Damien swung down and grabbed his rucksack. Lane joined him, pausing to collect the smallest of her bags from the back of the mule. They trudged through a foot of snow to the back door of the station. An iron ring served as door knob and Damien pulled it open. He went through first like a proper bodyguard.
The main room had a big, potbellied iron stove in the center that threw off a pleasant heat, its chimney running up through the roof. Four chairs sat around a rough-hewn dinner table. Two closed doors, one straight ahead and a second to his right, led to other rooms. Not exactly luxury, but it would do.
Lane came in behind him. “What a dump.”
The door straight ahead opened and a bald man wearing a leather apron stepped into the room, a crossbow at his shoulder ready to fire. “Who the hell are you?”
Damien was halfway across the room before he finished the question. Damien leapt onto the table, gathered himself, and leapt again.
His heel crashed into the man’s crossbow. It clattered to the floor.
Damien grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him into the wall. “Nigel?”
Nigel croaked something then settled for nodding.
“I’m Damien, that’s Lane. We’ll be spending the night tonight. The stable master said you could show us where everything is. If I let you go you’re not going to go for that crossbow, right?”
A red-faced Nigel shook his head.
“Good.” Damien released him and stepped back. “Crossbows make me nervous.”
Nigel coughed and rubbed his throat. “You didn’t look nervous. Who are you again?”
Lane flashed the badge a second time. “Diplomatic corps. You must forgive my bodyguard. He can be over protective.”
Nigel coughed again. “You don’t say.”
Damien bent down, removed the bolt from the crossbow, and uncocked it. “Here. Be careful, you could hurt someone with that thing.”
Nigel managed a hoarse laugh. “Yeah, like myself. Dinner’s a few hours away. Want me to set up the tub?”
“Yes!” he and Lane said at the same time.
The second door led to a supply room with an open space for the heavy iron tub. They melted snow on the stove to fill it. The whole process took half an hour. It would have taken double that, but Damien sped up the project with a little subtle sorcery.
Of course, Lane went first. She went in and slammed the door. A moment later it opened again. “I’d better not catch you peeking.”
“Can I peek as long as you don’t catch me?”
Lane slammed the door again. He took that as a no. Damien had only been half joking about peeking. Lane was a beautiful woman if you looked past her personality. He wouldn’t have minded a closer view of those long legs. He sighed. The look wasn’t worth the argument. Anyway he had more pressing matters to attend to.
Damien dug a scrap of paper and pencil out of his kit and wrote a quick, two-sentence note to the archmage. She’d taught Damien how to send his constructs to a location he knew so he didn’t have to guide the message the whole way. He conjured a bird and sent it to his master’s office. That little task finished he pulled a chair over beside the stove, grabbed a second one to use as a footstool and settled in to wait.
A hot bath followed by a hot meal left Damien in a much-improved mood. His good mood soured slightly when Nigel explained that they had to sleep on the floor. At least they were inside and warm.
Damien woke early as usual and found a scroll on his chest sealed with crimson wax. A reply from the archmage. How had she gotten that scroll inside the station?
He slipped out of his bedroll and headed for the outhouse. Damien shivered when the cold air hit him. With a thought he increased the temperature of the air inside his shield. It was pitch black out this early in the morning, but the short path was well marked.
Damien closed and latched the door of the rickety little building. He conjured a tiny light and settled down to read. One good thing about the cold: it kept the stink to a minimum.
Fifteen minutes later he finished reading about Jen’s adventure. It sounded like she’d had a rough time. She was okay, and that was what mattered. At least they knew Dominic Santen hadn’t been involved in the assassination attempt, though his son appeared mixed up in it.
Damien sighed and incinerated the message. He hated complicated things like this. He wished someone would just tell him who to blast and let him get on with it. Oh, well.
Chapter 22
Ten weeks later found Damien and Lane on the outskirts of the first good-sized town they’d seen since the capital. The roofs of two-story buildings rose above the wooden palisade that surrounded the town. This far south the worst of the cold had passed and the first buds were visible on the maples growing along the road. A single, four-story mansion towered above all the other buildings. Damien assumed it belonged to whichever noble oversaw the town.
“What’s the name of this place again?”
Lane glanced over at him. “Allentown.”
“Right. And we’re stopping here why?”
She sighed. “Because we have another week until the meeting and I want to spend a little time getting a feel for what the people think about the barons’ plan to leave the kingdom. We’re only forty miles from the border. These people sit right on the edge of a potential war zone if the barons abandon their responsibilities and let the bandits cross en masse.”
“Does that matter in the grand scheme of things?” Damien wanted to tell her even if she failed the barons wouldn’t be allowed to leave the kingdom alive.
“Of course it matters!”
Damien raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe it doesn’t matter to the negotiations,
