Читать книгу The Riftwar Legacy: The Complete 4-Book Collection - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 20

THE MULES LUMBERED UP THE ROAD.

There was no mistaking the waggon as it hove into sight around a bend, a day’s ride east of Silden. The green waggon had huge red letters on the side, proclaiming ‘Abuk. Trader in fine wares.’ The driver was a large, bull-necked man with an impressive mane of flaming red hair and a long beard that reached to his belt. If a dwarf could grow to more than six feet in height, this is what he’d look like, thought James as they halted before the waggon.

‘You’re the trader, Abuk?’ asked James loudly.

The trader reined in his team of mules. ‘It’s what is written in large letters on the side of this waggon, stranger, so either you can’t read or you’re oblivious to the obvious. I am Abuk.’

James grimaced at the remark about the obvious. ‘Well, you could have stolen his rig.’

‘True, and I could have cut his hair and beard to create my disguise, as well. But I didn’t.’ He regarded the three riders before him. ‘What may I do for you?’

‘We are in the market for some information.’

Abuk said, ‘Information is often my most profitable commodity.’

James walked his horse close enough to the buckboard of the waggon to hand over the silver spider. ‘Can you tell me to whom you sold this?’

‘Yes,’ said Abuk. ‘For the sum of a hundred golden sovereigns, I can.’

James grinned, and there was nothing but menace in his smile. ‘Or we could arrange for you to have a discussion with the Royal Interrogator regarding your part in the death of fifty of the King’s Own Royal Lancers.’

‘What?’ demanded the startled Abuk. ‘Fifty Royal Lancers were murdered?’

‘In Romney,’ supplied Owyn.

The trader was silent for a moment, calculating his chances of survival against his potential for profit, if James was any sort of judge of men. Finally he said, ‘I take no responsibility for that act; I merely sell goods which are not banned by law.’ He handed the spider back to James. ‘This is one of two I sold in the north. A poor imitation was sold to a man named Michael Waylander in the village of Sloop. He is a prominent member of the Glaziers’ Guild in the City of Romney. The other was sold to a man whose name I do not know, but I know he is from the north.’

James showed Abuk the spyglass. ‘What of this?’

‘You have proven the man you seek is the one I described, for he also purchased this glass. I sold both items to him at the Queen’s Row Tavern in Malac’s Cross, and you might inquire there of the innkeeper, who seemed to know this man. He was an exceptional chess player, by what I overheard.’

‘If you met him in Malac’s Cross, why then did you say he was from the north?’

‘Because I overheard the innkeeper ask him if he was returning to the north, and the man said he was indeed heading home.’

James did not look pleased. ‘We must then return to Malac’s Cross.’

Abuk said, ‘I might be able to save you a journey, for a small fee.’

James asked, ‘How small?’

‘A dozen golden sovereigns, I think.’

‘Five, I think, and I forget your name when I speak to the King’s Inquisitor.’

‘Done,’ said Abuk.

James gave him the money and the man said, ‘Now that I recall, he did mention the town of Kenting Rush.’

James looked at Owyn, who nodded. ‘I know it. It’s north of my Uncle Corvallis’s home in Cavell Village.’

Abuk looked at Owyn. ‘Your uncle is the Baron Corvallis?’

Owyn said, ‘Yes, he is.’

‘I know him,’ said Abuk. ‘He’s a man of ill humour, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

Owyn grinned. ‘No one who knows him will argue that.’

‘If we are done?’ asked Abuk to James. James indicated they were, and the vivid green waggon started forward again.

After Abuk was safely away, James turned to Owyn. ‘What do you think? Malac’s Cross or north to Kenting Rush?’

Owyn said, ‘Kenting Rush is a small town, barely more than a dozen shops and inns. Mostly farmers and small estates in the area. There can’t be too many men matching the description of the man we seek in residence there.’

Gorath said, ‘Good, because time is growing short. It’s been more than a month since I left my homeland and Delekhan’s power grows while we seek out information. It would do us no good to discover his plans by witnessing them executed.’

