3
Ton-Kel waited for Baraccus to open his eyes, watching the morning sun brush his face and set his eyelids twitching as she sat on the edge of the bed beside him.
Silently, she urged him to hurry up about it. The sounds of conflict that had been coming from the common room below earlier in the morning had resumed, and her curiosity was driving her to nail-nibbling frustration wondering what was going on downstairs.
She was tempted to creep away and see for herself, but knew she needed to be where she was. Paulo had gone down to scrounge some food for them some time ago. She would just have to rely on his report when he returned.
The room in which their hosts had installed them was small — little more than a cell — with only two beds, so Baraccus was laid out in one and Ton-Kel spread her bedroll on the floor beside it, over Paulo's protests. The Ranger thought it was improper; he should have the floor and she the bed.
Ton-Kel smiled at the memory. Normally, she would have been quick to use his misplaced gallantry to her advantage, but in this case comfort had to be sacrificed to duty.
Just as her curiosity threatened to get the better of her entirely, Baraccus gave a muffled groan and opened his eyes. He frowned, blinking up at nothing as he sought to bring his eyes into focus.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," Ton-Kel said. She smiled a greeting as the obsidian eyes found her face and stayed there, wishing she could tell if his pupils were dilated. His frown slipped away as his vision apparently cleared and he recognized her. "How do you feel?" she asked.
He thought about it for a moment. "Hungry," he said finally. "And I need to piss. Where are we?"
"Back at the inn, upstairs. Paulo's gone down to get us some breakfast. He should be back soon, he's been gone long enough. There's a chamber pot under the bed. Can you sit up?"
For an answer, he freed his arms from the blanket and levered himself slowly upright. Ton-Kel let him do it himself, knowing somehow that he would not appreciate any assistance, though she did shift the pillow against the wall so he could lean back against it.
She waited until he had done so before asking, "Any headache?"
"A bit," he grunted. "Not bad."
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Three," he answered without hesitation, and she nodded in satisfaction.
"Good enough. Get a solid meal in you and you should be fine." She reached down and pulled the pot from under the bed. "The food is coming, I hope. As for the rest—"
"Do you mind?" he said acidly, "or is watching me relieve my bladder going to tell you something vital about my medical condition?"
She sniffed in annoyance. "Oh, honestly, Baraccus. I've seen what there is to see. Who do you think put you to bed?"
His face did not change, but the familiar chill flickered in the backs of his eyes, and she realized she had overstepped her bounds.
She rose and turned her back to give him some privacy and cover her own reaction, telling herself she was only surprised. She had assumed a familiarity that did not yet exist. Baraccus had been unconscious through most of what had happened last night. He couldn't have experienced the sense of bonding as strongly as she and Paulo had.
She would have to remember to take it one step at a time. After all, men were always difficult patients.
Liquid hissed against brass, and after a moment she heard him slide the pot back under the bed. "All right," he said, "now tell me what's happened."
She turned around and saw him sitting up again, the blanket pulled up around his waist. So, Baraccus had a streak of modesty in him. Misplaced, since the rest of him was as fine as his face, in her opinion. She filed away the knowledge for future reference and resumed her place on the side of the bed. "Well, after we—"
Someone came thumping loudly up the stairs as if taking them two at a time, cheerfully whistling a familiar tune. Baraccus grimaced. "It's reassuring to know our Ranger is always so practiced in stealth."
The door banged open and Paulo came bounding into the room, balancing a heaping platter in one hand and several cups in the other. "Breakfast," he sang, kicking the door closed behind him. His face was pink from a recent scrubbing and his blond hair hung in damp strands around his shoulders.
"Where have you been?" she demanded. "What took you so long?"
"There's a bathhouse under the inn," he replied without the slightest show of remorse. "You wouldn't believe it. A bunch of caves with a natural underground hot spring. It goes on forever. You should give it a try."
The thought of a warm bath erased her irritation and she smiled as she reached out to take the platter from him. "Well, thank the Seven for that at least. I'll do just that, right after breakfast. I'm filthy." She cast a mischievous glance at Baraccus and risked his ire again by touching his matted hair. "It wouldn't hurt you, either. Ugh."
He frowned and ducked away from her hand, but she thought his expression lacked its usual bedrock layer of frost. He raised a hand to his hair and grimaced with fastidious distaste, then took a chunk of bread from the platter she offered him and nodded thanks. "Was there anyone else down there?" he asked Paulo.
