Midnight Quest (37 page)

His first priority was catching the blond and shutting him up afore he could say something disastrous to Jewel.

He would worry about making up a plausible story to why Jewel had lost an armsman later.

Chapter Twenty-four

They left Rounsefell at an ungodly hour of the morning. Jewel blearily sat in her saddle, glad that she didn’t have to guide her horse, because with her half-awake state they’d surely be in some ditch by now. Really, who’d decided that they needed to leave
this
early? Not even the birds were properly awake! She silently promised herself to sneak something nasty into their bedroll later, though. Just as soon as she remembered who it was.

The road started out very quiet, but that didn’t last long. Jewel caught the sounds of several caravans with heavily loaded wagons creak past, many parties on horseback, and several tourists who called out friendly hellos to anyone they saw. Several times they had to hug one side of the road in order to let others by. Fortunately they were on a smoothly paved highway and so not much dust could be kicked up. If this had been a typical dirt road, Jewel had no doubt she’d be caked with dust by this point.

Sarvell waited until they were off the main highway and away from the noise of the road before falling back toward the center of the group. “Alright, while we’re on the road without assassins distracting us, I have an important question to ask.” Sarvell had a serious air but there was the slightest hint of amusement lurking in his voice. “Have any of you ever visited Jordia before?”

Jewel couldn’t fathom why Sarvell would find this question humorous and her brow furrowed slightly in bemusement as she responded, “No, I never have. Rialt? Chizeld?”

“No.”

“Never.”

“Hmmm.” Sarvell was
definitely
amused now. “Alright, then let me explain a few things. I’ve been there several times before and it’s a tricky culture for outsiders to deal with.”

“Tricky, he says,” Rialt observed suspiciously. “And with an evil little smile on his face. I be no going to like this.”

“You especially,” Sarvell admitted frankly. “You’re a direct man. The Jordians are anything
but
. They are a very polite society, almost to a fault. You never openly accuse anyone of being irritating, or causing problems. Even direct questions can be considered rude.”

Rialt just let out a long groan. Chizeld echoed him with an unhappy grumble.

“It gets worse,” Sarvell informed them with sadistic cheer. “They don’t think of objects as simply objects. Everything to them has a spirit to it. So your axe, Rialt, would not be your axe—it would be your friend or companion and that’s the only way you can really refer to it.”

“Sarvell, that be daft!” Rialt objected. “An axe be an axe.”

“Not to a Jordian, it isn’t. It’s your axe-friend, your battle companion, or your sharp friend, or something along those lines. The
only
time it is permissible to actually call an object by its name is the first time you enter a store and ask to buy it. But that’s the only time. After that first time, you have to refer to it as a new friend, companion, and so forth.”

“Confusing rules,” Chizeld observed. “So objects cannot be called ‘it’ either?”

“No, not at all. And you can’t ask where ‘it’ is. Refer to it as either he, she, they or some other personal pronoun.”

That would be especially challenging for Chizeld, as his clan didn’t use pronouns at all. Jewel tried to imagine how a person could talk with these rules and her mind quickly spat out another issue. “So we can’t actually walk into Jordia and ask directly where the crystal is?”

“No. Well, we can, but we’ll have to be very careful how we phrase it. We need to especially keep it in our heads that you must refer to the crystal as a living entity.”

“Me head be hurting already,” Rialt sighed. “If it be all the same to you, I think this trip I will play the part of the strong, silent armsman. You three can do the talking.”

“That actually might not be a bad idea,” Chizeld agreed. He sounded as if he were trying not to laugh. “Directness is bound to bring about trouble otherwise.”

“Something else you need to be aware of,” Sarvell warned more seriously, “is another cultural quirk of theirs. If you buy something, or order a meal, you cannot actually lay hands on it until you are given the story of its origin. So say we sit down and order a meal—the chef or serving girl will tell us about the ingredients and where they came from, how the meal was prepared, and any funny moments that might have occurred while it was being cooked. We have to listen to this whole story politely before we’re allowed to eat.”

“…now you be pulling our leg, man.”

