Барб Хенди - Of Truth and Beasts

A young woman in leather breeches and a patchwork vestment of earthy colors crouched at a nearby fire. She tended a large iron kettle, boiling some eggs, and she was about to drop in tea leaves as well, making a meal and drink all at once.

“May I speak with a team leader?” Wynn asked, hoping someone here understood Numanese.

The girl rose, her black coiled braids not even shifting. She pointed at a large man in a suede coat crouched before a wagon’s wheel, which he inspected with great attention.

“A’drinô,” she said. “Chieftain A’drinô handles all trade for our clan.”

“Thank you,” Wynn replied, heading off, though Ore-Locks was already on the move.

She hoped the dwarf would follow her lead before trying to strike any deal. She untied her cloak to expose her gray sage’s short robe.

“Master A’drinô?” she asked.

He turned from the wagon wheel and stood up, hands on his hips, as if the interruption was unwelcome. Then he saw her companions and grew puzzled. He was as tall as Chane and clean-shaven, with a long, red-gold braid down his back, tied in place with a fraying golden ribbon.

Wynn offered him a polite nod. “I am Journeyor Hygeorht of the Calm Seatt branch of the Guild of Sagecraft.”

“Calm Seatt?” he repeated, his accent marked with elongated vowels. “You’re a long way from home.”

“Yes. I’m delivering an official communication to the premin of the Lhoin’na guild branch. Are any caravans headed that way?”

“What do you offer for passage?” he asked bluntly.

“Service as guards,” Ore-Locks cut in, gesturing to himself, Chane, and even Shade.

He already sounded too assertive—which was the way of dwarven barter. But Wynn hoped he wouldn’t get any worse.

“We have guards,” A’drinô returned, but he did eye Ore-Locks and then Chane for a moment.

“Not like us,” Ore-Locks said flatly. “Not even close.”

His manner had the wrong effect. Wynn could almost see the chieftain’s expression closing up. Ore-Locks was normally quite effective at bartering. A’drinô clearly thought the only gain here was for the dwarf, and the caravan chieftain’s brow wrinkled.

Wynn was about to jump in when Chane said quietly, “We will take the night watch. Your own guards will be rested for daylight journeying.”

A’drinô eyed him. “You’ve done night patrol? You know what is required?”

“Yes, as has the ... wolf. She is well trained.”

Wynn clamped her hand over Shade’s nose, in case Shade understood what he’d said.

A’drinô finally nodded. “Well enough. My men can use more sleep, but you’ll have to supply your own transportation and food. We’ve no room, and we leave at dawn.”

Chane watched Wynn’s expression change from relief to alarm as the caravan chieftain walked away. They had no wagon as yet, and the city would be closed up for the night.

“I will find a wagon and horses,” he assured her, glancing back the way they had come. “You and Ore-Locks try to find more food at the nearest market—anything still available.”

“Shouldn’t I handle the barter?” Ore-Locks added, and crossed his arms, still gripping his staff in one hand, as if put out by his near failure.

Normally he would be correct, but Chane was not going to settle for just any wagon. They still had a potentially long journey ahead, should Wynn find clues among the Lhoin’na to the remains of the long-forgotten seatt. They could not afford to buy the type of team and wagon necessary.

“Fresh food is just as important,” he told Ore-Locks. “Help Wynn barter for proper stores.”

If this flattery affected Ore-Locks, he did not show it.

“Come on,” Wynn said. “We have only tonight. We’ll meet back here.”

With one last glance at Chane, Ore-Locks followed Wynn and Shade toward town.

Chane waited until they were out of sight and then headed shoreward. A caravan station on the outskirts would not be the only place to land cargo in a port. He worked his way along the waterfront’s southern end, watching for any sign of a major stable nearer the warehouses. It did not take long.

When he spotted a likely place up an inland side road, he looked all ways for anyone in the streets. Testing the wide stable doors, he found they would not budge. The fact that they were barred from the inside actually brought him some relief. This also meant there had to be another exit—or entrance. The stable master had closed up for the night and would need another way out.

The closest people were more than two blocks away, so he slipped around the building’s side, down the cutway, reaching an alcove off the rear alley. The stable’s rear door was padlocked from the outside. It took little effort, and a little noise, to dislodge the locking plate from the doorjamb.

Soft knickers greeted him inside, along with the scents of leather, hay, and dung in dusty-smelling air. Pitchforks and hay bundles lined the back wall to the open rafters, but a black gelding and a bay mare stood in the nearest stalls. Both were the youngest and healthiest among six others. He searched until he found harnesses pegged on the front wall and pulled down the newest-looking pair. As to a wagon, he had no such choice.

The only one inside was a large, two-wheeled cart, but it was not large enough. As the only vehicle, it made little sense for a place so near the docks, and there were six horses and multiple harnesses.

Chane stepped back outside and circled the stable all the way to the alley at the alcove’s back. Just around the left side, he found a large wagon in the alley and hurried over to inspect it.

The seat was long and thick. The entire bed was walled with planks that had outer brackets for lashing a tarp over cargo. Folded canvas was stacked in the back. It was perfect, except for two things.

The front left wheel was chained down to an iron ring embedded in the alley’s cobble. Chane decided to wait on breaking that until he was fully ready to leave. The other problem became evident as he walked back to the stable’s rear door.

To harness the horses, he would have to lead them out to the wagon. He had expected to be able to do so inside, and then open the main front doors and drive off. Now he would have to harness two horses, one by one, in the open. If he was seen at this time of night, someone might question what he was doing.

He had no further options except to search elsewhere, hoping for something more accessible, but that seemed unlikely. Besides, once he was off, even if someone found the wagon and horses missing at dawn, they would not likely trace it to a caravan station with wagons and teams of its own. He simply needed to hurry and finish without being seen.

Chane piled the harnesses on the wagon seat and returned to lead the black gelding out. It followed him without protest, and he harnessed the animal quietly. When he hurried back into the stable for the bay mare, she nickered softly as he took her halter.

“Shhhh,” he murmured, stroking her velvet nose.

She followed him out, and he backed her into position beside the gelding. As he buckled down the last of her harness, the barest creak carried through the quiet alley.

“Is someone there?” a masculine voice called.

Chane slipped around the wagon and flattened against the building’s backside.

Footsteps followed, and a stocky man with a dark beard and tied-back hair, both traced with gray, came around the alcove’s corner. He stopped, spotting Chane immediately. At first, he appeared more surprised than concerned. Perhaps theft was not common here.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and when Chane did not answer, his expression clouded. “Don’t you move!”

In another breath, the stable keeper would shout for the authorities.