"In the baths? No, not that I saw. Of course, it's not very well lit and it's big enough there could have been a dozen people down there and I wouldn't have seen them."
Or heard them, Ton-Kel guessed. Paulo almost certainly sang in the bath as well. She said nothing, however, but selected a ripe pear from the tray and bit into it, purring in appreciation as the sweet juice ran down her chin. "Ooooh, perfect," she managed around the moist flesh. She caught the juice on her fingers and glanced at Paulo as he took a seat on the bed opposite. "How about the common room? I heard a racket going on earlier."
He grinned wickedly. "Indeed, I'll bet you did." He handed one of the cups to Ton-Kel, another to Baraccus, and lifted the third in a toast. "You're not going to believe this, but the Blue Triad rolled into town this morning. And had no more luck dealing with the fair Rowan than we did. They're down there now trying to put their Cavalier back together."
Ton-Kel stopped chewing and stared at him, round-eyed.
"This is past all belief," said Baraccus. "The Blues as well?"
"We've got to find out what's going on here," Ton-Kel said. "Let's find Galen and pin him to a chair, see if we can get some answers." She took a sip from her cup, savored the sharp tang of apple cider. Well, at least their hosts weren't starving them.
Paulo shrugged. "Well, he's down there now, and he's none too happy, let me tell you. I thought a brawl was going to break out. But it seems Rowan's agreed to no more duels, and she went easier on the Blue Cavalier than she did you or the Red, so—"
Baraccus interrupted him. "What happened last night? I remember nothing after we reached the Battle Circle."
"The Green Cavalier gave your hair a new part and nearly your skull as well," Paulo replied before Ton-Kel could. He reached down beside his bed and pulled out the fragments of Baraccus's helm. "Take a look. I've never seen a blow like that in my life. If it wasn't for Ton-Kel, we'd be burying you right now instead of feeding you." He grinned, nodding at Ton-Kel. "Ankh actually offered to help, and you should have heard our Mystic chew him up and spit him out. We've a hellcat on our hands, Baraccus."
Baraccus glanced at her, and this time she was sure there was none of the subtle chill in his slight smile. "I never thought otherwise." His attention quickly returned to his helmet and he scowled. "That's impossible."
"What is?" Ton-Kel asked.
"She should not have been able to do that. I've been hit before, and by big, strong men. The worst anyone's ever been able to do is make my ears ring. It would take something the size of an ogre to split a helm like that. With an axe, at that. She doesn't have the strength."
"Well, this says you're wrong," Paulo replied, lifting the broken helm by its remaining leather strap.
Baraccus shook his head. "There's something not right ab
out this." His scowl deepened. "Damnation. I'll have to get that repaired. There must be a smith in this town."
"There is," Paulo assured him. "I asked." He took a swig from his own cup and reached over to spear a sausage on the end of his knife before resuming his tale. "As for the rest of the uproar, there's some fat merchant who's stranded here because a bunch of bandits attacked his caravan and wiped it out. He's offering a small fortune for the recovery of his property, and he's spitting fire at Galen because the good Constable won't send the guards out to deal with them."
"Bandits!" Ton-Kel frowned. "Bandits are what's behind all this? I don't believe it.”
Paulo shook his head. "Much the same reaction I had," he said around a mouthful of sausage. Swallowing, he continued. "And the answer is: no indeed, my friend. If you step outside in the daylight and take a look at those posts at the far side of the bridge—"
"What posts?" Baraccus interrupted.
Paulo shrugged. "I didn't see them either last night. They're sort of hidden by the willow branches. But you can see them by day, and there's plenty of folk eager to point them out. Two big pikes — with two big trolkien heads on them. Rowan seems to have extended much the same welcome to them as to you and the other Cavaliers." He paused. "Though I guess Ankh actually gets partial credit for one. He fireballed it. It's just a burned out skull."
Ton-Kel stared at him, thoughts whirling. "She killed a trolkien by herself?" She had never heard of a lone human successfully battling a trolkien, except in stories. Even a Cavalier. The only way to fight them and hope for survival was from a distance, with lots of arrows — or better still, fireballs, such as Ankh had used. Trolkien were larger than humans, faster, stronger. They could — and usually did — rip the arms and legs off a strong man without much effort.
"So there's a gang of bandits and trolkien attacking this place at the same time," she said aloud. "That explains a good deal." Such as the fact that Galen was down to a handful of guards and was reluctant to send the survivors out to track the villains down.
