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The dwarf watched a gnarled gnome of a mon approach the table next to hers
that four young stalwarts occupied, moving with an arthritic limp. He wore
crude brown garments of homespun cloth, and carried no weapons that Tagalong
could see. Nothing in his appearance predicted what happened next and it made
Tagalong blink to see it. The moment his hand touched the seat, the four
stalwarts made their apologies and left. The gaffer graciously accepted
custody of the table. The alewife, seeing him, abandoned her customers to
personally greet him, set out three tankards and a pitcher as if expecting
others to join the old mon. Tagalong tried to focus on her brew, but
everything about this set off interesting speculations which drew her gaze
back.
The gaffer watched Tagalong surreptitiously around the edges of his tankard.
Then he pulled out his pipe, stuffed and lit it. As the smoke rose to wreath
his head, the two thugs from the night before the duel appeared and sat down
beside him. One of them sported bruises where his face had met the wall when
Tagalong tossed him across the room. The other one saw Tagalong and nodded to
her pleasantly, mystifying the dwarf. She suspected his stomach would still be
sore from the poke she had given him.
Her thoughts turned to the gaffer and a small satisfied smile stole briefly
across Tagalong's lips. For the third time that night the gaffer sat watching
her. Either he was having her watched or knew her habits well enough to
anticipate which tavern she would try next. Whichever, it showed her that his
interest was piqued. And he had to be Assassins Guild. No doubt of that
remained in her mind. Each time, he chose a table a little closer to hers. She
interpreted his unexpected nearness as an invitation to approach him.
Tagalong picked up her tankard and sauntered over. She leaned into his face,
shoving five gold double gryphons to his edge of the table, more money than
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most people saw in a year. She raised her fingers from the coins and pressed
lightly against his chest. "Tell your red feathered friends that Gaertrudin
Angtraden is hiring at good wages, especially if they rode with Jon Dawn," she
gave him her true name, rather than the nickname she had picked up in
childhood. All talk at the table stopped when they heard Angtraden: the
Angtraden were the mightiest and wealthiest of dwarf clans. Even their poorest
relations had more wealth and prestige than the average merchant. Tagalong
wished suddenly that she had been giving it out from the start. She abandoned
her tankard on his table and walked off.
Tagalong stepped out into the torchlit streets. She could neither hear nor
see anyone, yet she knew they were there. The assassins were a cautious,
secretive guild. She had just thrown the gauntlet in their face and they would
have to respond. She had walked just three blocks before six tall shapes
detached themselves from the shadows. Tagalong moved back and half turned,
another group moved behind her. She pulled her hammer and watched them. The
only way out was the alley to her right. That must be where the gaffer was.
She angled toward it without taking her eyes from the myn. When she reached
the shadows she spun and came face to face with the gaffer and his two
companions.
The gaffer no longer limped. He stood straight as a sword blade and twenty
years dropped from his manner and visage. He looked almost Sharani and oddly
familiar: lean and lanky with a beaky nose and an overbite. "Now what would an
Angtraden be wantin' a red raven for?" he asked her, taking her measure as he
spoke. "If ya be one. Eh?"
Tagalong grinned in a jaunty manner, hooking the hammer on her shoulder.
"I've a one-eyed friend in Armaten who always said if I ever needed a certain
kind of help ta buy a red raven."
"You be knowin' her a long time, eh?" the gaffer asked.
"Since childhood in Armaten. She had two eyes then."
The gaffer grinned back at Tagalong now. "Uh huh. An' what color be the eye
she lost?"
Tagalong's grin broadened. "Blue."
The old gaffer gave her a slow sidewise nod. "an' the one she still has?"
"Green. Aejys and I were with her when she lost the blue one. A grievin'
ma'aram hired her ta do fer a merchant traffickin' in children. We stumbled
into it by accident."
"Then you be Tagalong Smith, not Gaertrudin Angtraden."
The two swordsmyn relaxed at the name.
Tagalong took her cue from them and returned the hammer to her belt. "They're
both me. I know my folks wish they weren't," she said, rueful yet unrepentant.
Then in an exaggerated voice with every vowel precisely pronounced she said,
"Gaertrudin! You run with the common folk and gutterscrews. They will stain
your reputation and leave their mark upon you! Yah, uh huh."
The gaffer thought for a moment, "Roll up your sleeve."
Tagalong didn't need to ask which sleeve. She pushed up her left one to
reveal a long burn scar.
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The gaffer nodded. "Y'ar who ya say. Ya reached across th' edge of a forge ta
save her. Wilstryn still be tellin' that tale."
Tag looked a little embarrassed. It wasn't the first time she had gotten
inadvertently burned in a smithy and tended to take such things for granted.
"I be grateful fer it. Wilstryn be me daughter. Tell me tha task an' I be
tellin' ya the price."
"It's too big for ya, gaffer. I want ta speak ta the Grand Master. Aejys
wants two cadres. Preferably veterans of Jon Dawn's Legion."
A low whistle of astonishment escaped one of the two bodyguards.
"I don't know about that," the gaffer sounded doubtful.
"There's a rogue Assassins' Guild in Shaurone. Farendarc was a member."
The gaffer's two guards glanced sharply at each other.
"That be explainin' a lot," the gaffer said thoughtfully. "Rogue guild.
Someone's been hittin' our people in Shaurone, Doronar and Iradrim."
"Pattern radiates outta Rowanslea. Right?"
The bodyguards exchanged another set of glances and the gaffer nodded. "I'll
set up tha meetin'. Be ready ta leave at moment's notice."
* * * *
Early the next afternoon, after catching up on some sleep, Tagalong knocked
on Aejys' door, then opened it and peeped around. Aejys was sitting up,
propped against pillows, a bed table across her lap, dipping slices of crusty
bread into a meaty broth and eating slowly. The lapsed paladin wore a loosely
wrapped brown dressing gown, the left sleeve hung empty, the shoulder pulled
around the bandaged arm, which Tamlestari had strapped to her side. She looked
tired, but the color was returning to her face.
A vase filled with fragrant wildflowers and ferns sat on the table beside the
bed. It reminded Tagalong of Brendorn who had loved to bring Aejys flowers and
fruit from his garden.
Aejys followed Tagalong's eyes to the vase. "Tamlestari. Brendorn told her
how I liked them."
"Not the same," Tagalong said.
"There's a part of her that reminds me of him."
Tagalong shrugged. "I found 'em, Aejys. Gaffer's arrangin' a meetin'."
"Good," Aejys replied, "It moves fast then. I want to get out of here in a
fortnight."
"Ya sure? I mean..."
"It's a long way home, Tag. I promised Brendorn I would be there before the
first month of winter so I could see his gardens. Hungry?"
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Tag nodded and a gesture from Aejys sent a servant scurrying for a tray of
food and drink.
"Ya sure yar gonna be strong enuf?"
"No forced marches," Aejys waved her good hand at the servants to remove her
bed table and food. "But a steady pace."
"If ya say so, Aejys."
"Can you get my pipe, Tag? Help me get it loaded and light it. I don't think
I can handle it one-handed."
Tagalong sprang up, retrieved the pipe, and got Aejys settled back on her
pillows smoking thoughtfully.
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