‘A good point,’ said James, turning his horse around. ‘Let us head north.’ He urged his mount forward and set off at a brisk trot. A few minutes later they overtook and passed Abuk, and with a wave of farewell, continued down the road.

The passage between their encounter with Abuk and the turn-off to the City of Romney went without a hitch. They paused in Romney to change horses and see if things were calming down there.

Michael Waylander, Damon Reeves and Arle Steelsoul had heeded the Earl’s warning and appeared within days of the message being delivered. They were now locked in earnest negotiations with the other guild leaders to end the struggle between the rival guilds in the city and order was slowly returning to Romney.

The next morning, James, Gorath and Owyn departed on fresh horses, and hurried north through the rolling farmland that bordered the River Rom. The towns and villages along the river were undistinguished, much like the village of Sloop, bearing names like Greenland, Hobbs, Tuckney, Prank’s Stone and Farview. For days they rode, always alert, and by keeping a steady pace, they reached the area south of Cavell Village. Several times they had passed bands of armed men, but none had offered them challenge, and they arrived without incident.

Rounding a bend in the road, they crossed a small bridge that took them over a swift-running stream. James looked down and observed, ‘This is deep.’

Owyn said, ‘Deeper than it looks. More than one idiot’s been drowned trying to swim across. It’s a feeder to the River Rom, coming down from the mountains over there.’ He pointed to the west, where bluffs rose. ‘Let me show you something,’ he added as he turned his horse off the road.

They followed an old dirt roadway, grown over by grass in several places, obviously unused for a long time. Gorath said, ‘I see fresh tracks. Someone has ridden here lately.’

Owyn said, ‘Undoubtedly. I’ll show you why when we round this bend.’

They rode around a sharp turn, where a bluff rose up to a cliff-top overhead, and halted. Before them an impressive-looking waterfall thundered down from the cliffs above, exactly three hundred feet above. On both sides the gorge rose steeply, and was covered with thick forests.

‘Cavell Run,’ said Owyn.

‘What’s that?’ asked James.

‘It’s the name of the stream. It’s also what we call the tunnels under the old keep.’ He pointed to the top of the cliffs and by squinting James could make out the grey edifice that rested atop the cliffs.

‘How did you know about this?’

Owyn turned his horse back and said, ‘When I was a boy, we came here several times. I used to play with my cousin Ugyne in the run. They’re a huge set of tunnels and caves under the keep. Used for storage in ancient times, but mostly abandoned now.’ He pointed backwards as they left sight of the waterfall. ‘There’s even a bolt-hole behind the waterfall if you know where to look. Ugyne and I found it from the inside of the run when I was nine and she was eight. We stripped off and went swimming. We almost froze to death; the water is all snowmelt running down the ridges from the mountains above. Ugyne got a pretty heavy whipping from her father, too. My uncle has never curbed his temper as long as I’ve known him.

‘But it still didn’t stop Ugyne and me from playing up there.’

James asked, ‘How many know about the run?’

‘Most of the locals know there are tunnels under the old keep. A few might even suspect there’s a bolt-hole under the waterfall. But I doubt anyone outside the family, the old guard commander, and maybe one or two of the older servants, has any idea where it is. It’s pretty well hidden.’

They continued on toward Cavell Village, arriving at mid-afternoon. As they turned off the road and moved to within sight of the place, James said, ‘For a village it’s rather prosperous.’

Owyn laughed. ‘I guess. It was a village for a couple of hundred years, but became a busy farming centre about fifty years ago. Since the fire in the keep forced my uncle to move into the village about three years ago, all business is conducted down here. I think he and his household account for a third of the houses here in the village.’

‘Fire?’ asked Jimmy as they reached the outer buildings. ‘What was that?’

‘No one knows,’ said Owyn. ‘The story is my uncle was having some work done in one of the lower chambers and a fire broke out, working its way up through the building, gutting it and making it unsafe to live in. There had already been a collapse in the lower tunnels, where my uncle was expanding his wine cellar. My cousin Neville died in that collapse. He was a few years older than Ugyne and me. He was an odd boy; it always seemed to me his father didn’t care much for him. Ugyne was always Uncle Corvallis’s favourite.’ He was lost in memory for a moment, then returned to the present. ‘Anyway, that basement was just sealed off, with my cousin’s unclaimed body still under tons of rock.