Baraccus shook his head, the frown threatening to become a permanent part of his expression. "I find it hard to believe that the Factions would send four Triads to deal with bandits and trolkien."
Ton-Kel tossed back the last of her cider, stuffed some cheese into a hunk of bread, grabbed another pear, and rose. "That's it. I'm going down to the baths. And after that I'm going to have a nice gossip with a few of our fellow guests, see what I can turn up."
"Just make sure you're back with us when we talk to Galen," Baraccus warned her. "I especially want you there."
She paused. "What do you mean?"
He smiled, his eyes glittering with something she couldn't quite read. "I think the good Constable fancies you. So he's likely to be more talkative if you're there, flashing your big brown eyes at him. Don't be long."
She tossed her head, unsure whether to be annoyed or flattered, and scooped up her pack on the way out the door.
Voices raised in loud argument stopped her as she neared the bottom of the stair. They were all speaking the trade tongue, but it took a moment for her to sort out the mixture of accents and make sense of what was being said.
"I tell you, I'm all right," insisted a male voice rather peevishly. Tenor. A youth? "Stop fussing, Ali, you've done what you can. I'm healing." The voice added in a grumble, "I just wish I could say the same about my armor. I hope that smith knows his business."
"I do not understand this. You say that she is your friend but you have to fight with your friend and she hits you — POP! — and takes your leg almost off. Is this the act of a friend? I do not know your friend, but I am thinking this is not what a friend would do. Certainly it is not what anyone I would call friend would do. Is this what a Cavalier would call friendship?" The other voice was loud and grating, the accent that of a native of Delhi, or so Ton-Kel guessed. Softly she stepped down the final few steps, rounding the turn in the stair until she could see into the room.
The lovely Lily was stacking plates and cups on a shelf behind the long wooden bar. Today she wore a gown the color of pale honey, the bodice so tightly laced that her full breasts promised to burst from the top at any moment. A tall man with long, shaggy greying hair and a beard that covered most of his face but did not hide his morose expression hovered behind her, wiping a goblet with a cloth and watching the patrons.
Tables, chairs, and benches were scattered piecemeal throughout the room. At one, a fat gentleman with a sour face, elaborately dressed in brown and gold, sat nursing a jack of something he obviously didn't care for, while a young woman in rather shopworn finery sat beside him, slumped in exhaustion.
Another man — slender, and even more elaborately dressed in scarlet trimmed with black and white — sat in the only upholstered chair, which was by the fireplace though no fire smoldered there. He was apparently listening with interest to the conversation, just as Ton-Kel was.
She passed quickly over the rest of the room's inhabitants before settling on the speakers.
The Blue Cavalier — obviously, from the armor piled in a heap at his feet and the rather splendid blue and white garb he wore — sat on a bench against the wall opposite the bar, which put him almost out of Ton-Kel's view.
He was well built, she judged, though not as tall as Baraccus. Handsome in a brooding sort of way, he looked tired and there was an ashen hue to his sallow skin. His short brown hair was streaked with grey that, judging from his all-but-unlined face, was premature.
One leg was stretched out before him, supported by another chair; the legging was peeled away and a new scar stood out red and angry on his flesh, just above the knee.
The man standing in front of him wore a long robe of many shades of blue over loose white pants, and a blue turban bound his head. One hand clutched a carved staff taller than he was and the other waved about in the air as he spoke — no, shouted, or nearly so.
"You are please to be explaining this to me," he cried, "how this person you say is your friend is cutting your leg off. You are saying this is nothing? If you are friends, why are you trying then to kill each other, which is what it looks to me as if you were trying to do. She did not look like a friend to you if you are asking me, no she did not. She is frightening to me, that woman, even more frightening than my wife."
"Ali, I've known Rowan for years. We've fought against one another in tournaments, but we're more usually on the same side. We differ on many things, but I would stake my life on her honor, and I have always counted her a friend—"
Another voice cut in, and Ton-Kel peeked further around the corner to see the speaker: a tall, lanky young man dressed in tones of muted grey-blue, a badly-dyed blue hood, light reddish hair, and a face thin to gauntness. "You did stake your life on her honor, and look where it almost got you. Do you still think her honorable? Or a friend? After this?"
The Cavalier sighed. "Something wasn't right. She's never been like that, never. I've rarely even seen her angry." He paused. "And she's as skilled a fighter as I've ever seen, but I would never have believed she could strike such a blow." He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed wearily.
