Мерседес Лэки - Passages

Which she wasn’t taking. “And plenty of people know Kerowyn was Godmother’s last student.” That was thanks to Prince Daren, who’d been her fellow-student, and hadn’t been shy about telling tales of his experience. “No, I’ll take the hard road.”

“As you wish.” Captain Lerryn rose and offered her his hand to shake. “I don’t usually look at the new recruits until they’ve been with the Skybolts for a week, so don’t expect to see me before then. Good luck—Kay Taldress.”

She shook his hand firmly. “Thank you, Captain.”

They left the little office room without anyone taking much notice of them. Evidently he did business in there often enough that it was commonplace.

She went up to the bar and ordered pea soup, bread, and beer, then found herself a seat at one of the smaller tables. All three came quickly, delivered by a male server who, with humor and discretion, made certain that food and drink were all she wanted before heading back to the kitchen. The beer was smooth, the bread was brown and came with a spread made of bacon drippings, and the pea soup had plenty of bacon in it. The common room was quiet at the moment; when she’d arrived it had been full of locals getting fed their dinner before going back to work. This wasn’t unusual; plenty of people in a village didn’t have kitchens, only hearths, and they depended on the inn or tavern for their substantial midday meal. Travelers just passing through should start arriving about now. The Skybolts wouldn’t turn up until after their evening meal in their garrison. How many of them—well, now that was the question. If Lerryn was as good a Captain as Kero thought, there would be no strong drink allowed in the garrison itself. So anyone that wanted to drink anything stronger than mild beer would have to come here. Some people might turn up for entertainment—the tavern appeared to have a resident musician, judging by the gittern tucked into a corner of the hearth. Some small tables for two at the back of the room had game-boards carved into their surface, so there could be those looking for a game or gambling with travelers. So it looked as if the tavern got quite a bit of regular custom.

But what was most notable about this place was the quiet aura of order. There was some smoke—that couldn’t be helped at this season, the wind would come from uncertain directions, and not all the smoke from the fireplace would go up the chimney. But spills got mopped up immediately, orders taken and delivered quickly, and there was a general feeling that while high spirits were expected, excess would be dealt with by means of expulsion—and there would be no appeal to the Captain afterward.

That, combined with her impression of Lerryn, left her with a favorable feeling about the Skybolts.

She finished her meal and headed for the door that led into a double row of—well, they couldn’t be called rooms, they were more like enclosed bunks with wool mattresses, one up, one down, with wooden shutters that could be pulled down and latched, and room at your feet for your belongings. There were sixteen of these things, eight on each side of the narrow corridor. Right now, she was the only one availing herself of this luxury of relative privacy. In most places like this, everyone staying overnight bedded down in the common room after the tavernkeeper closed down and went to bed himself. On the way, she retrieved her packs from behind the bar where the barman was keeping an eye on them for her, tipped him by way of thanks, and sought her upper bunk, carefully selected as the warmest of the lot. It was quite comfortably warm—so warm, in fact, that she suspected the tavern’s ovens were on the other side of that stone wall.

Her bedroll was already laid out, ready for her to get some sleep. She climbed in, latched the shutter down, kicked off her boots, and rolled herself up in her blankets. It had been a long, hard day of riding, and if what Tarma had told her was anything to go by, things were about to get . . . interesting.

Kero was glad of her thick woolen coat with its overlapping fronts; it was cut in the Shin’a’in style, though she didn’t expect anyone here to recognize that. Although there wasn’t any snow on the ground, the grass in front of the Skybolts’ gate was dead and yellow and furry with a hard frost.

The recruiting sergeant eyed her and Hellsbane with a bored expression. As instructed, Kero had presented herself at the gate of the Skybolts’ winter quarters and asked for him. This had been a reasonable amount of time after the trumpet had sounded for reveille and she could be certain he’d eaten his breakfast. It was never a good idea to get between the man who could decide whether or not to hire you and his breakfast.

Sun shone down out of a cloudless sky but didn’t impart anything in the way of warmth. “So, ye think ye’ve got the makings of a Skybolt, do ye?” he asked rhetorically. “Got any combat experience?”

“A little, Sergeant, sir,” she said. “Bandits.” True, that.

“Training?”

“Grandmam rode with Idra’s Sunhawks. She trained me.” Also true.

The sergeant cocked an eyebrow at her. “No good in th’ kitchen then?” he asked, with just a hint of mockery. If I didn’t already know a third of the Skybolts are women, I might take offense at that.

She didn’t rise to the taunt. “Burned the oatmeal, Sergeant. Every time.”

He guffawed. “Ye wouldn’t be the first t’ trade a frying pan for a sword, gir-rul,” he said. “Well, I can see ye got yer own horse an’ kit. Let’s see how well ye handle ’em.”

He signaled for the gates to be fully opened, and Kero led Hellsbane through.

The winter quarters for the Skybolts was surrounded by a wooden palisade—not unusual for a merc company that could actually afford its own dedicated winter quarters. This was as much to keep gawkers out as anything else—and was mostly for the safety of the gawkers, since they never seemed to know not to wander in the path of charging horses or pairs of fighters. Most of the enclosed area was devoted to practice grounds; the barracks, kitchen, warehouse, and stables were all lined up on the side to Kero’s left, and there were lookouts stationed on a walkway just below the top of the palisade on that side. Besides those watchers, each of the four corners of the palisade had a watchtower above it, with a lookout stationed in it. It was good practice to keep a standing watch at all times, and if anyone was stupid enough to attack Bolthaven, the watchers could sound a warning, and everyone in the village could get inside that palisade before damage could be done. A good percentage of the villagers would be retired mercs and their families living on their savings and people who worked for the Skybolts when they were in quarters. There might even be a few spouses and partners of the mercs living in the village, since Lerryn didn’t have quarters for families.

“I’m gonna figger anything ye can do a-horse, ye can do afoot, so get aboard that ugly mule ye brung with ye,” the sergeant said. “And give me four passes on the archery targets. Make it at thirty paces. Walk, trot, canter, an’ gallop.”

Kero swung herself up into the saddle, retrieved her short horsebow from the sheath and strung it, and slung her quiver of arrows over the pommel of her saddle, securing the reins there as well. With a touch of her heels, she sent Hellsbane off on the first pass at the targets. Reins were more of a suggestion for Hellsbane; she responded to leg pressure and touches on her neck. Kero didn’t bother with a bit and doubted if Hellsbane could have been persuaded to tolerate one. Shin’a’in warsteeds never used one and certainly didn’t need one.