waved away Steven’s thanks and busied himself at the bar, clearing goblets, scraping trenchers and tossing half-eaten loaves into a woven straw basket at his feet.

Steven stayed where he was, content to watch and wait.

Without making eye contact, Ranvid said softly, ‘You wield the staff, yes?’

Steven examined an etched pattern on the side of his wine goblet. ‘That’s right.’

‘The woman is here. Many of her men are in the Notch; there’s a camp on the north side of the wall.’

‘The wall?’

‘The northernmost hill behind Traver’s Notch. There’s a pass; we keep it open through the winter. Any horse can cross with no trouble.’ He waved to three locals sitting near a window, raised his eyebrows, and nodded. ‘Three more, right away,’ he called.

Steven finished the white wine and started in on the red. ‘How do I find her?’ he asked as Ranvid finished drawing the men’s drinks.

Across the western bridge and up the hill road. Near the top there’s a dirt path leading back into the trees. Follow that to the cottage at the end behind the birch trees.’

He disappeared back in to the kitchen and reappeared with four trenchers. ‘Enjoy, sir,’ he said heartily.

‘Thank you.’ Steven left a silver coin on the bar and loaded up the trenchers.

‘She’s a great leader, and a great fighter.’ Ranvid’s voice was barely there. ‘She has great hopes for you.’

‘I won’t let her down,’ he replied.

‘Steven Taylor!’ Gita Kamrec met them outside the cottage, running to him and throwing her arms around him. ‘Gods, but I am glad to see you’re still alive.’

‘Me too,’ Steven replied, returning her embrace one-handed, the hickory staff in the other.

Gita released him and stepped back. ‘Gods! Be careful where you point that thing. It makes me nervous.’ She hugged Garec and Mark in turn. ‘Garec the bowman, and Jenkins, the horseman from the South Coast, welcome to Traver’s Notch.’

Mark smiled. ‘Nice to see you again, Gita.’

‘What happened to your leg?’

‘We met a border patrol in Gorsk.’

‘Gorsk? How long have you been up here? I thought you were going to Praga to find Kantu. What were you doing in Gorsk?’

Mark said, ‘We’ve a lot to tell you.’

‘And where’s Brynne? My earlobes have healed, and I think the scars just about match; I don’t think I’m lopsided.’ When no one answered, Gita’s countenance fell. She looked back and forth between them. ‘Brynne, too?’

‘We lost her in Orindale,’ Garec said. ‘We’re hoping she’s alive, but we don’t know.’

The Falkan leader pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘And Sallax?’

‘In Orindale, we hope,’ Garec said. ‘We heard nothing from him, nor could we find him while we were there.’

‘Gilmour, Sallax, Brynne, Timmon – not to mention my soldiers: this is a costly a business, boys. I hope we’ll all be around when it ends.’

‘I’ll buy the drinks.’ Garec said, anxious to move on to something more pleasant.

‘The rutting blazes you will,’ Gita quipped, smiling again. ‘I’m an old lady, and it’s an old lady’s prerogative to decide who picks up the tavern bill. I’ll have no arguing about it. The drinks will be on me.’

‘Done,’ Gilmour said, approaching warily.

‘And who’s this? Are you Kantu? I’ve heard of you.’

‘It’s me, Gita.’

‘Which me?’ She looked askance at him. ‘Do I know you?’

‘You have known me for a long time,’ Gilmour said, looking into her eyes. ‘When days in Rona grow balmy-’

‘Drink Falkan wine after Twinmoon,’ she said in a whisper. She turned to Garec. ‘Did you teach him that?’

Garec shook his head. ‘It really is him, Gita. It’s a long story.’

She leaned in, squinted as if, blurry, he might somehow become familiar to her. Then, inhaling sharply, she said, ‘They told me you were dead.’

Gilmour said, ‘I suppose part of me has been for some Twinmoons now, but as you can see, the parts that count are still doing quite well.’

‘I always knew there was something about you, you old… is it really you?’

He nodded.

Now she was awestruck. ‘What kind of magic is this?’

‘Larion.’

She laughed. ‘That’s funny, but no, I mean, what kind-’ Gita waited for Gilmour’s expression to change, and when it didn’t, her eyes grew wide. ‘Then you would have to be-’

‘Yes.’

‘And that would make you like – gods! I can’t even figure it without a piece of paper.’

‘Two thousand, probably more.’

‘I need to sit down. I need a drink, a lot of drinks.’ She reached for Garec and he slipped an arm around her waist. ‘Let’s go inside.’

Three men, bodyguards, Steven guessed, materialised from the woods beside the cottage when Gita reached up and signed all clear. He remembered the covert communication the Falkan Resistance forces had used in the underground cavern. Two remained outside watching for any indication that their hideaway had been discovered. The third, a young man wearing an eye-patch, joined them inside.

Steven tried not to look at the soldier’s face, but couldn’t help wondering if the man was one of those he had injured when he had used magic to hurl a cloud of stones into the Falkan ranks; he toyed with the idea of asking and apologising, but every time he geared himself up to do so, someone interrupted, derailing his good intentions.

Another of Gita’s commanders joined them for the discussion. As Brand Krug walked in, Steven noticed that he still wore a brace of throwing knives at his belt. As he had in the underground cavern, Brand immediately asked for news of Sallax; he looked angry and disappointed when Garec told him they had not located their friend.