"But I am not understanding this, that you have to fight your friend and let her kill you," Ali protested. "I am very good, but I cannot grow a new leg from the seed of an old one, and that is very nearly what this friend of yours makes me try to do, and now your armor is all to pieces and how are we to do this thing we have been sent to do, I am asking? Because I—"
This time, the Mystic's rant was cut short by Galen as he entered from the outside. "Excuse me, sir," Galen said, swiftly approaching Ali, "but I must ask you to surrender your staff. Only Cavaliers are permitted to carry weapons other than eating daggers onto the premises, and only then if they swear an oath not to draw them under this roof."
Ali looked bewildered and clutched the staff protectively to his chest. "This, that I am holding?
But this is my staff, it is not a weapon."
Galen held out one large hand, his smile firm. "It is a weapon, and I must ask you to surrender it."
"It is not a weapon."
"It is a staff. Therefore, it is a weapon."
"In my hands, it is not a weapon."
"Believe him," interjected the young man Ton-Kel assumed was the Ranger. "You've never seen him fight with it."
The argument was abruptly forgotten as Rowan entered the threshold, blocking the light. Every head in the room turned toward her. Even the Blue Cavalier snapped alert and raised his head, warned by the sudden silence.
The Green Cavalier paused, either for effect or, more likely, to let her eyes adjust to the change of light. She quickly spotted the Blue Triad. Ton-Kel could not see her expression, but she read hesitation in the woman's stance, uncertainty in the way one hand rose, then fell again. "Sir Charles," Rowan said quietly.
"Rowan," the Blue Cavalier responded, his voice guarded.
The Blue Ranger rose and stood close to the Cavalier, his posture rigid with hostility. "Come to look at your handiwork? Or just hoping to finish the job?"
She had taken another step into the room, but the Ranger's voice brought her up. "Neither," she answered, her voice suddenly as chill as his. "I come to speak to Sir Charles, Ranger, not you."
"Oh, I am not liking this," the Blue Mystic said, his voice rising to a wail again. "Please tell me you are not coming in here to hit Sir Charles again, because I have only just finished putting his leg back and—"
"Ali. Dale." Sir Charles stopped his Ranger and his Mystic with a raised hand and a glance, then returned his attention to Rowan. "What do you want, Rowan?"
Again, that look of uncertainty. The woman stood silent for a moment. Now that Ton-Kel could see her face, she tried to read the other woman's expression. Was that remorse? Sorrow? Or just confusion, as if she didn't know how to deal with someone when she wasn't holding a sword. "I did not intend—" she began, then paused and tried again. "I didn't want…I only meant to stop you, to make you leave."
Ton-Kel saw Galen jerk his head and followed the direction of his stare; Lily slipped quickly from behind the bar and hurried silently out the door at Rowan's back. The Cavalier paid her no attention. What was up now?
"Why?" Sir Charles asked, recapturing Ton-Kel's attention. A reasonable question, she thought.
Rowan shrugged, groping for words. "This is not a good place to be, Sir Charles," she said finally. "It is not safe—"
"Safe!" He sat upright, torn between disbelief and outrage. "Safe! What has that to do with a Triad? Safety has no place when it interferes with duty, Rowan. You of all people should know that. Safety is not our concern."
"But it is mine." Her voice rose to match his, and she took another step forward. "We came here to protect this place, as you have, but your being here endangers more than you know. I must protect this place and those who depend on me, and whether you will or not, that means you as well. Believe me, any other time I'd be more pleased to see your face than my own mother's, but this—"
"Rowan," Ankh said as he entered from outside, his face drawn with concern, "this is not wise." She turned to look at him, frowning, as he stopped beside her and slipped his hand around the inside of her elbow, bare of armor, gently patting the exposed worn leather sleeve. Behind him, Lily watched from the relative safety of the threshold. "You will only malign this man's honor and bring on another challenge. You don't want to fight Sir Charles again, do you?"
She dropped her eyes from his and glanced at the Blue Cavalier. "No," she said quietly. "No, I have no wish to fight you again, Sir Charles." She sighed and shook her head. A rueful smile brushed her mouth. "At a tourney, for a bit of sport, that's one thing. We've given one another a bashing on the Field of Honor — but not for blood. Never again for blood."
"That has never been my wish," Sir Charles said slowly. "We've been allies in the past, Rowan. Why not here?"
