in by a farmer after collapsing as the Lady was killed. When she had recovered enough to start the journey back to her temple there’d seemed little point. Legana and Ardela had found her, still in shock, and with no idea what she should be doing.
‘But a drink first,’ Ardela added, at which the man stepped back and ushered them in.
Ardela led the way, followed by Legana, who was ostensibly being helped by Shanas - though a careful observer would have noticed little actual assistance being given or taken. The bar was low-ceilinged, and all three women had to walk carefully, to avoid catching their heads on the bowed beams crossing the room. A pleasantly pungent wood burned in the central fireplace, giving the room a welcoming feel, but despite that the place was less than half-full. The patrons - who looked to be locals - were all, with the exception of one man, squeezed around the tables on the far side of the fire.
That single drinker sat at the near end of the bar with his back to them. It was immediately obvious that he was the reason they were all keeping their distance: the man was massive, as broad as a Chetse, even without the bulky sheepskin coat he wore. What grabbed Ardela’s attention even more than the large man was the huge crescent-bladed axe propped up against the bar within easy reach. It looked to be made of black-iron, with a brass-capped, forward-curved handle, and it had spikes on the reverse and top. This was neither a forester’s axe, nor even that of a professional soldier.
‘If we’re lucky he’s a mercenary, and one who takes his trade seriously,’ she thought, catching Legana’s attention.
As the Mortal-Aspect of the Lady looked around the bar through her blindfold, the mercenary stiffened. He turned to face them, one hand slipping to his axe handle.
‘Here to start a fight?’ he called, using Farlan but in a rough accent Ardela couldn’t place. ‘If so, that’s your hard luck.’ His cropped hair was shot through with grey, and his face was weatherbeaten and wrinkled. He bore a distinctive curved scar on his cheek. And he was a white-eye.
‘Bugger, a Raylin.’
‘Just passing through,’ Ardela replied in what she hoped was a placatory voice, ‘but I hear the tower’s the place to be tonight.’
‘Mebbe,’ he said, curious now. ‘Doubt you’ll be welcome without an invite.’ He reached behind him and grabbed his mug, and downed the rest of his beer, his eyes never leaving Legana. ‘About time I headed off there. Can tag along if you want.’
He plucked the huge axe from the floor like it was a twig and slipped from his stool, giving the three women a wide grin. The innkeeper rushed out of a door at the end of the bar, presumably to have the man’s horse fetched.
Adding to Ardela’s confusion, the white-eye carefully fished out a copper coin and deposited it on the bar before heading towards them. Men who looked like him rarely paid for their drinks - they knew full well they wouldn’t be challenged over a single pint. Innkeepers were normally pleased to see them leaving without blood being spilled; a pint was a small price to pay for peace.
‘What’s your name?’ Ardela found herself asking without thinking.
He stopped and looked her up and down, grinning. ‘I got lots o’ names.’ He pointed at Legana. ‘You tell me her story and I’ll give you one.’
Without waiting for a reply he continued to the door.
Shanas had to hop out of the way rather than be knocked over. Ardela stared after him, until she realised Legana still wore her small smile.
‘Luck is a choice taken,’ Legana said to her companions, a phrase each had heard often as novices of the Lady.
Ardela sighed, recognising from Legana’s expression that, once again, chance favoured Fate’s Mortal-Aspect, and followed him out.
Outside they were greeted by the sound of hooves as a stablehand brought over the mercenary’s horse. Again the Raylin image didn’t quite fit. The horse, though an ugly-looking beast, looked impeccably cared for, and yellow and blue ribbons were threaded through its braided mane.
The white-eye set off in the direction of the castle, leading his horse, giving no sign that he was even aware of the three women trailing along behind until they reached the edge of the town, where he turned and called out, ‘Whole town’s shitting themselves. No lord of the castle, just a steward who don’t use the tower, and all