Ignoring Nomi’s jibe about his hair, he poured himself another cup of sake from the bottle and replaced it on the table top. For all his foresight and blackened wisdom, there were some things the silver haired man simply would not understand. Even if he could understand, Jintaru decided there would be limit on the soul sharing he was willing to do with his unwelcome companion. He heard Nomi’s musing on the boy’s agility and knew just what Nomi meant. [i]You think his arms are as agile as his legs?[/i] Nomi clearly wondered if he could swing a sword well, if, instead of seeing out his life as a kitchen hand, whether the lad’s true calling was combat.

[color=orangered]“I pray to She who Nurtures that the lad never has to find that out.” [/color]He said.

For whatever reason, Nomi seemed full of questions, the man always seemed to be, some more intrusive than others. But Jintaru realised that he had nowhere else to be until the boy got back from his errand, so he wasn’t going anywhere. Plus, Nomi was certainly right about one thing; the sake was good. He lifted the cup to his lips again and drained the liquid from it.

[color=orangered]“Ornestoro is, what I suppose one might call, a business associate of mine. He’s what the D’ol Dathri would call a paenetiri, We have no comparable word for it in our tongue but it translates roughly to a whisperer, a trader of secrets. He is a peddler of information.”[/color]

Jintaru filled his glass again as laughter erupted from the table accommodating the group of men. He had noticed the man’s hand on his dagger and had kept him in his peripheral vision ever since. It seems the air around that table had grown more relaxed. Whatever joke or anecdote had been told, it was a big success. The girl emerged from the tavern with three steaming bowls containing the hearty stew and large chunks of flatbread. It was well received by the hooting men but Jintaru noticed the hand of the man who had been holding the dagger linger a little too long on the girl’s arm and prolonged eye contact which clearly made the girl uncomfortable. She smiled, with the awkward look of someone born into servitude not wanting to offend whose to whom she was catering by showing her revulsion and fear. The moment between them didn’t last very long as she soon scurried back into the tavern. Jintaru allowed his muscles to relax but remained wary of the men. Although he never really looked away from his companion, his attention returned to Nomi.

[color=orangered]“A little over a year ago, I was hired by the old D’ol Dathri Czentulu – the ruling house in D’ol Dath – to help them crush a rebellion. They would have had me fighting skirmishes in the desert, routing rebel armies and eventually breaking down the resistance. I told them that open warfare like that may stab at the body of the serpent, letting it die slowly. I offered to cut of the head.”[/color] He drained his cup again. [color=orangered]“Ornestoro was that head.”[/color]

Returning his cup to the table, he sat forward, leaning his crossed forearms on the table. He glanced over Nomi’s shoulder at the city, wondering absently how long it would take the boy to get there and deliver his message to Ornestoro. He wondered if he could keep up that speed all the way there. Nomi saw it in the boy but Jintaru didn’t like to consider it, but with the right training, the lad could be one hell of a warrior. He mentally shook the thought away.

[color=orangered]“Now, when I need information about certain topics, I go to Ornestoro.”[/color]

Jintaru pulled out a simple long-stemmed wooden pipe, a leather pouch and a small stone from within the bedroll around his waist. The pipe had a thin layer of faceted stone around the rim of the bowl, the same stone as the tiny flint. As he opened the pouch, an earthy but sweet smell of herbs permeated the air. Distinct among the orchestra of scents were tortoise sage, honeywort and wild lavender. Packing the pipe with the blend of dried herbs, he put the pipe into his mouth. Picking up the flint, he scratched it delicately against the stone on the pipe. With each scratch, sparks leapt from the rim and into the packed bowl. It took a couple of strikes but the herbs suddenly caught and a whisker of smoke began to dance up from them.