Artesans of Albia: 01 - King's Envoy by Cas Peace Page B

few of his lads, although eventually our boys ran off the demons. Thank the gods.”
     
“How long ago was this?” asked Taran, as the flesh of his arms tingled ominously.
     
“A few days,” replied the man. “Been any fighting over your way?”
     
Once all the stories had been told, Taran thought to ask whether there were any inns on the road. Only one, he was told, about two hours farther. He drew the others away, hoping to reach the inn before nightfall. It was growing colder as the afternoon wore on and he felt the need for a warm fire and supper. The news he had heard had unsettled him badly and he rode in troubled silence.
     
When they finally reached the inn, it was very unlike their tavern at home. Obviously a major stopping point for wayfarers, it was much larger than they were used to, having two or three common rooms and a couple of small private rooms. It also had plenty of rooms to rent and horse stables. They gave their horses to a couple of young stablehands and followed the aging landlord, who introduced himself as Milo, to the rooms they had rented for the night. After dumping their bags, they freshened up and trooped down to the commons for some roasted meat stew and some ale. Once replete and feeling nicely drowsy, they lounged by the huge fire, listening to the other guests.
     
The inn wasn’t crowded as the traveling season was nearly over. Soon the roads would become increasingly wet and muddy, and only those with the most pressing business would be on them. The trickle of information that night was disappointingly light. There were two merchants on their way back from a trade fair, a family returning from visiting relatives in Tolk and interestingly enough, two Kingsmen who stayed in a corner and appeared to be watching the other guests as closely as Taran was.
     
The murmur of conversation was too low for the Journeyman to catch, but from what he could see, the merchants were busy counting their profits and discussing the new clients they had made at the fair. The family was obviously tired from its long trek from Tolk and retired early. The two swordsmen, both hard-faced young men wearing combat leathers with no rank insignia, sat drinking ale in silence.
     
Taran, Cal and Rienne decided to retire. As he passed the bar, Taran caught the landlord’s eye. “We’re planning to call in at the garrison tomorrow,” he said. “Could you give us directions?”
     
The landlord raised his brows. “I can, aye,” he said. “What do you want at the Manor? Not many people go knocking on their door and if you don’t mind me saying, you’re all a little too old to enlist. No offense.”
     
Taran ignored the man’s jocular tone, he didn’t want to be drawn into giving too much away. “We have some information that might be helpful to them, that’s all. I didn’t know it was called ‘the Manor,’ it sounds like a strange name for a garrison.”
     
“Not really,” smiled the landlord. “Local people call it that because it was originally Lord Blaine’s manor. When King Kandaran was killed during the civil war, Mathias Blaine came out in support of his son, Prince Elias. It was Blaine’s men and military expertise that allowed the Prince to regain the crown. In recognition of his support, Elias made Blaine General-in-Command. Since then, he’s been turning his manor and lands into a garrison of some prestige.” He pointed to the swordsmen, adding, “Those are two of his lads. Maybe they could help you?”
     
“Thanks, but I think we need to speak with someone higher up the chain of command,” said Taran. “If you could just give us directions?”
     
“As you wish,” shrugged the man and told Taran the way to the Manor.
     
As he turned to leave, the innkeeper added, “You’ll be lucky to talk to anyone more senior than the gate guard, you know. The place is pretty empty at the moment, what with all these raids going on. It’s a bad business if all that’s going to start