The Ambassador’s Mission

“Welcome, my lords, to Fergun’s Rest,” he said. “I am Fondin. My stable workers will look after your horses, if you drive them around the back. We have clean beds and good food, all served with a smile.”

There was a look of surprise and amusement on Dannyl’s face, but the magician said nothing and led the way inside. Lorkin wondered if it was from wondering if the man had meant to suggest his beds were served with a smile. Possibly he did. These roadside Stayhouses do have that sort of reputation.

Dannyl introduced them and asked for a meal to be served to them and the driver. The owner ushered them to a pair of seats inside a large guest room. Only one other group of visitors occupied the room. Traders, by the look of them. They were talking quietly and only cast a few curious glances at Lorkin and Dannyl.

It was not long before the meal arrived. A young woman arrived with a platter containing meats, savoury buns, well-sautéed vegetables and small, probably local fruit. She smiled politely at them both, but her gaze brightened as she looked at Lorkin. When she returned with two complimentary cups of bol she paused to give him a coy look as she handed him his. As she walked away, her hips swayed invitingly. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled as she saw him watching her.

“I wonder if Sonea expects me to protect your virtue while we are away from the Guild,” Dannyl said.

Lorkin chuckled and turned back to the other magician. Dannyl was filling his plate from the platter, and didn’t look up.

“Virtue?”

“Yes, well, I figure your virtue is your own to protect. But as an older and wiser companion I feel, at this moment, a strange urge to steer you away from temptation for the sake of your health and wallet.”

“Your concern is noted,” Lorkin said, smiling. “Should I offer the same service in return?”

Dannyl looked up at Lorkin, his expression guarded and serious for a moment. Then he smiled. “Of course. We shall look out for one another.” Then he gave a short, quiet laugh. “Though I suspect you may have a much easier task than I.”

The ground vibrated in a way that brought a rush of memories to Cery’s mind. Once, he would have passed this section of the Outer Wall via the city’s sewers below. It had been an unpleasant and sometimes dangerous route. The city guard had discovered the sewer being used as a route into the city and started flushing it at intervals. An arrangement made between the Thieves to post watchers, who would signal if a flush was starting, got around that problem. It had been a reliable system, and he had used it to take Sonea to see the Guild many years ago, before she had become a magician.

But now the sewers were divided up among the Thieves whose territory they crossed, and many of these were rivals. It cost a fortune to gain access to them, and the watchers were no longer reliable. It was rumoured that this was how the Thief who’d drowned had been killed. A watcher upstream had been murdered by the Thief Hunter, and not only had the Thief died but all the watchers downstream as well.

There’s not much reason to use the sewers now that the Purge has ended, Cery thought. It’s only useful if you have a powerful need to travel unseen.

Since he no longer used the Thieves’ Road to travel long distances either, Cery walked the streets of Imardin, in the daytime, like most of its citizens. It was safer, despite the risk of robbers or gangs. Gol’s bulk deterred the former, while Cery’s status still protected him from the latter.

I probably shouldn’t rely on it so much. Or on poor Gol to intimidate possible attackers. Some day, one or the other won’t work as a deterrent, and we’ll be in trouble. But unless I want to go everywhere in a crowd of guards, that’s a risk I have to take.

Passing through one of the new archways cut into the old wall, Cery started toward his own part of the former slums, Gol walking beside him.

“What did you make of Thim’s story, Gol?”

The big man scowled. “We heard nothing new. Nobody’s got any information, but plenty of the same old rumours.”

“Yes. But at least they are the same. Everyone thinks it’s the same person. Everyone has the same ideas about that person’s skills.”

“But everyone has a different reason for coming up with those ideas,” Gol pointed out.

“Yes. Things moving through the air that have no right to be. Strange scorch marks. Shadowy figures that can’t be stabbed. Flashing lights. Invisible walls. What do you believe, Gol?”

“That it’s always better to be over-careful than dead.”

Cery felt a flash of amusement. He stopped walking and turned to face his bodyguard. “So we act like the Thief Hunter is real and uses magic and has already had a go at me.”

Gol frowned and glanced around to see if anyone had heard Cery. “You heard what I said about being over-careful?” he asked, a touch of annoyance in his tone.

“Yes.” Cery sighed. “But what difference does it make if someone hears us? If my enemy is a magician I’m doomed.”