Chapter 16

“If that’s the case, why hasn’t word been sent to the High Commander?” Tristan asked. The innkeeper wrinkled his brow. “I assumed it had. Thought that’s why he was sending you out West--to smooth things over and see to the plague at the Coast.” Tristan opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind. “Is that it?” Master Collop shook his head. “No, Paladin. John says if it’s bad in Pirama, it’s much worse further out.” He leaned in closer. “Have you heard of the Uriel?” “The who?” “The Uriel,” Master Collop whispered. “I don’t know much about them, but John says they’re presenting themselves as an alternative to the Paladins, as salvation against the western demon plague. And they’ve already amassed a decent sized following.” “Are they in Pirama already?” Tristan asked. “No, not yet; most of their followers are from the fringe towns just outside the Diamond Coast. But John thinks a rebellion is coming; he’s heard rumbles about it. And folks are already refusing to stay at The Brass Monkey since John has got the High Commander's emblem in his windows. That’s why he needed to borrow the money.” Tristan leaned back in his chair, rubbing the blond stubble at his chin. “It’s grim news you share, Master Collop. I’ll have to write of this to the High Commander.” He slid another two gold coins across the table. “Can I trust you to deliver the letter? And to keep quiet about this rumor until I return?” The two coins vanished into Master Collop’s apron. “You can put your faith in me, Paladin.” A short half hour later, Master Collop walked them to the stables, a slight jingle to his step as he brought out their horses. “You be careful, now,” the innkeeper cautioned as he bid them farewell. “I always am,” said Tristan. “You too, Master Sam and Master Braeden. And you listen to Paladin Lyons. He’s a good man, he is.” Braeden and Sam exchanged looks, their first friendly interaction since the inauspicious start to the day. Master Collop then bowed as low as his rounded body would allow, until the sock cap he wore slipped off his head, revealing his shiny, bald crown. Once Master Collop was no longer in sight, a helpless giggle escaped Sam’s lips. Tristan brought his horse close enough to hers so that the back of her head was in range. “Idiot,” he scoffed as he lightly smacked her across the nape of her neck. “Oi,” she protested, rubbing her neck. “I couldn’t help it. That man is just so silly.” “Aye, Master Collop is quite silly,” Tristan admitted. “But we’d do well to heed his words. He may be a bothersome old gossip, but his information is seldom wrong. If there’s any truth to what he said…” he trailed off. “Well, let’s just say this assignment may prove to be more interesting than I anticipated.” They continued on the road again, with far more amiability than the frosty silence of the morning. Tristan took the lead, setting a pace that was as fast as they could reasonably push their horses. Sam’s right ankle began to ache, but she pushed it out of her mind. The road was not nearly as desolate as it had been between The Center and Gwent; the villages were not spread so far apart here, and merchants with their goods in tow traversed the dirt path between one village and the next. But Tristan wanted to reach the city of Cordoba before nightfall, when they closed the city gates, so they did not stop again, eating their midday meal from the saddle. It was a good thing, too, for by the time they reached the city, it was already dusk. “I hate Cordoba,” Braeden muttered darkly as they neared the city gates. Sam turned to Braeden in surprise. “Why?” She hadn’t spent more than an hour in Cordoba, and had only been passing through, so she knew little about the city or its people. It was Tristan who answered. “Given its proximity to The Center, Cordoba is a Paladin bastion, and the city is very impassioned about our cause. You might say that their passion borders on fanaticism.” Tristan twisted in his saddle towards Braeden. “I take it your, ah, unique heritage may have raised a few brows?” Braeden grimaced, tugging his straw hat lower over his eyes. “Something like that.” Tristan was getting impatient. If The Laughing Bear had been full, The Twelve Peers inn was absolutely jam-packed. Even the foyer was crowded with people, and he had to shove and elbow his way to the front desk. A harried woman in too much make-up stood behind the counter, thumbing through the guest book. “Excuse me, Mistress…” Tristan started. “Rosamund,” she supplied, not looking up from her papers. “What can I do fer you?” “I need three rooms, please. For me and the lads,” Tristan said, nodding towards Sam and Braeden, who’d finally managed to reach him. Rosamund guffawed. “Three rooms? ‘Ave you seen the place? You'll be lucky if you don't 'ave to sleep in the stables.” Tristan clutched her hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. “My lady, isn’t there anything you can do?” He lowered his voice. “For a Paladin and his trainees?” Mistress Rosamund finally looked up, a blush staining her cheeks. “Well now, let me see 'ere,” she murmured. “Per’aps the three of you would be willin’ to share a room?” She lowered her eyes, then peeked at Tristan through her spidery lashes. “Though I would be 'appy to share me chambers wiv you, lovey.” “Ah, madam, you are too kind, but I think the three of us will have to share a room. We’ve an early start to the morning, and I’ve a feeling if I stayed with you, we wouldn’t be doing much sleeping,” Tristan said with a wink. Behind him, Sam made a gagging noise. Mistress Rosamund cackled delightedly. “Too bad. Meg!” she barked. A young maid scurried to the front desk and bobbed a curtsy. “Meg, I need you to show the misters ‘ere to their room. Room 317, it’ll be.” She leaned against the counter, showing her ample cleavage to its best advantage. “An’ if you change your mind, lovey, you just let me know.” The room Mistress Rosamund had rented out to them was a tight squeeze, but it would do. Meg promised to have a footman bring up extra pallets, so they wouldn’t have to share a bed. Tristan knew well that they wouldn’t always be so lucky; he’d spent most of the past six years on the road, and he took his comforts where he could.