‘The fire started not far from there, and the maid who is blamed for starting it died in the flames, so no one is quite sure how it began. It burned up from below, weakening timbers and causing floors and walls to collapse. Uncle’s been telling everyone he was going to repair everything and move back in some day, but so far we’ve seen little proof of it.’

They rode down the main street of the village, a broad thoroughfare that ended in a large square, dominated by a fountain and three other streets which ran off at odd angles to the one on which they rode. ‘That house over there,’ said Owyn, turning his horse so they could ride around the fountain. The afternoon market was underway and the buyers and sellers ignored the three riders for the most part, though one or two gave Gorath a second glance.

They reached the front of the Baron’s house and a stableboy ran over and said, ‘Master Owyn! It’s been years.’

Owyn smiled. ‘Hello, Tad. You’re caring for horses now?’

The boy, no more than twelve or thirteen years old, nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Now that we have no proper stable the Baron’s keeping his guests’ mounts over at the inn.’ He pointed to an inn directly opposite the Baron’s house. It was dominated by a sign of a wood-duck’s head. ‘I’ll arrange rooms for you.’

Owyn smiled. ‘You’re telling me my uncle won’t be happy to see me and offer me a room?’

The boy nodded. ‘He’s not really happy to see anyone, these days, Master Owyn. If you were here alone, he might offer, but with your friends …?’ He smiled apologetically and said no more.

Owyn sent him off with the horses and instructions to get them one large room for the night.

They mounted steps to the large house. James glanced around and said, ‘This house dwarfs the rest in the village.’

Owyn smiled at the understatement. The rest of the village ranged from simple huts of wattle and daub with thatch to some two-storey wooden houses with small gardens. The inns were the only buildings that matched the Baron’s residence.

‘It used to be an inn, but fell on hard times. My uncle bought it and converted it to his own use. There is a stable in the rear, but it’s occupied by his company of personal guards.’ Lowering his voice, Owyn said, ‘Like many minor nobles, my uncle has more rank than money. The rents are modest, the taxes to the Duke of Cheam considerable, and my uncle has never been what you would call an enterprising man.’

They knocked upon the door. The door opened a crack. A serving woman of middle years peeked through and when she saw Gorath in his armour standing before her, her eyes widened and her complexion turned pale. ‘Hello, Miri,’ said Owyn, coming into her field of vision. ‘It’s all right. They’re with me.’

The woman said, ‘Master Owyn,’ and swung the door wide.

‘Could you please tell Uncle Corvallis we’re here?’

The woman nodded and hurried off. A few minutes later a tall man, affecting a velvet coat and lace-front shirt, with far too many rings, arrived and said coolly, ‘Nephew, we had no word of your arrival.’ He cast a disapproving eye upon James and Gorath.

‘That’s all right, uncle. We intrude. We’ve already made arrangements to stay at the inn across the square. May I present to you Seigneur James, squire to Prince Arutha, and our companion, Gorath. Gentlemen, my uncle, Baron Corvallis of Cavell.’

At the mention of a relationship to the Prince of Krondor, Baron Corvallis’s attitude softened slightly. He nodded at James and said, ‘Seigneur.’ Looking at Gorath as if he didn’t know what to make of him, he said, ‘Elven sir, welcome.’ He made a sweeping gesture and said, ‘If you will join me in my parlour, I’ll send for some wine.’ He signalled to the serving woman and said, ‘Miri, a bottle of wine and four goblets.’

They followed the Baron into a hallway through what had been the old common room of the inn, now divided into several different rooms. The rear stairway to the upper rooms was visible at the end of the entrance hall, and James absently wondered if the old bar was still intact. Apparently he would never know, as they turned into a corner room with two large windows, overlooking the village square. The Baron indicated three chairs and took a fourth for himself. ‘What brings you to Cavell Village, Seigneur?’

‘The Prince’s business,’ said James. ‘There was some trouble down in Romney, and, as an outgrowth of that, we’re investigating rumours of Nighthawks returning to the Kingdom.’