She glanced at her Mystic, who continued to stare up at her with silent urgency, then returned her attention to Sir Charles. "I could wish it so, but please, Sir Charles, if you must stay, I would ask—"
"Rowan—" Ankh interrupted her.
She looked down at him, her expression suddenly so anguished that Ton-Kel thought she might burst into tears. "We must protect Jax," she said in a harsh whisper that carried clearly in the silence. "He's out there somewhere, Ankh, we can't risk—"
"This is not going to help," Ankh replied. "Have a little faith, Rowan. Come, leave these men be. You cannot wear yourself out like this." He pulled gently, and she let herself be turned toward the door, her shoulders slumped within their metal casing either in exhaustion or defeat.
Ton-Kel realized her mouth was open and shut it quickly. What was all that about? She glanced around the room, saw the other faces reflecting much the same thought.
Well, this might be the time to take the bull by the horns. She stepped down into the room, determined to speak to the Blue Triad, but the movement caught Galen's eye. His smile as he approached her might have been warmed as much by relief at the interruption as by welcome, but it was genuine. "Good morning, my Lady. I hope you slept well, and that your Cavalier is recovering."
Baraccus might have been right after all, she thought as she returned his smile. The thought was not unwelcome, though the timing certainly could have been better.
She gave a courteous nod and smile to the Blue Triad even as she replied to Galen. "Indeed, Constable, and thank you for your concern. He'll be his old self as soon as he eats and gets cleaned up. Speaking of which, our Ranger tells us there are baths under the building. I was hoping to find them."
She noticed the Blue Cavalier struggling to rise and shook her head, gesturing for him to stay seated. Before she could speak to him, Galen responded.
"Yes, indeed, the baths. Please avail yourself of them. The comfort of our guests is of the utmost importance." He reached out a hand as if to help her down the stairs, though he did not quite touch her. He extended the other hand toward a rounded opening on the side of the room next to the bench where Sir Charles sat. "Just through that archway there are two doors. The one on the end will lead you down beneath the building to the baths. You will find a shelf at the bottom of the stairs with towels for your convenience, and jars of soaps, oils, perfumes, and anything else you might desire." As he spoke, he led her toward the door he had indicated, stopping beside it to allow her to pass within. "The Red Triad went down a short time ago. If you desire more privacy, I can ask that they—"
"Oh, please don't go to any extra effort on my account," she assured him warmly. "I have often patronized the public baths in Tir." His attention was flattering, but she wished he'd chosen a better time; it was clear she'd have no chance to speak to the Blues now. With his bulk between her and the other Triad, she could not even see their reaction to her presence.
"Ah, so you're from Tir." He smiled down at her as though he had forgotten the others in the room. "I have not been there since my Pilgrimage, but I remember it well. Many lovely things come from Tir, it seems."
He might be oblivious to the many pairs of eyes observing them, but Ton-Kel was not, and she had no desire to be the object of such close scrutiny, not even for a light flirtation. Especially not for a light flirtation. "Thank you for your kindness. I look forward to finding out how this compares to the bathhouses of Tir." She smiled sweetly to take any sting from her dismissal.
Galen recovered himself with a start and straightened, his manner becoming more businesslike. "By all means. I hope that you enjoy yourself." He paused. "And if there is anything else you wish…."
"I'm sure I have all I need. Thank you again." Before he could say anything else, she slipped down the passageway, opened the door at the end, and hurried through, shutting it firmly behind her. Only then did she let out her breath in a whoosh. "Well, that was certainl
y interesting," she said aloud to the semi-darkness.
"Was it? I'm sorry I missed it," a light male voice replied.
Ton-Kel jumped and peered down the stairs, searching for the speaker. Damnation, now what?
Glass-encased candles sat on shelves along the walls, but they were few and widely spaced, great pools of shadow filling the spaces between their flickering halos of light. Something moved in one of the shadows, and a boy — no, a youth, she corrected herself, eyeing his height and breadth of shoulder — approached her, stepping into the light cast by the candle below the one where she stood.
He was dressed entirely in black, from his embroidered silk tunic worn over a full-sleeved shirt to his black leggings tucked into tall, exquisitely crafted black boots. His skin was very pale, and he wore his white-blond hair pulled back from his round, still-childish face.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said with a mischievous grin that denied the apology. "I was just on my way back up." He cocked his head and studied her. "My, but you're pretty."
