The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(35)
The interior of the inn had an enormous common room with trestle tables and a single fire. It was full of travelers with packs, staves, and heavy boots, who had stopped to share drinks and rest from their various journeys. The room was warm and lively, and a set of musicians were tuning their instruments near a small stage at the far side of the room. Maia stared longingly at the troupe, eager to hear them play. Several of the inn patrons waved at her and her fellow travelers, acknowledging them cheerily. Some glanced more than once at Maia, and she regretted not raising her cowl before entering.
“How long should we stay?” she asked Jon Tayt.
“I will walk about the village a bit to gather news,” he replied, nodding at a fellow who seemed to recognize him. “With the Mark’s army so near, it may not be wise to stay the night. Get some food and drink for supper. I will be back soon. Try not to draw attention to yourself.”
Maia nodded and headed toward an uninhabited table in the shadows, trailed by the kishion. A server brought over a tray of meat and bread and oil with herbs to start, collected a few coins from them, and then returned later with a cruse of oil and a pot of bubbling cheese and another filled with steaming broth. Maia was now familiar with the custom and began to skewer pieces of meat and set them in the pots to cook. The kishion was not one for conversation, so they silently dunked the bread into the cheese and ate.
The musicians began to strike up some music, an airy tune. Some of the younger patrons began clearing away the trestle tables to form a space to dance. It seemed like this was the place that many of the young in town came to enjoy themselves. They began some of the popular dances that Maia had learned as a child, and soon the floor was thrumming with reverberations from their shoes and boots, and the music filling the hall was joined by ardent clapping. The feeling was lively and fresh, and it reminded her of some of the court parties her father was famous for. He was a lively dancer himself, and Maia had always enjoyed it.
The kishion snorted, brooding over a cup of wine.
Hoping to glean some information, Maia asked one of the serving girls if she could see the innkeeper, whom Collier had identified as Clem Pryke. The girl nodded and left to fetch her master. Moments later a man came up to the table, furiously wiping a tankard with a rag. “Welcome to the Gables,” he said. “We do not have any rooms free, but you are welcome to enjoy a meal and dance with us, lass.”
“You have no rooms available?” Maia asked curiously, surprised they were already so full.
“The king’s army is nearby, and I have been asked to hold rooms in case. I am sorry, my lady.”
“And what if the king’s men do not come?” asked a familiar voice.
Maia had not seen him approach, but she instantly recognized Feint Collier’s voice, and it startled her. He put his arm around the innkeeper’s shoulder, emphasizing the difference in their heights.
“You know as well as I do, Master Collier, that I am paid for the rooms whether they are used or no. Had a sack of coins left with me earlier this day, in fact. Was not expecting you for several days. You are early.”
“A change in my plans,” he replied with a broad smile that seemed to be directed at Maia. “If the rooms are to sit empty unless the king’s men arrive, may not she be loaned one? Let her have a room, Clem. She can have mine. I would just as soon sleep in the stables. You know that.”
Maia felt a flush of pleasure, which she stifled immediately, and shook her head. “We will not be staying. I was only asking out of curiosity. The Gables is a lovely inn, Master Pryke.”
Feint Collier clapped the innkeeper on the back. “When my lady commands, I must obey. You have a good stable lad, Clem. He knows how to treat a horse. Here is an extra crown for him. Who are the musicians? Where do they hail from?”
“From Pinnowe,” the innkeeper said. “Good music always draws in a crowd. Best to you all.” He gave them a warm smile and a nod, then left.
As soon as the innkeeper faded into the crowd, Feint Collier’s expression changed, turning deadly serious. “The village in the mountains was massacred,” he whispered through clenched teeth.
Maia felt a jolt of queasiness. “It was Corriveaux,” she whispered. “He was traveling with soldiers who wore the king’s uniform.”
Raw fury flooded his gaze. “When the king hears of this . . .” he said. “I swear they have gone too far. Many souls escaped in the dark and fled to Roc-Adamour. They said it was the Dochte Mandar who did it. Like in olden times. They came from across the mountains, from the cursed lands. They were chasing someone.” He looked at her pointedly.
“This you already know,” Maia said. Her stomach felt like a hive of ants. “Why are you here?”
“Maybe I wanted to see you again,” he answered quietly, “before you disappear forever.”
Maia swallowed, her insides buzzing. “I must disappear,” she whispered. “No one who is near me will be safe. We must go.” The kishion scooted his chair back and rose, his eyes full of malice as he gazed at the intruder at the table.
Collier shook his head. “I have thrown them off your trail,” he said. “They are searching Roc-Adamour still, looking from house to house and stopping every person attempting to leave. They believe you are still there.” He gave her a coaxing smile. “I bought you time, my lady. No need to flee.”