At mention of Nighthawks, the Baron almost levitated out of his chair. ‘Rumours!’ he shouted. ‘They are not rumours. There is wicked slaughter being done here in the north and I have sent reports to my lord the Duke of Cheam. They have tried to kill me three times!’

James attempted to look concerned. ‘It was those very things that brought me here. The Prince is adamant, as is his brother the King –’ Lyam probably had no idea what was happening, but James had long ago learned that dropping the King’s name from time to time was a very powerful thing to do ‘– can’t countenance the idea of unprovoked assaults upon their nobles.’

At mention of the King, the Baron seemed almost reassured. ‘Good, it’s about time.’

James said, ‘Why don’t you tell us of your situation.’

His face flushed with emotion, the Baron spoke quickly and with anger. ‘Three years ago a maid died in a fire that started near the abandoned wine cellar. At the time, I thought it was merely a tragic accident, but now I’m convinced it was but the first attempt on my life.

‘A year ago, while out hunting, a band of riders, all clad in black, appeared on the ridgeline and rode at us with weapons at the ready. Only a fox flushed by my hounds saved me, as the animal bolted across a field before the attackers, and the pursuing hounds caused their horses to falter. Lost my best hound that day.’

He motioned to Miri, who had appeared at the door, to serve his guests. ‘Then last month, I was shot at by men from behind cover. The arrow cut my tunic, here.’ He pointed to his shoulder. ‘A hand’s span lower and I’d be a dead man.’

James glanced at Owyn who nodded slightly, indicating the Baron wasn’t exaggerating.

Baron Corvallis continued. ‘I dare not leave my own house, save perhaps to visit the inn with personal guards on all sides. My daughter disobeys me and runs like a common child across the fields and consorts with all manner of questionable riff-raff. She should be meeting respectable suitors at her age, but instead she walks through the fields with … a despicable creature who woos her with sweet lies.’

Owyn tried to look serious, but was obviously amused by something. He said, ‘Who is this foul being, uncle?’

‘A man of commerce! Ugyne should be accepting court from the sons of barons, earls, even dukes, but not a common merchant. My solicitor Myron loves her, and while lowborn, has some ties to nobility. I would suffer him ask for her hand if she would settle down, but she’s filled with fanciful notions of romance and adventure, irritating enough traits in a son, but utterly unacceptable in a daughter.’

‘Does this agent of chaos have a name, uncle?’ asked Owyn.

Nearly spitting, Corvallis said, ‘Navon du Sandau! I know he is a criminal. He wears clothing of costly weave and rides the finest black horse I have seen, yet he speaks little of his commercial enterprises. He claims to be a factor for several rich families and nobles, as well as an agent for trading concerns in the south and west. Yet I have never seen him on an errand of business; rather he is mysteriously absent or hanging around, wooing my daughter.’

Owyn sipped at his wine, then asked, ‘Where is Ugyne, uncle?’

‘Probably out near the road, wandering the fields, waiting for snow to fall or Navon to arrive.’

James took another drink of the somewhat indifferent wine and said, ‘We’ve imposed upon your hospitality long enough.’ He stood and said, ‘We’ll investigate this as quickly as we can and see what can be done to end these threats on the peace of your village.’

‘Thank you, Seigneur,’ said the Baron. He said, ‘Owyn, give my regards to your father and mother when next you see them.’ He nodded at Gorath as the moredhel walked past. Unsure of what to say, he merely nodded again.

At the door, he said, ‘Owyn, if you’re in the village next Sixthday, do me the pleasure of dining with us. Bring your friends.’

The door closed and James laughed. ‘That gives us five days to find what we’re looking for and leave before he’s forced to make good on his offer.’

Owyn said, ‘My uncle is a difficult man at the best of times, but he is genuinely frightened.’

‘Even I, who know not your race that well, could tell that,’ said Gorath. ‘Yet one thought bothers me.’

‘What?’ asked James. ‘Only one?’