"My, but you're bold," she retorted. "Please don't let me stop you from returning to the inn." She could see well enough to tell there was no mark on his forehead; he was not a member of the Red Triad. In turn, he should have been able to see the mark on hers, and given her the respect due her station. Her status was still too new for Ton-Kel to have learned to expect it, but something in the boy's manner reminded her.
As if her thoughts were visible, his eyes grew suddenly round and his mouth opened. "Oh, forgive me, in this light I didn't see the mark." He bowed low. "I'm new here — I thought you were another one of the refugees I hadn't met." Straightening, he smiled eagerly. "My name's Nayir. I've never met a Triad before. What's it like?"
Her irritation grew, and the young man's change of manner failed to placate her. She raised an eyebrow. "You didn't ask the Red Triad? They're supposed to be down here."
"They were all speaking German or something," he said quickly, "and I don't, so I stayed away."
"Well, be a good lad and grant me the same courtesy," she snapped. At his wounded expression, she amended her command. "Ask me later, if you like, in the common room. In the meantime, I really do want my bath. Alone."
"Yes, my Lady. I'm sorry, my Lady," he said eagerly, and bounded past her up the stairs and out the door.
The skin on her forehead felt tight, and she realized she was frowning. Why had the boy made her bristle so? Doubtless because she was already off-balance from Galen's unexpected gallantry. Besides, she hated being surprised.
She deliberately relaxed the muscles of her face, lifting a hand to rub between her brows. She could almost hear Fat Mary's voice admonishing her. Never scowl. If you have to frown, make it a pretty one. Imagine if your face froze that way, girl.
Funny. She hadn't thought about the old whore in years. Maybe her recent brush with death had brought her closer to the ghosts of her past.
Ton-Kel's voice had blossomed at a tender age, sparing her the necessity of earning her daily bread the way most of the other urchins who found their way beneath Fat Mary's wing did, but the former courtesan had been a mentor to her in many ways.
Two conquests in one day. Amusement chased away her annoyance. Fat Mary would be proud of me. She headed down the stair, her mood lightening.
The scent of steam rich with minerals reached her as she descended. She soon reached the bottom stair and saw that the baths stretched away before her, vanishing into side caves and pools. The stony floor made a secure walkway, and the natural archways and other features had been left largely as nature made them. More lamps were scattered haphazardly about, mostly hanging from ropes attached somehow to the lower parts of the ceiling or clinging precariously to natural shelves high on the rocky walls. She saw no one else but, as Paulo had implied, privacy was easy to obtain down here.
The promised shelf was where Galen had said it would be. Quickly selecting a towel, she took a few moments to sniff at jar lids before making her choices from among the offerings — the proprietors of the Roan Horse certainly seemed to have chosen the best from the caravans that came their way — and sauntered along the smooth stone that lined the steaming waters.
She honestly meant to find the Red Triad and question them, but the water was just too tempting, and she wanted time to mull over what she'd already observed. Selecting a pool at random, she shed her travel-stained clothes and pack, then submerged herself with a sigh. The warm water reminded her of all the weary miles she'd put in over the last few days. Her eyelids drifted shut.
What had the Green Cavalier been about to say to Sir Charles? Who was Jax? The missing Green Ranger?
Ton-Kel's eyes opened and she stared up at the light flickering in shades of orange and yellow across the rough stone ceiling.
Why was Rowan so eager to get rid of the other Triads? She couldn't really have the slightest intention of protecting them from whatever was amiss here in Westmere. Triads were created to face danger, certain death when need be. Part of the job. Hardly worth comment.
Something else was on the Green Cavalier's mind. Something she didn't want to talk about.
Or something she did want to talk about, but Ankh didn't? The Mystic had certainly done his best to silence her. He'd been careful to touch her where she wore no armor, as if prepared to use his powers on her.
On his own Cavalier? Ridiculous. No Mystic did that. What would be the point?
Unless Rowan was so far gone that her own Mystic feared her…or did he simply fear for her?
Ton-Kel groaned and splashed her face with warm water, hoping to shut off the stream of inner questions. She was tired, dammit. She deserved to relax for just a few minutes.
Galen had sent Lily after Ankh. Was it only to prevent further trouble? Did he not trust Rowan to keep her word not to draw a weapon inside the inn? Was the Cavalier more feared than respected by the citizens of Westmere?
They might have good reason to fear her, if she was capable of killing trolkien in single combat.
