Lysabel nearly let him go. The borderlander was curt to the point of rudeness, but she supposed she preferred that to the Custodian’s forcing her to extract each fact one by one. She turned and reached for her book but her mind was already processing the information she had been given, just as though Sarene Sedai had set it to her as a lesson. Four days march south, two days march east. Alot depended on where the march had began from. What had they hoped to accomplish. This was Jaramide, a handful of trollocs could never hope to overwhelm even a single fortified watchtower. That logic was proceeding from a false premise. Of course a single group could not hope to overwhelm a watchtower. Ergo there was more than one group, probably traveling dispersed in order to avoid detection, or if they were detected as this group had been, so they would be passed off as random raiders. Was this just trollocs bent on slaughter? Who was the black figure Markus had seen?

“Outrider, wait a moment,” Lysabel ordered, sighing inwardly as she picked up her book and crossed the garden towards him.

 

“I need to report,” Markus growled, not for the first time as he followed her through the streets. The city seemed unusually alive to Lysabel, though her experience beyond the library and the palace was minimal.

“And you shall, once you have escorted me to my destination,” she replied, striving for Aes Sedai serenity. In the tales, when an Aes Sedai asked a service of someone, they complied willingly and they certainly didn’t carp and complain the whole time. The destination she had in mind was the Choir Tree, a tavern on the edge of the city near the south gate.

“Besides, isn’t it better if you have a full report?” she coaxed. This extracted another sour grunt from her companion. Blood and Ashes, they did breed a maudlin sort this far north. The Choir Tree was and impressive building with a central structure flanked by two wings of white brick around a stone courtyard that was bright with blooming flowers in an elaborate series of stone planter beds. The interior of the tavern smelled pleasantly of baking bread and mulled cider, several barrels of which stood beside a fire over which hot irons hung on a metal grate. The innkeeper was a round looking man with a shiny bald pate and an impressive mustache. He polished at a glass with a rag brightening as she entered.

 

“You honor my establishment Aes Sedai,” he said with a florid bow, “do you and your warder require quarters?” Lysabel blinked, nonplussed for a moment, before realizing he was referring to Markus.

“Thank you but no,” she replied, failing to correct his misapprehension. “Can you tell me if Master Kadal is still in residence?” The innkeeper nodded vigorously.

“Indeed he is Aes Sedai, is he a friend of yours?” the innkeeper asked.


“I hope that he is, would you tell him that Lysabel Sedai has an urgent matter to discuss with him. We might speak in the tea room if it is available?” she arched an interrogatory eyebrow. The innkeeper nodded pleasantly.


“Of course Aes Sedai, Ill have tea set out and send for him,” the man promised.

“Send for him first if you will,” she corrected, “we are somewhat pushed for time.”

“Is this to do with the bandit raids Aes Sedai?” he asked unexpectedly. Lysabel frowned, shaking her head.

“The whole town is buzzing about it, they say that the King is sending men south to chase them back across the border,” the innkeeper informed them with a knowing smile.

“We will await Master Kadal in the tea room,” she told him. The innkeeper nodded and led them into a pleasantly appointed room with large glass windows that looked out over the courtyard and comfortable divans arranged around a low central table. Lysabel took a seat but Markus did not,  his face was impassive but his anger was growing increasingly evident.

“I do not have time to take tea Aes Sedai, with all due respect…” the borderlander began.

“Don’t be so hasty young sir,” a voice like a small avalanche rumbled from the doorway. Markus turned to see a giant figure, nearly nine feet tall with great bushy eyebrows and a bright red coat and green breeches that would have served as a tent for a man on campaign.

“I find there is almost always time for tea,” he rumbled, stepping into the room and straightening almost to the tall roof beams.

“I am Kadal son of Mavaam,” he introduced himself with a slight bow and a rich chuckle.


[@POOHEAD189]