‘Among many,’ said Gorath. ‘If the Nighthawks had truly wanted him dead, he would be dead. The dogs interrupting the attack on horse, perhaps. But a near miss by an archer seems improbable.’

‘Having faced the Nighthawks several times, I’d agree,’ said James. They entered the Duck’s Head Inn.

The common room was relatively uncrowded, it still being afternoon. The innkeeper crossed from behind the bar and said, ‘You’re the gentlemen in to see the Baron?’

‘Yes,’ said James.

‘I’m Peter the Grey,’ he said with a slight bow, ‘and I have the privilege of owning this establishment. Your rooms are ready any time you are, and we have a full board and a choice of wines and ale.’

‘Ale,’ said Gorath. ‘I have little affection for wine.’

James laughed. ‘Given the Baron’s choice in wine, I don’t blame you.’

Owyn nodded. ‘You can’t imagine what it would have been had you not been a member of the Prince’s court.’

Peter the Grey’s eyebrows shot up. ‘A member of the Prince’s court? Well, then, I best ensure we only serve the finest. A member, gentlemen!’

As Peter hurried away, James called after, ‘And food, please.’

They sat and Owyn said, ‘Sorry you had to endure the ramblings of my uncle. Compared to the troubles we’re investigating, his woes must be pathetic by comparison.’

James was thoughtful. ‘Perhaps, but there may be a connection here. I’m not quite sure what it is, but why would the Nighthawks harass your uncle, yet not kill him?’

‘To keep him frightened,’ suggested Gorath.

Just then Peter the Grey arrived with the ale and placed frosty mugs before each of them. James sipped and nodded with appreciation. ‘Wonderful.’

‘Ale from the Grey Towns, sir, and we keep it cold.’

‘You ship ice down here?’

‘No,’ said Peter. ‘There are deep caves not too far from here where I leave my barrels. I sell it too quickly for it to warm up before the barrel’s empty.’

James smiled. ‘Situated as you are directly across the square from the Baron’s home, you must see him a lot.’

Peter shook his head. ‘Hardly at all, truth to tell. The Baron only leaves his home rarely, and then always with armed guards.’ He picked up his tray and said, ‘I’ll bring some food straight away, sir.’

James said, ‘Something is eating at my mind, but I can’t quite pin it down.’

‘Something to do with my uncle?’

‘Yes,’ said James, ‘but Gorath has pointed out the one thing in this that makes no sense: why go to the trouble of frightening the Baron, but not kill …’ Suddenly James’s eyes widened. ‘Peter!’ he called.

The patron of the inn returned in a hurry. ‘Sir?’

‘What was it you just said about the Baron, about you not seeing him.’

‘I just said the Baron leaves his home only rarely, and then with armed guards.’

‘When did this start?’

‘Right after the Nighthawks started hunting him, I guess.’

‘You know about the Nighthawks?’ asked James.

‘Well, we know what people say.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘That the Guild of Assassins has set up shop around here and they’ve marked the Baron for some sort of punishment.’

James said, ‘Thank you, Peter. Sorry to have disturbed you.’

Owyn said, ‘Why did you want him to come back?’

‘To help me think this through,’ said James. ‘Look, the Nighthawks aren’t trying to kill the Baron. They’re trying to make the Baron stay in his house.’

‘Why?’ asked Gorath.

James said, ‘To stop him from rebuilding the keep.’

Owyn said, ‘What in the world good would that do? It’s an old fortification, and if there’s an army heading this way, it’s not going to cause them much trouble.’

James said, ‘I don’t think anyone cares about the keep. I think they care about what’s under it.’

Owyn’s eyes widened. ‘The run?’

‘You said there was a secret passage into caverns that run under the mountains, and the old keep’s armoury and storage are down there. You could hide an army under there, I bet.’

‘Or a nest of Nighthawks,’ added Gorath.

Owyn said, ‘But how would they know?’

‘The run isn’t a family secret is it?’

‘No, a few others know of its existence, but finding the entrance from outside would be nearly impossible.’

‘Owyn!’ a female voice cried happily from across the inn.

They turned to see a tall, leggy young woman in a simple dress hurrying across the room. She nearly knocked Owyn back into his chair as he tried to stand up while she threw her arms around him.

