The Towers of the Sunset by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page B

voice rumbling, his accent on the first syllables of the Temple tongue, a sure sign of a free trader, according to Creslin's former tutor. The trader's hand rests loosely on the hilt of a belt knife.
    The inn door opens, then closes as a thin man wearing a sheepskin vest steps out.
    "Nan. Clothes are his, but they're loose, like he's lost weight." The thin man wears a hand-and-a-half sword across his shoulders, much the way Creslin wears his shorter blade.
    Creslin looks from the heavy man to the thin man and back again.
    "Doesn't look all that strong," rumbles the big man as he steps forward.
    Not knowing exactly what to do, Creslin nods politely.
    "You're right. The clothes are mine. But who is Frowsee?"
    "Frosee," corrects the big trader. "He's a bandit." Creslin steps onto the boardwalk. The thin man does not move.
    "I beg your pardon," Creslin states quietly.
    "Boy has manners, at least," observes the big man.
    The thin man studies Creslin without speaking.
    Creslin returns the study, noting the mustached narrow face, the hard gray eyes, the heaviness in chest and gut that may signify a mail or plated leather vest, and the short knife that complements the long sword.
    "Younger son?"
    Creslin considers the question, then nods. "It was a little more complicated than that, but I had to leave." Even the incomplete truth gnaws at his guts, but he fights back the feeling and continues to watch the thin man, for he is the more dangerous of the two.
    "The blade?"
    "Mine."
    The thin man looks at Creslin again before turning.
    "You just going to let him in, Hylin?" grumbles the trader.
    "You stop him if you want. He's no danger to you, unless you meddle." The thin man opens the inn door.
    "So, boy . . . why are you here?" The trader waddles toward Creslin.
    "Because it's on the way east. Now, if you will excuse me . . ." He steps around the trader toward the inn door.
    "I was talking to you!" A heavy hand grasps his shoulder.
    Creslin finds that he has reacted, that the guard drills have fulfilled their purpose in a way not intended by Aemris or Heldra. He finds himself looking over the prone figure of the trader.
    "I'll have your head ..."
    "I think not," interrupts a new voice. A woman, gray-haired and heavyset, stands in the open doorway. "The young fellow was trying to be polite, and you grabbed him. Besides, Derrild, you haven't got sense enough to come out of the west-blows. Your man told you not to mess with the young fellow. He could see a fighting man, even if you couldn't. Young doesn't mean unskilled." She turned to Creslin. "And you, young fellow, looks and skill are fine, but coins are what buy hospitality."
    "I did not mean trouble, lady." Creslin inclines his head and upper body. "The tariff?" he asks in the Temple tongue, knowing that his accent differs from the innkeeper's.
    "The tariff?" The woman looks bewildered.
    "The amount for food and lodging."
    "Oh, the charges. Four silvers for a room, another silver for each meal."
    While Creslin can afford such charges, at least for a time, he knows the numbers are high and tries to let his face show some astonishment. "Five silvers?"
    " Tis high, but we must pay dearly for the food and spirits."
    "Three would be larceny, kind lady, but five is high extortion. And that would be for a room fit for a queen."
    A smile crosses her face, perhaps at his language. "For a fine face such as yours, I would settle for mere larceny, and even throw in a hot tub. With so little trade, you can even sleep alone, though ..." Her eyes rake over him.
    "Humph," rumbles the trader, who has lurched to his feet. "Baths. A nuisance designed by women."
    "And a meal?" pursues Creslin, ignoring the innuendo.
    "And a meal. Without high spirits, though." Her voice turns harder as she lifts the broom. "You pay in advance."
    Creslin looks at the clouds overhead, then nods.
    "Come on in, before we lose all the heat from the fires."
    Once inside, with both doors firmly shut, the woman waits as Creslin