Oathblood

She propped both elbows on the wooden table and knuckled the dust out of her eyes.

Footsteps approaching. Then, 'What'll it be, miladies?'

The deep voice to her right sounded just a shade apprehensive. Tarma blinked up at the burly innkeeper standing a respectful distance away.

Apron's clean-hands're clean. Table's clean. Good enough. We can at least have a meal before we hie out.

'No ladies here, Keeper,' she replied, her hoarse voice even more grating than usual because of all the dust she'd eaten today. 'Just a couple of tired mercs wanting a meal and a quiet drink.'

The slightly worried look did not leave the innkeeper's shiny, round face. 'And that?' he asked, nodding at Warrl, sprawled beside her on the stone floor, panting.

'All he wants is about two tradeweight of meat scraps and bones -- more meat than bone, please, and no bird bones. A big bowl of cool water. And half a loaf of barley bread.'

:With honey,: prompted the voice in her head.

:You want honey in this heat?:

:Yes,: Warrl said with finality.

'With honey,' she amended. 'Split the loaf and pour it down the middle.'

:You're going to get it in your fur, and who's going to have to help you get it out?:

:I will not!: Warrl gave her an offended glance from the floor.

The innkeeper smiled a little. Tarma grinned back. 'Damn beast's got a sweet tooth. What's on the board tonight?'

'Mutton stew, chicken fried or stewed, egg'n'onion pie. Cheese bread or barley bread. Ale or wine.'

'Which's cooler?'

The innkeeper smiled a little more. 'Wine. More expensive and goes bad quicker, so we keep it deeper in cellar.'

'Egg pie, cheese bread, and wine.' Tarma looked across the tiny table at Kethry, who was trying to knot her amber hair up off her neck and having no great success. Kethry nodded shortly. 'White wine, if you've got it. For two.'

'You be staying?' The apprehensive look was back.

'No,' Tarma raised an eyebrow at him. 'I don't like to slander a man's homeplace, but your town's got a bad name for travelers, Keeper. I don't doubt we could take care of anyone thinking to shake us down, but it would make an almighty mess in your clean inn.'

The innkeeper heaved a visible sigh of relief. 'My mind exactly, swordlady. I seen a few mercs in my time -- and you two look handier than most. But you dealin' with Gorley's bullyboys would leave me out of pocket for things broke -- more than losin' your night's lodging is gonna cost me.'

Tarma looked around the common room, and was mildly surprised to see that they were the only occupants other than a scruffy, curly-pated minstrel-type tucked up in one corner. She dismissed that one without a second thought. Too skinny to be any kind of fighter, so he wasn't one of Gorley's enforcers; dark of hair and dusky of skin, so he wasn't local. And he blinked in a way that told her he was just a tad shortsighted. No threat.

'That why you're a bit short on custom?' she asked. 'Not having travelers?'

'Nah -- it ain't market-day, that's all. We never was much on overnighters anyway, only got three rooms upstairs. Most folk stop at Lyavor or Grant's Hold. Always made our way on local custom. I bring you your wine, eh? You want that pie cold or het up?'

Tarma shuddered. 'Cold, cold -- I've had enough heat and dust today.'

'Then it won't be but a blink-'

The innkeeper hurried through the open door in the far wall that presumably led to the kitchen. Tarma sagged