‘Uh, Ugyne!’ said Owyn, grinning and blushing at the same time as she hugged him.

The girl was pretty in a sunburned, wild fashion. Her hair was windblown and unkempt and she looked as if she had been sitting on the ground, as her dress was streaked with dried mud in the back.

She stopped hugging him long enough to deliver an enthusiastic kiss on the lips, then she stood back, holding him at arm’s length as she studied her cousin. ‘You’ve grown into a fair-looking man, given what a pathetic little boy you were,’ she said with a laugh.

Owyn blushed deeply and laughed. ‘You haven’t changed, I see.’

She pushed him back into the chair then sat down imperiously on his lap. ‘Of course I have. I was a little girl the last time you saw me; now I’m a grown woman.’

James grinned. This grown woman appeared to be eighteen at the outside, and while she was striking in her vivaciousness, she was still a little gangly and moved with a studied purpose, as if to mask her uncertainty.

Owyn said, ‘Ugyne, these are my friends, James and Gorath.’

She nodded and smiled as she said, ‘Hello.’ Of Owyn, she asked, ‘Have you seen Daddy yet? I assume you did. Tad was the one who told me you were here.’

‘We did, and if we’re here on Sixthday, we’ll be dining with you.’

‘Oh, please do stay. Supper alone with Father is such a bore.’

James said, ‘We may be gone, Ugyne. We have pressing business.’

‘What sort of business?’ she asked with a pout. She looked at Owyn. ‘My favourite cousin comes to town after too many years and wants to bolt the next day?’

Owyn said, ‘No, but we’re on … business for the Crown.’

‘Oh?’ she said with raised eyebrows. ‘Really?’

James nodded. ‘Really.’

‘Well, then,’ she said, ‘I’ll have to insist that either Father have you over earlier or you stay, but you’ll not leave town until we’ve had a chance to visit.’

‘What have you been doing with yourself?’ asked Owyn. ‘Your father seems very concerned about how you spend your time.’

She turned up her nose at the mention of her father’s opinion and said, ‘Father wants me to sit around all day in that dark house, waiting for some noble to ride up and take my hand in marriage, and is terrified I’ll run off with someone.’

‘Anyone in particular?’ asked Owyn.

She reached over and took his mug of ale and took a delicate sip from it, as if it was the most brazen act imaginable. ‘There’s Myron, Daddy’s solicitor here in the village. He’s a widower with a lovely little girl I adore, but he’s so …’

‘Dull?’ supplied James.

‘No, predictable. He’s a nice man, but I want something more.’

‘Anyone else?’ asked Owyn.

‘Why? Did I say there was anyone else?’ she asked with a glimmer in her eyes and a smile on her lips.

‘No,’ said Owyn, ‘but your father did.’

‘Navon du Sandau,’ said Ugyne. ‘He makes Father furious.’

‘Why?’ asked James.

‘He’s a man of trade, not nobility, and even Myron, my father’s solicitor, is related to nobility: he’s the nephew of the late Earl of Silden, on his mother’s side.’

‘Are you in love with Navon?’ asked Owyn.

She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. ‘Not really. He’s interesting, if a little … strange.’

‘Strange?’ asked Owyn. ‘How?’

‘I find him staring at me in odd ways, when he thinks I’m not looking.’

Owyn laughed and tickled her. ‘That’s because you are odd looking.’

She playfully slapped his hands away. ‘But he’s interesting. He’s very attractive, and intelligent, and he says he’s been everywhere. And he has a great deal of wealth, which is the only reason Father hasn’t ordered him whipped out of town by the guards. If I can’t marry nobility, Father will settle for wealth.’

‘Are you going to marry this Navon?’

‘Probably not,’ she said, jumping out of Owyn’s lap. ‘He’s too ardent and … dangerous.’

‘Dangerous?’ said Gorath, speaking for the first time to the girl. ‘I know little of your customs, but isn’t that an odd term to describe a suitor?’

She shrugged and replied, ‘I don’t know. He’s fascinating, if a little odd at times, and he’s taught me a few things.’