“No, Rialt, I wish I were. I never once got to eat a hot meal on my previous visits.”

They pondered this for a long moment. Jewel thought that she would need a lot of patience to interact with the people of this clan, but she didn’t think it would really bother her much. Her normal day to day activities required patience. She couldn’t envision either Rialt or Chizeld handling this well for more than a few days, however, without their temper snapping.

“Maybe we’ll find the crystal in a largely deserted area?” she posed hopefully. “Like the Ramathan crystal. And it won’t take more than a few hours to slide it into place.”

“From your lips to the gods’ ears, lass.”

She had a sinking feeling that wouldn’t be the case.

They spent the rest of the day traveling and practicing their Jordian manners. In the process of stretching her mind to the limits, she remembered who it was that had suggested leaving before the crack of dawn: Chizeld. According to him, if they left early enough, they would make Darford by sunset and therefore have a place to stay for the night. If they didn’t, they’d have to camp outdoors.

Camping outdoors in and of itself didn’t bother anyone in the party. But now they associated it with danger. They had no guarantees that only one assassination group had been sent after them. Camping in an open area only invited danger and no one could really rest easy. During parts of the trip, they would have no choice but to camp outside, but they were all resolved to avoid it as much as possible.

Chizeld proved to be correct. They reached Darford just as the sun started to set. Jewel had never been so thankful to reach a town before. Her temples throbbed from having to think so much and her tongue felt like it had been tied into multiple knots. Everyone in the party must have felt the same way as they seemed to avoid talking as much as possible. Well, everyone except Sarvell—he just seemed amused. But then, he was used to this.

Darford seemed to be a fair sized town, larger than even Parod’s Ford. Then again, Darford saw a great deal of traffic as they provided ferry services across the Honoravar River. The only way to get from Shipp to Rounsefell was through Darford.

The town certainly knew how to handle that amount of traffic too. As they rode through the main section of town, Jewel heard many voices calling out the rates for a night’s stay as well as group rates. Judging from the callers, this whole street must be lined with inns. She could detect many different food smells lingering in the air, either from the inn’s kitchens or various street stalls. The whole place seemed to revolve around the traffic this town saw.

Sarvell went a little ahead of them, choosing an inn that he said he always stayed at while traveling through here. Jewel had a suspicion that part of the reason Elahandra had chosen him was just for his knowledge of Evard. He had travelled through almost every part of it at one time or another, and his knowledge of where to go made everything easier on her.

He met them at the door to the inn. As he reached up and helped her dismount, he informed her, “I’ve already told the inn keeper that we want to cross in the morning. He said it’s a long list, but he’s added us onto it. Sometime around noon we should be able to cross.”

“The inn keeper does the ferry schedule?” she asked in surprise.

“Every inn keeper does. It’s part of the system here. I guess it’s impossible to organize the traffic flow if they don’t. At any rate, we should be able to sleep in and have a leisurely breakfast tomorrow as I doubt we’ll make it across before lunch.”

“If that be the case, we might as well stay in Shipp tomorrow night,” Rialt observed.

“I don’t see why not,” Sarvell agreed. “We’ll lose about three hours of travel doing that, but we’re not on a tight schedule.”

“No,” Jewel agreed thoughtfully. Shipp would be the last city they could stay in until they reached Morton. It would take two days to reach it though, which meant two days of being out in the open. They should take advantage of any chance to get a good night’s sleep while they could. “Alright, let’s stay in Shipp, then.”

“Alright. The inn’s rather full, so I was only able to get two rooms,” Sarvell informed them. “Rialt, I assumed you want a cot on Jewel’s floor.”

“Good guess,” Rialt acknowledged a touch dryly. “And dinner?”

“Comes with the rooms. A bath does as well. Jewel, I’ll escort you there after dinner if you wish.”

“Sounds heavenly,” she admitted. Jewel liked being in water anyway, but after a full day’s travel, she felt like she needed a bath.

