swell out into a hard gut.
Par-Salian nodded and lightly clinked the purse hanging from his belt. The man happily slapped him on the back, leaving a stinging spot, and sat him down on the stool with both beefy hands on his shoulders.
“Then you’re our most honored guest!” he said. “Name’s Tarmann. What drink to wet your lips?”
“The house brew,” Par-Salian said, hoping to hide his ignorance of the local customs and flavors.
That seemed to please Tarmann, who promptly grinned and moved off to the bar. Par-Salian had a moment’s quiet to reflect on the people around him. Finally, he felt at ease again … normal in the company of others. A redheaded server approached the table with a pitcher and poured the cold water to the muddy ground while Par-Salian washed his hands in the stream. A moment later, Tarmann returned with the mug of beer and gave Par-Salian the run of the menu. Unfortunately, there was only pork to be eaten warm and a crumbling rye bread, but there were a good variety of pottages including Par-Salian’s favorite, a barley dish.
Par-Salian smiled at his good fortune and eagerly awaited his cooked meal.
Tarmann poured another drink from the barrel, an expensive mead he rarely served, and handed it to the dwarf with a braided beard. He offered customers a gregarious smile to their faces when their gaze met his, but when nobody was looking, he fixed Par-Salian with look of consternation.
Finally, Tarmann motioned over the redheaded server, his young nephew. The boy obliged quickly, knowing better than to try his uncle’s patience. Tarmann brought the boy behind a stack of barrels, out of sight of the customers.
“Well?” Tarmann asked.
“He’s got lots of pouches,” the boy responded with a shrug. “I suppose them’s the kind of pouches we was told to look out for.”
Tarmann nodded. “Right then. Go find that cloaked lass who came in earlier. Tell her or her two mates we got someone that looks like they described. Go on now. Hurry.”
His nephew nodded and ran past the tent flap. Tarmann returned behind the bar’s counter, all smiles and eager glances at Par-Salian.
Ladonna pulled her Abanasinian gently, coaxing it along with a carrot. It didn’t really need much encouragement, but Ladonna was feeling particularly generous today. The few minutes spent alone, despite the crowd of people, was an unexpected luxury. And she planned to indulge in its every moment.
She scoured the knickknacks and tidbits scattered about on the blankets, looking for anything that caught her eye. Most of it was of poor craft and made with even cheaper materials, much like those made by the beggar- vendors in the Labyrinth Market of Palanthas. But even the shoddiest work could be a treasure in disguise. She loved jewelry in particular, be it a rusted locket with a dormant charm hidden within or a ring with enough of an enchanted mote to sparkle just so. Ladonna’s gift lay in discovering items with a bit of magic left in them. Even if the artifact was spent of the arcane and merely an empty vessel long forgotten of its purpose, she was drawn to it.
That was how she had earned the attention of a wizard of High Sorcery. There she was, a street urchin with fingers light enough to lift any purse and a gaudy array of jewelry and forget-me-nots best left to the dung heap. She was common trash to most, but to the wizard who spotted her, the echo of magic in everything she owned was unmistakable. If she possessed such an innate sense of the arcane, the wizard realized, then she could be trained to wield it as well. And it was easy to convince her; she took one look at the wizard’s possessions and was suddenly in love with him.
Well, not him, she corrected herself, but with the power he possessed. Hello …
Ladonna’s eye caught the glimmer of a shine coming from a child’s toy-a wood carving of a strange knight. There was nothing Solamnic about the ornate curves of the toy knight’s shoulder pieces and the twin mounted horns that spiraled upward from his helm. The paint was gone, leaving behind only the hint of a color, and the wood itself was cracked.
It’s ancient, Ladonna realized. Pre-Cataclysm.
Whatever magic it once possessed was likely gone, but even without scrying the piece, Ladonna recognized it as a child’s luck charm.
“That soldier,” Ladonna said. “How much?”
“A Lord’s pence,” the elderly woman said.
Ladonna tossed her a copper stamped with the Lord’s Palace Seal of Palanthas and grabbed the soldier. She studied the piece as she walked away, trying to divine more from it. Perhaps there was a scrap of magic left in it, enough to enthrall a child and protect him if only once. She smiled and continued walking through the crowd, searching for anything else intriguing even though she knew she was already lucky enough for one day.
It was thanks to that state of calm that Ladonna almost missed the cloaked figure moving through the crowd. Ladonna’s gaze washed over the almond-eyed woman a dozen feet away before her gaze snapped back to her. She recognized the renegade huntress Dumas from Virgil Morosay’s trial. Her heart dropped and for no reason she could justify, she suddenly feared the woman who was walking away from her.
Don’t be silly, you’re on a mission for the conclave … as a renegade, she added as an afterthought.
Dumas seemed intent on something. She was searching the crowd for someone.
Us.
Impossible, Ladonna thought. Why would the highmage complicate their assignment by sending a renegade hunter after them? It didn’t make sense, but it seemed too great a coincidence that Dumas was there at the same time as they were.
Maybe Highmage Astathan sent the renegade hunter to help us? Then why not mention it before, Ladonna answered. Hope could be a strong motivator, but it was a poor planner. Ladonna had learned that the hard way growing up. No, it was better to prepare for the worst. And the worst thing she could imagine right then was that the renegade hunter was after them. That was the safer assumption. If that was the case, however, who sent them and was Dumas alone?
Reginald Diremore?
Ladonna’s palms turned slick with sweat. Had she overplayed her hand with Reginald? Was he more vindictive then she anticipated? Ladonna wasn’t sure, but it made sense. Diremore wanted them to fail so he didn’t have to challenge Highmage Astathan’s faith in Par-Salian openly.
With a sinking weight in her belly, Ladonna followed Dumas deeper into the crowd. Her thoughts were in turmoil, however. Should she turn around and warn the others? Or continue to track the renegade hunter?
Tythonnia approached the encampment of wagons on foot. There were bow top wagons with curved roofs, and box-framed wagons that looked like miniature cabins balanced precariously on their wheels. The old wagons were all wood covered and bleached of color, but the carvings and fluting on many were intricate and beautiful. The wagons were arranged in a circle, with a communal hearth at the center.
Most people steered clear of the encampment. The Vagros were not widely trusted.
Tythonnia thrilled at the prospect of seeing a legitimate Vagros caravan for a second time in her life. Following the Cataclysm three hundred years before, the Vagros began as refugees looking for new homes in the savage and broken continent of Ansalon. As people settled into new homes and founded new communities, however, the Vagros, or “Wanderers,” emerged as those who’d developed a taste for a nomadic life. They became insular and distrusted, thieves some would say, though Tythonnia never believed the rumors fully. She held that the misconception of Vagros as thieves came about in the dark days after the Cataclysm, when theft was sometimes a necessity of survival.
Still, the humans, elves, and dwarves shunned them, but it was said their ties with the eager and wander- struck kender were strong. In fact, Tythonnia could see three kender traveling with the Vagros, their clothing bright and garish, two with topknots, blond and brown, and one dirty-blond fellow with a short crop of hair. The kender were four feet tall, and they played games with the Vagros children, matching their energy and enthusiasm bit for bit.
Tythonnia had heard that Vagros caravans made annual stops in kender communities and in the cities of Kender-more and Hylo. The Vagros brought them gifts and stories from across the lands, and the kender offered supplies and more stories in return. They bartered in tales and whispers of adventure.
