Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [128]
“Who are you?” said a deep male voice.
“The silver dagger who was asking for Ogwern. He’ll be cheating himself out of coin if he won’t speak to me.”
With a laugh the questioner swung the door open. He was enormously fat, his belly swelling out of his shirt, his jowls hanging around his bull’s throat.
“I like your gall. I’m Ogwern. Come in.”
The half-round tavern room reeked of old straw and wood smoke, and it sported four battered and unsteady tables. At Jill’s insistence they sat down where she could keep her back to the wall. An innkeep, as pale and skinny as Ogwern was fat, brought them tankards of surprisingly good ale, which Jill paid for.
“So then, fair lady,” Ogwern said. “For fair you are, though, truly, you can’t be a lady if you know the long road. What brings you to me?”
“A simple matter. Probably you know that I rode a message for his grace from the Cwm Pecl pass.”
“Oh, I do hear what tidbits are worth knowing.”
“Well and good, then. I rode into town on a horse belonging to one of the gwerbret’s vassals, but my own mount is coming along behind with a caravan that I was guarding. He’s a valuable horse, and I don’t want him stolen. I was thinking that a bit of coin in the right place would keep him nice and safe.”
“Naught could be simpler, and you have indeed come to the right place. What kind of horse is it?”
“A Western Hunter, a gelding, and he’s gold.”
“Battle trained?”
“He is.”
Ogwern considered, waggling one fat hand in the air.
“Well, if it was a stud, it would cost you ten silvers,” he said at last. “But for a gelding, we’ll say eight.”
“What? Ye gods! Highway robbery!”
“Kindly don’t use such nasty terms. They trouble my fat but precious heart. Seven, then.”
“Three and not a copper more.”
“Six. Let me remind you that there’s a considerable market for such a valuable animal.”
“Five—two now and three when we leave town safely.”
“Four if you hand it over now. I swear to you that my men take my orders.”
“Hah.”
“They have to. What do you think this is, silver dagger? The king’s own city or suchlike, all teeming with folk and custom? Not likely by half. I know everything that goes on, and besides, there’s not a lot of us. A small band, but all handpicked and trusty. Well, er, perhaps not. Actually, it’s mostly me and my blood kin.”
“Well and good, then, and I’ll stand you another tankard to seal the bargain.”
While Jill paid over the protection money, Ogwern considered her with shrewd brown eyes.
“Let me give you a bit of a tip,” he said, pocketing the coin. “Our most piously and despicably honest gwerbret’s set up a squad of town wardens, a patrol of six at all times, prowling the streets with naught better to do than to stick their snotty noses into other men’s affairs.”
“By the black hairy ass of the Lord of Hell!” She feigned disgust. “And do they patrol at night?”
“They do. Revolting, I calls it. Ah, Blaen’s father was a splendid man—easygoing, much distracted with war, and rather stupid, just as a noble lord should be. Blaen, alas, takes after his clever mother, and life has been grim since he inherited the rhan.”
“A true pity, though I’ll admit to being pleased that he does his best to wipe out bandits.”
“True. Cursed louts, I hate them! I sincerely hope that you killed a few when they attacked that caravan of yours.”
“Now, here, you sound like one of the gwerbret’s men.”
“Kindly don’t be rude.” Ogwern laid a plump hand on the mound of flesh approximately over his heart. “Bandits are bloodthirsty dolts, cluttering up the roads and forcing honest men to hire guards. Why, if it weren’t for them, a true thief could go sneaking up on a caravan for a bit of real sport. Besides, they won’t pay me taxes.”
“Oho! So that’s the true thorn in your side, is it?”
Ogwern snorted in feigned hurt, then went on studying her. Jill began to realize that there was