They were shown to their rooms, ate dinner and the like without anything eventful happening. The inn did prove to be quite full but as usual, people gave her a wide berth because of Bortonor. The men decided to take turns bathing, leaving one person standing guard outside the hallway leading to the bathing rooms. She didn’t think they were really worried about assassins, not with this crowd, but Sarvell warned that sneak thieves were not uncommon in Darford. The amount of merchants in such a crowded place seemed to attract thieves. Just in case, they had one man always guarding her.

Jewel didn’t think there would be any trouble. Even if someone did try to steal from her, Bortonor would bite the man’s hand off before anyone else could react. Still, she knew better than to try to argue any point that involved her safety. Frankly, she’d have better results arguing with a brick wall.

The women’s bathing room proved to be largely empty at this time, probably because everyone else was still eating dinner or settling into their rooms. Sarvell had stuck his head inside long enough to give her a basic description: six tubs—actually, they were very large wine barrels sawed in half—were lined up along either side of the wall. They all held warm water with a little tray of soap and stacks of towels nearby. Happy that she didn’t have to share the space, she quickly stripped, putting her clothes down on a bench.

She sank into the tub filled with warm water with a happy sigh and started washing the sweat from her skin. Conscious of the fact that there were quite a few guests, she didn’t linger in the water for too long, but stepped out once clean and dried off quickly.

“Oh heavens,” she said in vexation. “I forgot my robe.” She’d grabbed a clean shift but the robe had completely escaped her mind. Well, she’d just have to put her dirty clothes back on long enough to get to her room.

She had no inclination that anything was wrong until Bortonor abruptly stood and let loose a low, threatening growl. She’d never heard such a menacing sound from him and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. Whatever had just entered the room did not mean her well. Worse, aside from the dog standing guard in front of her, she had no means of defense.

Without hesitation she opened her mouth and let out a piercing scream. It echoed sharply in the close confines of the room, hurting her own ears, but she didn’t let that faze her. She took in another deep breath, ready to scream again.

It turned out to be unnecessary. The door burst open within the next second, Chizeld’s voice snapping out a command, “Jewel! Get down!”

She obeyed instantly, dropping to the floor and rolling so that she was huddled tightly against the tub’s rough wooden surface.

Two other sets of footsteps pounded into the room—Rialt and Sarvell, by the sound of it—and then the place degenerated into a chaotic jumble of noises. People were moving in every direction, grunting and cursing as weapon clanged against weapon. The metal clacks and hisses spoke of an intense fight. She couldn’t really make out what was going on because of Bortonor’s barking. The wooden floorboards under her jumped and vibrated as they fought. Someone fell hard, making the whole floor leap under her, and she flinched at the feeling. Who fell? Surely not—

“If you know what be best for you, you willna move,” Rialt snarled in a soft, ominous tone. “Chizeld, how be the other?”

“Dead.”

“Good. One less to worry about. Take this one.”

More thumps as the men moved. Jewel cautiously lifted her head and uncurled a little. She brushed against Bortonor’s legs as she did so. How long had he been standing near her? She could have sworn he had joined in on the fray from that clamor he had made.

“Jewel,” Rialt’s hand lightly touched her shoulder. “You hurt, lass?”

She shook her head roughly and put shaky limbs under herself, pushing up to a half-kneeling position. “They didn’t get anywhere near me. Bortonor saw to that. Are…are we safe again?”

“Eh, for now.” A warm, large coat settled over her shoulders as he spoke, which she gratefully pulled around herself and held shut. The shift didn’t do much to cover her, leaving her a little embarrassed by that. Thankfully, Rialt didn’t say a word. “I do no think it was only these two. I would lay odds there be at least another nearby.”

“He’s probably well gone by now,” Sarvell observed in a hard voice.

“Eh, belike,” Rialt agreed neutrally. “But I will look just the same. You two see to her.”

“What is going on in here?” The inn keeper’s voice demanded from the doorway. “What is—shards and gods, is that man dead?!”

“Daath assassin,” Rialt answered succinctly. “He was here to kill the priestess. The other is his partner. Fetch a constable.”

Jewel heard the inn keeper take in a sharp breath before spinning around and sprinting back down the hallway. Whether he believed Rialt or not, time would tell, but he clearly didn’t want to have to deal with this himself.