Taormin 02 - Fire Lord by Cheryl J. Franklin

Author:Cheryl J. Franklin [Franklin, Cheryl J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci Fi & Fantasy
ISBN: 0886773547
Publisher: DAW
Published: 1989-06-21T23:00:00+00:00

* * *

Taf looked as glum as I felt when we met in the dying light of day. We entered the inn together and the innkeeper growled at us as he bolted the vestibule’s inner door against the night. Taf helped himself to the tankards of ale, and I claimed a table in the corner farthest from Alisa and her following. Noryne was not in sight, nor was Rubi, and the rest of the Troupe sojourned elsewhere. Taf brought the ale; the innkeeper’s boy brought us fruit and twice-cooked beef, and for a time we devoted ourselves to the meal.

“Luck with the seamstress?” I asked when we had finished all but the ale.

Taf grunted, which usually meant no. “Pilgrim,” he snarled.

“Poor Taf,” I murmured. “Can she sew decently?”

“Should I know? She could not fare worse with a needle than you.”

“When should I have studied stitchery? During performances? While persuading Denz to work another season on half pay? While writing plays that we can perform between licenses? While bribing some Tanist’s minion to ignore your latest thieving?”

“Trouble with Alisa?” asked Taf glumly.

“Not yet,” I grumbled in return. Alisa and Zakari were playing draughts in seemingly good humor. Judging by Miria’s giggles, Alisa appeared to be winning, likely with Zakari’s cooperation. Alisa was distractedly twisting a long curl around her finger. She was pretty, and her dearth of any concept of financial sense let us keep her in the Troupe by guile, when she could have achieved much more success elsewhere; she was lazy and temperamental, and I disliked her heartily. “Have you talked to the K’shai yet?”

“I discussed our route with Fog. He seems a sensible man.”

From Taf, sensibleness amounted to high praise. “What of the other one?”

Taf shrugged. “Foreign.”

“So is Fog,” I suggested wryly, but I understood the distinction: Taf approved of Fog; Taf disapproved of Evaric.

Since Taf disapproves of nearly everyone, the latter comment signified very little.

Taf nodded toward the stair, and I turned my head to follow his glance. “Mistress Anni, the pilgrim,” he explained.

“Not very distinctive. Why is she staying here?”

“Coincidence.”

“This is an odd place for a pilgrim to choose.”

“Odd,” grunted Taf, rolling his eyes.

I looked at Taf sharply. “Are you sure about her?”

“No.”

The pilgrim woman was trying unsuccessfully to attract the attention of the innkeeper. “What does Rubi think of her?”

“You know Rubi: The Troupe is All.”

I darted another glance. “Only a pilgrim would suffocate willingly in all those depressing draperies. What do you suspect of her?”

Taf’s hands rippled, and he cradled a kesne in his palm. The engraved wreath of the Alliance gleamed brightly on it. Taf tightened and released his fingers, and the copper coin lay dull and twisted.

“Balmy?” I asked.

“At least,” he answered.

“Harmlessly so, I trust.”

“She looks weaker than water,” he muttered.

“She looks helpless.” The innkeeper maintained a deliberate preoccupation with other customers, and the pilgrim woman had yet to gain supper. “Invite her over here, Taf,” I suggested, “or she may starve before the season starts.” I held no fondness for foreigners, especially pilgrims, but I tried to know the Troupe members.

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