When Kestrel was settled into a seat in the office, Cosima began talking. “According to Silvan, you’re going out on a mission, and we need to sharpen your skills before you go, especially with horses. So I’m going to send you out on a horse to Green Water. It’s a small human harbor on the North Sea, at the foot of the Water Mountains. They ship mining goods out of there.
“Ride your horse to Green Water. Find out anything you think is interesting, then ride back here. That should be eight or nine days each way — plenty of riding. That’ll give Silvan time to send another message with further instructions. Did you know about that?” Cosima asked.
“He told me about it,” Kestrel affirmed.
“Good. Go tell Arlen what you’re going to do, and get on a horse as soon as possible,” Cosima ordered. “Any questions?”
“No,” Kestrel said after a moment’s thought. Within three hours, after a long, friendly reunion with Arlen, Kestrel was in the saddle and traveling alone to Green Water.
The journey was simple at first. He rode through the forest, past the nut gatherers, into more sparsely populated parts of the forest, and then into parts where there seemed to be virtually no one at all except the occasional settler. The forest switched to a large marsh, and he rode around the north end of that, taking a day of riding in the rain just to get past the bog. By then he was in an open country, with few trees and open plains which stretched without interruption until he reached the coast. He was eight days into his trip by then, and he and his horse were partners that understood one another very well.
For two more days he rode along the coastline, captivated by the beauty and the smell and the birds and animals that inhabited it. On the second day along the coast he rode through rain until he smelled smoke, and he came to farms and then his narrow road merged with a larger, busier one that came down out of the mountains that he could barely see through the misty rains, a road that led him directly into Green Water within another hour.
The town was both old and raw, it seemed. There were some structures that were aged and solid, such as the temple to Shaish, the goddess of the water. But most of the buildings were raw wood, looking cheap and temporary. Some were burnt shells, sitting empty along the main road that led from the south straight to the docks in the small harbor. The road was a busy one, with constant traffic, consisting mostly of mules carrying cargo towards the seafront.
“Come in, come in handsome man. We’ve got the best-looking women in the town. Come in while you’re still good-looking and you can have a discount,” a man called from a balcony where he stood above the street, sheltered from rain by a canvas awning, while a number of women sat idly by, paying attention to nothing in particular.
Kestrel rode on by, trying to figure out what the barker was selling. “How much for the horse?” another man asked as Kestrel continued down the road. “I’ll give you top dollar. You’ll have enough to outfit yourself for a good gold stake in the mountains,” he called as Kestrel passed. “Or enough to gamble for a week, longer if you’re good!” the horse-buyer offered.
Two men came stumbling out of a bar, walking into the road directly in front of his horse. Kestrel pulled up the reins to prevent an accident, and as he did, one of the men suddenly grabbed the halter, while another man came from behind Kestrel and tried to pull him out of the saddle.
Kestrel started to fall backwards. He flailed his left hand out wide, and grabbed hold of his staff. In one fluid motion he lifted it and swung it in a wide arc that struck solidly on the head of the man behind his back, who was trying to pull him down. The man let go and Kestrel struggled up, then swung his staff again, aiming for the man at the halter, and rapping his knuckles sharply.
He dug his heels into his horse’s ribs, not caring if he trampled the hijackers he had encountered, and swung his staff wide on each side as his horse jumped in response to his command. The trio around him scattered in self-preservation, and Kestrel reined his horse around, and rode carefully back away from the center of town, past the places that he had seen.
After fifteen minutes he came back to the quieter part of the city, the eastern edge, away from the mountain road, and away from the dockyard. He saw a blacksmith shop that appeared to have a stable, and he rode into the yard, where he dismounted.
“Can I leave my horse here in your stables?” he asked a boy who was crossing the yard with a pail of water in each hand.
“Hold on!” the boy shouted as he hurried on his way into the forge. He came back out two minutes later, as Kestrel dismounted and waited with his horse.
“Here he is,” the boy called over his shoulder, and a large man came out behind him.
“What do you need?” the apparent blacksmith asked.
“I wondered if I could stable my horse here while I go into the town,” Kestrel restated his intention.
“Why?” the blacksmith asked simply.
Kestrel told his tale. “So it seems safer on foot, maybe,” he ended, suddenly wondering if he had any cause at all to really go into the city. His test had been to ride and bond with the horse, he felt, not to brawl and get robbed pointlessly.
“You fought off three of them?” the blacksmith asked.
“With my staff,” Kestrel reached back and rested his hand on the length of wood demonstrably.
“I tell you what,” the blacksmith said. “I won’t rent a stall in my stables,” he saw the look of disappointment on Kestrel’s face, and held a hand up. “But for a customer I would let your horse stay here at no charge while I do a job for you.”
“I have no work I need done,” Kestrel protested.
“Sure you do,” the blacksmith said. “In Green Water you need to have metal caps on the ends of your staff. It’s a much more effective tool. I’ll fabricate and install ends on your staff for you for five silvers, while your horse stays here, and you can borrow one of my staffs to carry into town. How does that sound?”
“What kinds of caps do you install?” Kestrel asked. “Five silvers is a lot.”
The blacksmith sent his assistant into the forge, and the boy came immediately back with a staff, which he handed to Kestrel. Kestrel held the staff in front of his face as he examined the metal ends. The caps were heavy; they’d throw his balance off until he got used to them. But they were intriguing; one end had a number of small spikes that jutted out, while the other end had a pair of sturdy looking hooks.
He thought immediately of the additional abilities the tools would provide, both lethal and useful. “Step back,” he motioned for some open space, and then he began to practice the forms and positions Arlen had taught him, feeling the extra weight, and adjusting to it as he swung and poked and ripped the wooden staff in the space all around him.
“Alright; it’s a deal,” he agreed, as he walked back to the blacksmith.
“You know how to handle that; you’ve had training. Where are you from, and why are you here?” the blacksmith asked as he watched Kestrel count the coins out of the purse on his belt.
“I’ve been in Estone, and I came here because I’ve never been here before,” Kestrel answered easily.
“How long will we keep the horse?” the stable boy asked.
“This afternoon, maybe into the night,” Kestrel said. “Will you be here when I return?”
“I sleep in the loft, with three blankets,” the boy answered.
“Try to find a clean doxy,” the blacksmith advised. When Kestrel looked at him blankly, he added, “You don’t want to get a pox do you? Try to pick a woman who hasn’t been in the house long. It probably won’t help, but you ought to have the sense to try.”
Recognition dawned in Kestrel. “I’m not here to try that,” he said, finally understanding what he had seen earlier in the town. His cheeks grew red, and the blacksmith laughed.
“You take that staff along to protect yourself from the doxies and you’ll be fine. Watch out for the pickpockets and the drunks too,” the smith turned and carried Kestrel’s staff into the smithy. Kestrel went back to his horse and grabbed his sword, wrapping the belt around his hips, and for good measure he pulled his bow and arrows free as well.
The rain had stopped falling as he talked to the smith, so he pulled his hood down as he started walking back into town. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see or accomplish, but he had been sent all the way to Green Water, and he wasn’t going to turn around to leave without seeing something of the town.
The trip was slower, and dirtier, as he traveled afoot, stepping repeated around or over droppings from the
