The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [80]
Justen seemed to smile faintly. “That is an old argument, Antonin, one scarcely worth answering.”
“Is it wrong to feed the hungry, Justen?”
The wizard in gray shook his head, almost sadly. I wondered how he would answer the white wizard’s question.
“Is it wrong to feed the hungry, Justen?”
Even the herders in the corner turned toward Antonin.
“You among the herders—does one of you have an old goat, a tired ewe that will not survive the winter? Come…two silvers for such an animal. Certainly a fair price.”
I found myself nodding. Even in early winter, a fair price for an animal that might easily die in the frigid eight-days ahead.
The wizard in gray shook his head once more, then sipped from his mug, watching as Antonin beamed from where he stood by the table.
“Innkeeper, for the use of your serving table, a silver also?”
The innkeeper, wiping his thin hands on the greasy apron he wore, smiled briefly, not with his eyes, as he looked at the crowd. “Enough, esteemed wizard, but I would hope in your charity that you would make good any damages…”
“There will be no damages.” Antonin gestured toward the herders. “Who will take my two silvers?”
“Here, lord wizard.” A bent man shuffled forward, his curly and dirty gray hair springing wildly from his head. His leathers were filthy, so battered their original color was lost beneath the dirt, and so tattered that the yarn laced through and around them barely seemed to hold either his vest or trousers together. Dirty raw wool poked from the holes in trousers and vest.
“Bring me the animal.”
“Will he slaughter it here in the inn?” I asked.
Arlyn chuckled. “You’ll see no knives here, youngster. The one’s a great wizard.”
“Too great,” mumbled the traveler on my other side, who had said nothing since I had seated myself. He turned to his companion, an older man dressed in faded green with a heavy green cloak still wrapped around him.
A chill wind bit through my own trousers as the herder left, though the doorway was open only an instant or so. Outside the wind was beginning to moan, and the early dusk was nearly gone. I wondered how much more ice would fall before I could leave the inn. Or would it be snow by morning?
Arlyn’s slurp reminded me of the mug I held between both hands. I sipped the cider carefully, but could taste nothing foreign. Still, I waited after my first sip.
Thunk.
“Ten pence.” The serving girl laid down two heavy slabs of black bread and a thin wedge of yellow cheese. “And the token back.”
I handed her the token and a silver.
Now I had the cheese and bread, and wondered if I could eat it—safely.
As I glanced toward the gentry section, I found the eyes of the gray wizard upon me. He nodded slightly, as if to say that I could.
I looked at the cider mug between Arlyn’s hands. The wizard’s face was unreadable, which was answer enough. But why would he even answer my unspoken question? And why did I trust the man in gray and not the one in white?
Taking a small bite from the tangy black bread, I tried to figure out the answers. Tamra would have called me a fool for even entering the inn. Sammel would have shared the stable with the animals, and who was to say who was right?
The outside door opened, wider, and the wind dispersed the lingering warmth that had grown from the body heat of the crowd. I swallowed another chunk of the dry bread, washing it down with the lukewarm cider.
Baaaaa…
The herder passed near the end of our table, nearly brushing the man in green, as he carried a scrawny sheep slung over his shoulder toward the wizards.
The inn door had shut, and the sudden odor of filthy sheep and unwashed herder nearly choked me. Had I not escaped from the ice and blizzard so recently, I might have been tempted to forsake the stench of the inn for the clean cold of the outside. Trouble was that the outside was too cold.
“Watch…” hissed the man in green to the traveler beside me.
Thump.
Arlyn