Leesil unhooked the donkey and tied it in an area with sufficient grass, then returned to the fire.
"We passed a side road half a league back," he said absently, taking a waterskin off the ground and pouring water into the cooking pot for tea. "Might lead off to a village."
"If you wanted to stop, you should have said something," Magiere answered just as casually.
"I didn't want to…" Finally angered by his partner's polite front, he snapped, "You know exactly what I mean! Maybe this isn't Stravina, but the nights are just as dark in peasant villages here. We're passing profit by for no reason other than you don't feel like working. You want to buy a tavern? Fine, but I don't see why we have to leave the game nearly coinless."
"I'm not coinless," Magiere reminded him.
"Well, I am!" Her serene attitude infuriated him. "I've only a share from one village, and you didn't give me any warning. If I'd known we were backing out, I would have made some plans."
"No, you wouldn't have," she said, not looking at him, her voice still calm. "D'areeling red wine is expensive, or if it wasn't wine, you would have found a card game somewhere or a pretty tavern girl with a sad story. Telling you earlier wouldn't have changed anything."
Sighing, Leesil searched his mind for a way to convince her. He knew she was thinking a great deal more than she said. They'd been working together a long time, but she always kept an invisible wall up between herself and everyone else. Most of the time he was comfortable with that, even appreciated it. He had his own secrets to keep.
"Why not one more?" he asked finally. "There's bound to be other villages along—"
"No, I can't do it anymore." She closed her eyes as if to shut out the world. "Pushing that mad villager's body into the river… I'm too tired."
"All right. Fine." He turned away. "Tell me about the tavern then."
The enthusiasm in her voice picked up.
"Well, Miiska is a small fishing community that's doing good business on the coastal sea route. There will be plenty of workers and a few sailors looking to drink and gamble after a hard day. The tavern has two floors, with the living quarters upstairs. I haven't thought of a name yet. You're better at things like that. You could even paint a sign for the door."
"And you want me running the games, even though you know I lose half the time?" he asked.
"I said running the games, not playing them. That's why the house wins, and you always end up with an empty purse. Just run an honest faro table, and we'll go on being partners just like always. Things aren't changing as much as you think."
He got up and put some more wood on the fire, not knowing why he was being so difficult. Magiere's offer was generous, and she'd always been straight with him. Well, as straight as she could be with such a tight lip. No one else in his life had ever included him in their every plan. Perhaps he just didn't like the unknown risks that might be hiding in so much change.
"How far is this Musky place?" he asked.
"Miiska." Magiere sighed heavily. "It's called Miiska, and it's about four more leagues south. If we make good time, we might make it there by late tomorrow."
Leesil pulled the wineskin from his pack as Chap circled the camp, sniffing about. His mind began to truly consider Magiere's plans for the tavern, and the possibilities gnawed at him softly. A bit of quiet and peace might put an end to his nightmares as well, but he doubted it.
"I may have a few ideas for a sign" he said finally.
Magiere's mouth curled up slightly, and she handed him an apple. "Tell me."
* * *
At the edge of the camp, a soft glimmer hung in the forest. Most would have taken it for the fading light of dusk, except where it moved through the shadows of trees. It moved closer, pausing each time the armored woman or fair-haired half-breed spoke, as if listening to every word. It stopped behind an oak at the edge of the fire's reaching light and settled there.
* * *
Rashed paced inside the back room of his warehouse. Tonight, he didn't wish to go outside and observe the giant glowing moon, as was his custom. Nervous tension lined his pale face as his booted feet clomped across the wooden