‘Oh?’ asked Owyn, his voice registering both curiosity and disapproval.

She punched him in the shoulder. ‘Not that, you evil boy! He’s taught me about things like poetry, music, and he’s taught me to play chess.’

‘Chess?’ asked Owyn, casting a glance at James.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He’s the finest chess player in Kenting Rush, probably in the entire area. He travels to Malac’s Cross regularly to play against the best in the Kingdom at the Queen’s Row Tavern and has played against nobles in Krondor and Great Kesh!’ Her description indicated some pride in the claims.

‘Well,’ said James. ‘Perhaps we can meet him some time.’

‘Come to supper on Sixthday and you can,’ she said. ‘He’s coming to see me by the end of the week!’

With a laugh and a half-twirl that set her skirt swirling around her knees, she turned and half-skipped, half-walked to the door. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled at Owyn and left.

Gorath said, ‘The women of your people are … interesting.’

James laughed. ‘She’s young. She’s working a little too hard at being vivacious.’ He shook his head in appreciation. ‘But give her a couple of years and she won’t have to work. She’s quite the charmer.’

Owyn sighed as he leaned back in his chair. ‘She’s the only member of my family I ever really cared for around here.’

Peter the Grey arrived with their food and as he set the table, Owyn said, ‘I never knew my cousin Neville – he died when I was young – and I had only seen him once before that.’

Peter interrupted, ‘Baron Corvallis’s Neville? You said you were in to see him, young sir, but nothing about being his nephew.’

‘Sorry,’ said Owyn. ‘I wasn’t trying to hide the fact.’

‘You’re young Owyn,’ he said. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

Owyn said, ‘Sorry, but I don’t.’

‘I was one of the cooks up in the keep, before that tragic day when young Neville died. You were only six or seven back then, and I only saw you once or twice when you visited. I bought this inn not long after, and you never stopped in before today. The old Baron, well, it changed him. He was a different man after that, but it killed his wife.’

‘I don’t remember much about it,’ admitted Owyn.

Peter needed little prompting to gossip and said, ‘Well, the story goes that there was some difficulty between the Baron and the master builder he hired to work on the lower caves and tunnels as he expanded his wine cellar. The odd thing was he was also named du Sandau, like Navon.’

James and Owyn exchanged glances.

Peter went on. ‘Well, this Sandau was the finest stonemason in the region, but he was also a drunk and a womanizer; rumour is he had his way with many of the ladies of the court down in Rillanon before coming north.

‘He worked on several portions of the old run, under the keep, and usually the Baron was happy with the work. But this wine cellar, for some reason, had problems. They argued and the Baron was always in a foul temper.

‘Then came that black day.’

‘The day Neville died?’ asked Owyn.

‘Yes, it was the same accident that killed Sandau. The ceiling collapsed. No one knew why. All the men in the area struggled for days to remove the rubble, but it was to no avail; Neville and the workers in the room died.’

‘What was the boy doing in the room?’ asked Gorath.

‘No one knows. He liked to watch the masons, and his father didn’t object.’ Peter shrugged. ‘But the Baron’s never been quite the same since then. And the loss of the boy killed the Baroness, I will avow. She mourned for months, then got sick, and even the healing priests from the temples couldn’t keep her alive. She died a little more than a year after. Before the boy died, she was a woman of unusual steel. Ugyne’s like her; it’s what kept the girl sane, I think, losing a brother and mother within a year.’ Peter shook his head in sympathy as he recalled the girl’s pain. ‘She’s managed to turn into quite a special person, by my lights.’

James nodded as Owyn said, ‘She is, no argument.’

Peter left and James said, ‘This family of yours has had its share of tragedy.’

Owyn said, ‘I know. But Ugyne seems to have found some happiness.’

‘Even if it’s only tormenting her father,’ said James, and even Gorath laughed at that.

‘Well, then,’ asked Owyn, ‘what are we to do?’

‘I think we have dinner with your uncle on Sixthday and I think we see if someone here wants to play chess.’

Owyn nodded and sat back, content to rest a few days before the next conflict.