Sir Charles claimed to know her well, yet he had expected neither the ferocity nor the power of her attack.
Why were there now four Triads in Westmere? What was so important about this shabby, forgotten little town?
Ton-Kel muttered a curse and ducked under the surface of the water to wet her hair, abandoning all thought of quiet relaxation. She surfaced quickly and reached for the jars she'd set on the stone. Best get cleaned up and out of here as soon as possible. She knew the signs; her blasted, insatiable curiosity would drive her mad if she didn't start attacking this mystery. She'd never known when to keep her nose out of others' business….
Well, that's why she'd been Chosen, wasn't it? This time, it was entirely and justifiably her business.
Not until she was making her way back to the stair, clean and dressed in her other clothes, did Ton-Kel hear the hollow echo of voices drifting from one of the side passages. She paused as Baraccus passed on the other side of a nearby archway, speaking to someone.
Now what? Had Baraccus beaten her to the Red Triad? She crept to the archway to listen.
"The leg is mending," a man said in a lightly accented voice. Ton-Kel tried to pinpoint it. Anagni? Drachenfel? Yasenovo? One of the latter two, surely. "But I lost a great deal of blood. Gottfried insisted I rest, but three days is long enough. It is time I resumed my duties."
Another man spoke. "So long as you have a care not to overexert yourself."
"Bah! I have waited too long already. There is work to be done."
A woman with a similar accent added, "So long as that work does not include another bout with that Green Cavalier."
The first man growled an unintelligible reply. Baraccus spoke lightly. "I just overheard, upstairs, that she will not duel us again. Galen wishes us alive and healthy, it seems, so that we may do what we came here for. Ankh has promised that Rowan will be kept in check."
"I find it strange that a Cavalier takes orders from a Mystic," said the first man.
"Be grateful that in this case it is so," said the woman. "Ankh is senior to her, after all. She would be a fool indeed to disregard his advice."
"What I find strange is her strength," Baraccus remarked. " You say she all but took your leg off; the Blue Cavalier suffered much the same fate. I myself had my helmet split like a melon. I've never seen the like."
For a moment there was silence, broken only by the swish of bodies moving in water. Baraccus's boots scuffed softly against the rock. He had evidently made no move to join the others.
"As you say, it is strange," said the first man, finally.
"I have wondered, in fact, if she had some sort of assistance," Baraccus persisted.
This time the other man's voice was wary. Or did Ton-Kel imagine it? "Assistance?"
"I have heard that a Patron will sometimes bestow gifts upon a favored Triad," Baraccus said. "Swords that will cut through any armor with one blow."
"Indeed. I have also heard of such. The Swords of Might."
"Yes. I am wondering if the redoubtable Rowan won such favor." He paused. "Of course, if she brought such a sword into a duel, it would be most dishonorable."
"'Treat with others in combat with weapons of equal strength,'" the other quoted. Ton-Kel was not as familiar with the Codes of Ohma as she should have been, but she recognized the recitation.
"You're not thinking of challenging her again, are you?" asked the second man.
"There is no need," Baraccus replied. "If she brought dishonor to the duel, she has defeated herself. She need not, therefore, be treated as an honorable opponent."
"Have a care, Black," the first man growled, "lest you propose an action even less honorable than hers."
"I intend nothing of the sort," Baraccus said. "But it has occurred to me that such a sword could be put to better use than attacking honorable Cavaliers."
"If she chooses to use it against our common foe, this would be good," said the other, "but such a sword would do no more than any other in your hands, or mine. If she has a Sword of Might, it is the Green Sword of Might, and it will only work for the Cavalier of the Green Triad."
"Indeed? That is good to know," Baraccus said, as though it was of no concern to him. "Perhaps she can be persuaded to put it to its proper use — if she in fact carries it."
"Let us hope," muttered the other.
The woman spoke. "We should then make haste to finish our baths and return to the inn above. It might behoove us to speak to Constable Galen with one voice, that we may gain the same information."
"Well, then, I'll be off to find myself a spot to wash up," Baraccus said. "I will see you above. Well met."
"Well met, sir," replied the first man, echoed quietly by the woman and the other man.
Ton-Kel slipped away from her vantage point and hurried along the gallery and up the stairs. So, Baraccus was already doing his own research — and not too badly, for a Cavalier. She'd just have to do him one better. Considering Paulo had already been busy this morning, she had some catching up to do.