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“What about…” began Ferralt as he looked at Deryl.

“I’m going to have to leave.” I eased out of my chair. “Destrin’s not feeling that well, and I never fed the pony…”

“Won’t you stay a little longer…?” grumbled Jirrle.

I could tell his words were false, yet he wanted me to stay.

“I wish I could.”

“Perhaps we could hear more the next time,” added Perlot.

I just nodded. In no way did I want to tell more than I had already. On the way out, I stopped by Bostric’s group. “You can stay a while.” But I didn’t wait for an acknowledgement.

“…doesn’t seem that scary…”

“…not all that old…”

As I stepped out into the night, I tried not to sigh. Sooner or later, and probably sooner, the speculation would push me into giving away too much. The afternoon clouds had cleared, and the stars glittered, with the new moon just a crescent above the western horizon.

Further down the market street, the lanterns from the Horn Inn flickered with the breeze that brought the scent of cut hay from the fields to the north of Fenard.

Jirrle—the man bothered me, had bothered me from the first time he had inspected my boxes in the open market.

Even as early in the night as it was, the streets had cleared, the good and solid citizens for the most part having headed home. In Fenard, work started with the dawn. I suppressed a yawn, remembering that I had put off cleaning out Gairloch’s stall.

I rubbed the end of my nose after the acrid odor of burned grease left a lingering itch, then picked up my steps as I passed the first cross-street toward the square from the Tap Inn.

Halfway toward the next cross-street, I stopped, almost paralyzed by the feel of disorder ahead. After turning, I took several quick paces back and into the shadows, wishing I had my staff with me.

Click…clink…The sounds were faint, almost inaudible.

A cloak of reflection slipped around me, and I hoped I was doing the right thing, that the danger ahead was merely that of armed assassins, and not a chaos-master.

Two men appeared, slipping toward where I had been. While I could only sense them, not see them, one was older, slighter, tinged with the white-red fire of chaos. The other was just a hired blade, faintly disordered, but not chaos-evil.

They searched each side of the street, moving toward me. In turn, I moved from the shadows into the main street, where they would only look, while they might concentrate and poke into the corners and alcoves.

Click…

The second sound came from behind me, from the direction of the Tap Inn.

I forced myself to breathe easily, standing flat against a bricked wall between shops with their night shutters down, feeling exposed and open, and relying only on a reflective shield. The knife in my belt felt inadequate, especially against the drawn blades of the pair that walked toward me.

From the inn came a second armed pair, searching and moving toward me.

I almost held my breath as the bulkier assassin walked right by me, holding a blade at the ready. As soon as they were more than a few paces past, I took one quiet step, then another, edging toward the square and toward Destrin’s.

“…disappeared…”

“…left the inn. I saw him.”

“He’s not here.”

“…in one of the houses?”

I let them argue, stepping quietly toward Destrin’s, not dropping the cloak until I was safely inside the stable.

Whheee…eeeee…eee…

“Yes, I know. Your stall is filthy. I didn’t ride you today, and you’re out of food.”

The food came first, and I brushed Gairloch for a while, both to reassure him and to think. Then came the shovel and the pail. No one had told me about the mess horses make, or the enormous effort it took to keep one stall clean.

Late indeed it was by the time I got back to the shop, and Bostric was pulling out his bed.

“How did it go?” I asked, washing my hands again in the basin I had refilled.

“Fine. They say you won’t stay here, that you are a wandering type. Is that true?” Bostric had had more than a beer. Otherwise, he would not have dared to ask the question, not without his more overly-respectful tone.

I shrugged. “Probably. Go to sleep.”