“You see interestingly,” the stranger said slowly, backing away from Teer and raising his hands placatingly. “I want no trouble here. I’m sorry if I’ve offended; I mean no harm.”
Somehow, that only made Teer angrier.
“No, sir, it’s fine. We’ll seat you elsewhere, away from this idiot.” The bartender was glaring at Teer now as she gestured for the Spehari to move away.
“Don’t you walk away from me!” Teer shouted.
He didn’t remember drawing the gun. He would never remember drawing the gun, but the quickshooter was in his hand before anyone in the bar could react, still at his hip as he pulled the trigger.
He’d remember that moment for the rest of his life, the cold certainty that cut through his drunken haze to tell him that he’d aimed perfectly. For an eternally cold moment, he realized he’d just killed a man for nothing.
But the stranger had moved almost as fast as he had. By the time Teer’s quickshooter was clear of his holster, the Spehari had a hand up facing him. Blue light flashed in the bar as a wall of shimmering energy blocked Teer’s bullet.
The young man gaped in drunken surprise at the blatant display of magic that confirmed that the stranger was Spehari, despite everyone else’s confusion.
He never saw the length of wood that smashed into the side of his head.
3
Teer woke up with about six kinds of headache. Groaning, he felt at his head without opening his eyes, wincing away from the bruise along the side of his head.
It didn’t feel like it was the only bruise. He felt like he’d fallen off a horse and been dragged along the ground. He had enough time to wonder just what had happened—and then it all came rushing back.
He was going to be sick.
Teer rolled off the low cot and opened his eyes, trying to find something to be sick into. He was in a bare room, maybe three paces on a side. The low cot was the only furniture, though there was at least a sink—and a bucket.
He grabbed the bucket just in time. For several minutes, not making a mess that he suspected he’d have to clean up was his only focus.
Finally, he was able to put the bucket aside and take another look at his surroundings. Unlike almost every structure in Alvid, the walls of the room were stone. There was a small window next to the ceiling that let light in, a long, narrow thing no one he’d ever met would fit through.
It was still barred, which was an unnecessary confirmation of the conclusion he drew from the stone walls. There was only one stone building in Alvid: the Wardkeeper’s office and jail. The watchtower with its clock was built on the roof of the stone block Teer was now sealed inside.
A panel slid aside in the door and someone looked through.
“Aw, fuck,” a voice Teer couldn’t place swore. “Niles, gonna have to swap out the bucket. Grab the jug and the plate while you’re on your way over, too. Let’s make this quick.”
The panel slid shut and Teer took a careful seat on the bed, his hands visible. He wasn’t sure how much trouble he was in—he hadn’t, thankfully, actually killed anyone—but he knew it was more than he’d ever managed before.
Being as cooperative as he could struck him as a good idea.
The door swung open a few minutes later. Two of the town Wardwatches, the Wardkeeper’s staff, stepped through. One was carrying a tray with a chunk of bread and a bowl of soup, with a new bucket hanging from one of the hands holding it.
The other held a jug of water in one hand—and a drawn quickshooter in the other.
“We going to have trouble, Teer?” Niles asked as he approached with the tray.
“No,” Teer said. “Sober now. Not sure I’m any smarter, but sober.”
He knew Niles, by name and face at least. The other Wardwatch he hadn’t met. They passed the jug over to Niles as the man Teer knew put the tray at the end of the cot.
“Keeper’s orders,” the unknown Wardwatch told him. “No one’s alone with you; someone’s always armed. You made quite the scene.”
“I recall most of it,” Teer said grimly. “I’m sorry.”
“Isn’t my call if sorry is enough,” the Wardwatch said. “But I don’t think it’s going to cut it.”
“No,” Teer agreed. “Sorry for the pain I’m causing you. Sorry about the rest, too, but that’s a bigger mess.”
The Wardwatch grunted.
“Knock on the door when you’re done with the tray,” he ordered. “We’ll collect it and you. Wardkeeper wants a word but wants you fed first.”
That was probably meant to be exactly as non-reassuring as it sounded.
“Thanks,” Teer said.
The two Wardwatches stepped back together, Niles leaving the cell first and the armed officer following him.
They were treating him like a murderer. Which was, Teer reflected, probably fair. He sighed.
At least the soup smelled good.
The Wardkeeper was probably the person in town who came closest to approaching a Spehari in paleness. He was a Rolin, the main race the Unity had conquered when they’d gone south from their original landing—as opposed to the Zeeanans, who they’d found when they’d gone north.
Komo was naturally pale, though turnings of manual labor and sun had faded him to the color of tea-stained paper. His hair was more white than black now, but Teer had no illusions about the strength and speed remaining in the old Keeper’s body.
“We need the manacles?” he asked calmly after Niles seated Teer in a chair in his office. He gestured to the metal cuffs around Teer’s wrists. “You going to do anything stupider?”
“No,” Teer said. “Leave ’em on if you want. Won’t matter much.”
“That’s what I figured.” Komo walked around the desk, gesturing for Niles to leave, and unlocked the manacles.
He tossed them onto the desk
