Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [36]
“Yes sir.” The marione bowed again. “I’ll do my best to spot him and let you know. Will you be staying at our inn?”
“Yes.” Verrin Schope patted the man’s shoulder. “I’m an artist, and I choose to paint the quaint apothecary shop across the square.”
The man next to Beccaroon mumbled to his tablemates, “Artist? That man’s more than a picture painter.”
Sir Beccaroon sighed. So much for Verrin Schope and Lady Peg being inconspicuous.
The Grawl loped through the street to a stand of trees just outside the town. He crouched in the shade and took in his surroundings. He detected a few small animals and birds. Nothing to disturb him as he contemplated his next action. After knocking over several small toadstools, he picked at the bugs underneath. He liked the larger ones that crunched in his mouth.
Chewing helped him think. Crisp snacks satisfied the need to hear the pop and grind between his teeth. He moved a mossy stone and found a delectable selection of very small snails. He grunted and turned his mind to the problem.
Another wizard. He’d never heard of wizards in Chiril. Yet he hadn’t been here a month and had run into two. If he’d been hired to find wizards and kill them, he’d do it. But to have to deal with their interference while he located strongholds in enemy territory was not in the verbal contract he’d made with King Odidoddex. One purse of gold before the journey and one when they returned, having sabotaged Chiril’s defense, presented a reasonable business deal. He should have asked for more money just for the annoyance of putting up with three bisonbeck warriors.
A wizard. Two wizards. Time to renegotiate with Odidoddex.
He and the bisonbecks had come to town to meet the man who delivered pay and took back reports. The Grawl gritted his teeth. He’d challenge the messenger to guarantee a more lucrative deal. If the king had sent Groddenmitersay, the problem would be easily solved. The tumanhofer sat as the head of the war council and could authorize anything that struck his fancy.
The Grawl stood when he saw the bisonbecks emerge from the inn and come his way. They marched down the street, not in formation, but anyone watching would recognize the military bearing. The fools couldn’t avoid trouble even when they were under orders.
Gorse bristled as he came near. “You deserted us.”
The Grawl only gave him a cursory glance. His eyes went to the commander of their mission. The soldier quivered with resentment. He’d been beaten by what he saw as a scrawny foe. And there had been witnesses. The Grawl knew he’d be attacked, a substitute for the one who had really raised First Speatus Kulson’s ire.
“You’re under my command, Grawl. You don’t leave unless I dismiss you.”
The Grawl kept his gaze steady. He could stare down this petty tyrant, but it didn’t serve his purpose to further humiliate the bisonbeck. “I was not hired to brawl in taverns.”
Kulson took the easy way out. He swung around to attack his two underlings. “We’re going to the bathhouse.”
“What?”
Brox’s expression of disbelief caused a snort of laughter to escape from The Grawl. Kulson didn’t even acknowledge he heard.
“We are going back to the tavern. I want to keep an eye on that man.”
That piqued The Grawl’s interest. “The wizard?”
Kulson still didn’t look at him. “Wizard? Trickster maybe. Wizards wear robes and have pointed hats. They don’t come to the aid of insolent innkeepers.”
The Grawl didn’t answer.
Gorse wasn’t that smart. “You know a lot about wizards, huh?”
Kulson backhanded the soldier. Gorse lay on the ground, nursing a sore jaw.
“We’re going to get cleaned up. By the time Groddenmitersay gets here, we’ll have a lot to tell him about a certain emerlindian.” He strode away, not looking to see if his men followed.
Brox extended a hand. Gorse grabbed it, and after hoisting him to his feet, Brox followed their leader. Gorse marched along behind.
The Grawl grinned. He wouldn’t be staying in any tavern, but he’d be close by. The right