was a near-mirror of Dedan. The leather, the heavy sword, the slightly weatherworn and world-wise attitude. She had broad shoulders, strong hands, and a proud face with a jaw like a cinder-brick. Her hair was blonde and fine, but cut short, in the fashion of a man’s.
But to see her as a female version of Dedan was a mistake. She was reserved where Dedan was all bravado. And while Dedan had an easy manner when his temper wasn’t up, Hespe had a vague hardness about her, as if she were constantly expecting someone to give her trouble.
Marten was the oldest of us, our tracker. He wore a little leather, softer and better cared for than Dedan’s or Hespe’s. He carried a long knife, a short knife, and a hunter’s bow.
Marten had worked as a huntsman before falling out of favor with the baronet whose forests he had tended. Mercenary work was a poor job by comparison, but it kept him fed. His skill with a bow made him valuable despite the fact that he wasn’t nearly as physically imposing as either Dedan or Hespe.
The three of them had formed a loose partnership some months ago and had been selling their services as a group ever since. Marten told me they’d done other jobs for the Maer, the most recent of which involved scouting some of the lands around Tinuë.
It took me about ten minutes to realize Marten should be the leader of this expedition. He had more woodcraft than all the rest of us put together and had even hunted men for bounty once or twice. When I mentioned this to him, he shook his head and smiled, telling me that being able to do something and wanting to do it were two very different things indeed.
Last was me: their fearless leader. The Maer’s letter of introduction had described me as, “a discerning young man of good education and diverse useful qualities.” While this was perfectly true, it also made me sound like the most wretchedly useless court dandy in existence.
Not helping matters was the fact that I was younger than any of them by years and wearing clothes more suited for a dinner party than the road. I carried my lute and the Maer’s purse. I wore no sword, no armor, no knife.
I daresay they didn’t quite know what to make of me.
The sun was about an hour from setting when we passed a tinker on the road. He wore the traditional brown robe, belted with a length of rope. He didn’t have a cart, but led a single donkey so loaded with bundles of oddments that it looked like a mushroom.
He made his slow way toward us, singing:
I laughed and applauded. Proper traveling tinkers are a rare breed of people, and I am always glad to see one. My mother told me they were lucky, and my father had valued them for their news. The fact that I was in desperate need of a few items made this meeting three times welcome.
“Ho, Tinker,” Dedan said, smiling. “I need fire and a pint. How long before we hit an inn?”
The tinker pointed back the way he had come. “Not twenty minutes’ walk.” He eyed Dedan. “But you can’t tell me there’s nothing you need,” he admonished. “Everyone needs something.”
Dedan shook his head politely. “I beg your pardon, Tinker. My purse is too thin.”
“How about you?” The tinker eyed me up and down. “You’ve the look of a lad who’s wanting something.”
“I do need a few things,” I admitted. Seeing the others look longingly down the road, I motioned them on. “Go ahead,” I told them. “I’ll be a few minutes.”
As they headed off, the tinker rubbed his hands together, grinning. “Well now, what is it you’re looking for?”
“Some salt to begin with.”
“And a box to put it in,” he said as he began to rummage around in his donkey’s packs.
“I could use a knife too, if you have one that’s not too hard to come by.”
“Especially if you’re heading north,” he said without missing a beat. “Dangerous road that way. Wouldn’t do to be without a knife.”
“Did you have any trouble?” I asked, hoping he might know something that could help us find the bandits.
“Oh no,” he said as he dug through his packs. “Things aren’t so bad that anyone would dream of laying hands on a tinker. Still, it’s a bad stretch of road.” He produced a long, narrow knife in a leather sheath and handed it to me. “Ramston steel.”
I drew it out of its sheath, and gave the blade a close look. It was Ramston steel. “I don’t need anything that fine,” I said, handing it back. “I’ll be putting it to everyday use, eating mostly.”
“Ramston’s fine for everyday use,” the tinker said pushing it back into my hands. “You can use it to trim kindling, then shave with it if you like. Keeps an edge forever.”
“I might have to put it to hard use,” I clarified. “And Ramston’s brittle.”
“There is that,” the tinker admitted easily. “As my father always used to say, ‘the best knife you’ll ever have until it breaks.’ But the same could be said of any knife. And truth be told, that’s the only knife I have.”
I sighed. I know when I’m being skinned. “And a tinderbox.”
He held one out almost before I finished saying it. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve got a little ink about the fingers.” He gestured at my hands. “I’ve got some paper here, good quality. Pen and ink too. Nothing worse than having an idea for a song and not being able to write it down.” He held out a leather parcel of paper, pens, and ink.
I shook my head, knowing that the Maer’s purse would only stretch so far. “I think I’m done with song writing for a while, Tinker.”
He shrugged, still holding it out. “Letter writing then. I know a fellow who had to open a vein once to write a note to his ladylove. Dramatic, true. Symbolic, certainly. But also painful, unsanitary, and more than slightly macabre. Now he carries pen and ink with him wherever he goes.”
I felt the color drain from my face as the tinker’s words reminded me of something else I’d forgotten in my rush to leave Severen: Denna. All thought of her had been forced out of my mind by the Maer’s talk of bandits, two bottles of strong wine, and a night with no sleep. I had left without a word after our terrible fight. What would she think if I spoke so cruelly to her, then simply disappeared?
I was already a full day’s journey from Severen. I couldn’t go back just to tell her I was leaving, could I? I considered it for a moment. No. Besides, Denna herself had disappeared for days without a word of warning. Surely she would understand if I did the same. . . .
The harsh
“More through than to,” he said. “But yes.”
“I just remembered a letter I need to send. If I gave it to you, could you deliver it to a certain inn?”
He nodded slowly. “I could,” he said. “Given that you’ll be needing paper and ink. . . .” He smiled, waving the package again.
I grimaced. “I will, Tinker. But how much will the lot of this cost me?”
He looked at the accumulated items. “Salt and box: four bits. Knife: fifteen bits. Paper, pens, and ink:
