30
NIGHT VISITORS

Thryis and the others sat pushing their suppers around their plates in silence that night. The announcement of war had come at midmorning and the news of Plenimar’s attack on Mycena the previous day had thrown the city into an uproar.

Bluecoat patrols were out in force, rounding up beggars and keeping the peace. Down in the harbor, fighting ships that had rocked at anchor like winter ducks hoisted their colors and sailed out through the moles to join others from ports up and down the coast. At the Harvest Market vendors’ stalls were being moved aside to make way for ballistas and catapults.

Diomis had spent the afternoon in the streets, trying to sort some sense out of the ebb and flow of rumors flying freely around the city: the Plenimaran fleet had been spotted off the southern tip of Skala; the fighting was centered around the island of Kouros; it was a land attack—the enemy had crossed the Folcwine and was marching west toward Skala; Plenimaran marines were at the Cirna Canal.

A Queen’s herald had arrived at the market at last with solid news; the Plenimarans had made a surprise attack against Skalan troops somewhere in Mycena.

“It makes my old fingers itch for a bowstring even now,” Thryis commented wistfully as her family and Rhiri gathered in the kitchen for the evening. “I still remember that battle we fought above Ero. A clear summer morning, not a breath of wind to spoil the shot, and a hundred of us lined up behind the infantry with our longbows. When we let fly, the Plenimarans fell like a swath of wheat before a scythe.”

“They’ll be fighting in mud and rain, starting in this early. I wonder how Micum Cavish’s girl is making out—” Diomis broke off in surprise as a tear trickled down his daughter’s cheek. “Why, Cilla, you’re crying. What’s the matter, love?”

Cilla wiped her cheek and hugged the baby to her, saying nothing.

“Luthas’ dad is a soldier, isn’t he, dear?” her grandmother asked gently, patting the girl’s shoulder.

Cilla nodded mutely, then hurried up the back stairs with Luthas in her arms.

Diomis rose to follow, but Thryis stopped him. “Let her go, son. She’s never talked of the man before; I don’t suppose she’ll say anything now until she’s a mind to.”

“What do you know about that?” he said, scratching under his beard in bemusement. “You’d think if she cared for whoever this fellow is enough to weep for him now, she’d have said more about him to us. Why do you suppose she keeps it such a damned secret?”

“Who knows? I always thought maybe he’d broken promises to her, but she wouldn’t cry for him if he had. Ah well, Cilla’s always had her own way of doing things.”

They sat quietly a moment, listening to the crackle of the fire. Then Rhiri tapped the table with his spoon and made a hand sign.

“No, I have had no word of them since yesterday,” Thryis told him. “Alec’s Patch was gone this morning, but both of Seregil’s horses are still in their stalls, aren’t they?”

Rhiri nodded.

“I wouldn’t worry about those two,” said Diomis. “You go on Up to bed now, Mother. Me and Rhiri will see to things down here.”

“Make certain the doors are barred,” Thryis warned as he helped her to her feet. “Rhiri, don’t you forget to put oil in the lanterns out front. With all the excitement today some folks may get up to mischief. I want the court well lit.”

“Aye, we will, Mother,” sighed Diomis. “Haven’t we seen to the closing up these last twenty years? Rhiri, you go on out and check the stable. I’ll take care of the front room.”

Rhiri gave a quick salute and went out through the lading-room door to the back court.

In the front room Diomis checked the bar on the door and extinguished the lamp. The hearth fire was out; with only two guests in the inn, he hadn’t bothered to keep it burning when they’d turned in early. He was just checking the shutter hooks when he heard the familiar rattle of the front door latch.

Diomis peered through the crack of the shutter but saw no horses in the courtyard.

“Who’s that?” he called.

There was no answer except a crisp rap on the door.

Diomis had no patience for games tonight. “We’re closed up! Try the Rowan Tree, two streets over.”

The unseen visitor knocked again, more insistently this time.

“Now look here—” Diomis began, but was cut short by the crash of the kitchen door slamming back on its hinges.