But if Garen played his cards right, he wouldn't have to just wonder about what it was like to live in Armethalieh. He'd live out the rest of his days there—as a real, Talisman-wearing citizen, with hot water in his house, fires that never went out, a roof that didn't leak, and all the other wonders of the City of a Thousand Bells, his, free for the asking.
If he only served the Arch-Mage loyally and well.
Garen Miq was a seller of oddments, but he was also a spy. For many years he had served the Arch-Mage Lycaelon Tavadon in that capacity, wandering through the hills and villages and reporting any information that he thought the Arch-Mage should know—of heresy, of Otherfolk within the City lands, of unrest or dissatisfaction with the wise and just rule of the Mages.
He never saw the Arch-Mage personally, of course. Oh, no. That wouldn't be right. Garen Miq had never even been within the walls of the Golden City. Not yet. The man who had come to him many years before—a member of the Arch-Mage's personal staff, of course, wearing the grey robes of a High Mage and carrying the staff of authority—had told him that citizenship would be his reward after long years of faithful service, and given him the means by which he could make his reports— a small ball of golden glass, barely the size of a ripe apricot.
'Only speak into this ball, and it will be as if I —or the Arch-Mage himself— hear your words, Garen Miq. So speak wisely and carefully,' the Mage had said.
It was Garen Miq's greatest treasure, proof that he was more than he seemed, and he guarded it carefully.
TONIGHT he was drinking in an inn in a village called Delfier's Rest, at the westernmost edge of the forest. It was a wild, uncouth place, as so many near the border were; people were careless with the Law here, and Garen had seen Other Races here in the past.
Even the name of the inn skated perilously close to heresy, as he'd already reported. The Inn of the Invisible Unicorn? What sort of a name was that for a proper inn?
Still, the mead was good, and the beer was excellent. And the kitchen did a very nice rabbit pie. If it only didn't snow so much here in the wintertide, Garen would even be perfectly willing to winter here if he had to, though Nerendale, being closer to Armethalieh, was naturally better.
It was already late summer, and in a sennight—a fortnight at the most—he would have to turn eastward again, lest winter catch him far from Nerendale's comforts. There had been little reason these past few moonturns to speak into his golden orb—in the spring, several farmers had reported seeing a pack of stone dogs running through their fields, and Garen had duly reported that, since it was unusual. But he had no doubt it was Magework, for were not the streets of the Golden City itself filled with statues that walked and talked like living men? Undoubtedly the dogs had been sent on Mage-business.
He was considering one last tankard of ale before retiring to his rooms for the night when a stranger sat down at the table across from him.
'Am I intruding?' the stranger asked. 'I hope not. I've been on the road all day, and I confess I'd hoped for a little company at the end of my journey. And you look like an interesting fellow.'
His raised eyebrows and conspiratorial smile indicated the rest of the folk in the common room of the Invisible Unicorn, and Garen Miq had to agree—with a small flush of pride—that no, none of them were what you'd consider 'interesting fellows' at all. Farmers and laborers from nearby villages mostly. Not one of them was like him—practically a citizen of Armethalieh.
'Please,' he said. 'Make yourself comfortable. I'd be glad of the com' pany myself.'
The stranger summoned the tavernmaid over and ordered two more tankards of ale—'and brandy—good brandy—if you have it.' Garen saw him pass a coin into her hand, and heard her gasp. He recognized it—his eyes were sharp—as City minting, one of the legendary Golden Suns of Armethalieh herself!
Garen wondered what the girl would do with it. The stranger could probably buy every keg in the Invisible Unicorn—and the wench herself— for the wealth that single coin represented…
'You've come from the east, then?' he asked, congratulating himself on the casualness of his tone.
The stranger smiled—he really had the most charming smile—and the golden handsomeness that spoke of noble breeding. 'Ah, best not to say too much about some things,' he said. 'Not everyone would take it in the proper spirit. But no harm in exchanging names, now, is there? I'm Henamor Lear. And you… ?'
'Garen Miq.'
The tavernmaid returned with a wooden tray. On it were their tankards, plus a squat stone bottle and two smaller cups—silver!—as well. She set the items on the table and bobbed a hopeful curtsy at Henamor as she withdrew.
Garen raised his tankard and drank—was it his imagination, or was the ale of a far better quality than his last tankard had been?
