Sofy paid for her mug and took a seat by a window, near three men, a woman and a young girl. She'd hoped to be ignored, but amongst Goeren-yai, that wasn't always likely.
“You waiting for your pa then, lass?” one of the men boomed, loud enough for the whole inn to hear. As if it were everyone's business.
“Aye,” said Sofy, with a conscious effort to remove the Baen-Tar education from her speech. “We brought ale from Eyud. We're headed back this afternoon, Pa's just asking after other business, for the next time he comes down this way.”
“We're leatherworkers from Malry,” another man added. “All the lords and ladies riding into town today on their pretty horses, we were up to late evening yesterday making the final touches on the bridles.”
“Eyud's a long way to bring a pretty girl on a trading trip,” said the woman, eyeing her curiously. Something about her expression made Sofy nervous. Like she suspected something. “Do you not have any brothers, then?”
“Three,” said Sofy. “But one's not well, and the other's just recently married, and Myklas…he's too lazy and Pa always spoils him.” It sounded right to the group, they nodded and smiled knowingly. She was becoming a good liar. It nearly worried her.
“So,” said the woman, slyly, “your pa has a man lined up for you? Is that why he really brought you all this way, to meet some boy?”
Expectant looks from all present. Sofy smiled coyly, and sipped at her ale. “He's not a boy,” she replied finally.
“Ah!” said everyone, in unison. There were footsteps on the verandah, and the inn's doors swung open. Sofy looked, and her heart nearly stopped. Noblemen entered the inn, Verenthanes with a dashing cut to their shirts and jackets, swords prominent at their hips.
One scanned the room, saw Sofy and pointed. He and two others marched over. Behind them, more gathered in the doorway. At the table to Sofy's side, the Goeren-yai men turned to look. “That's the one,” said the leading man. “That's the one who was asking nosy questions down by the river. My maid pointed her out to me in the square, she swears it's the same girl.”
Sofy sat frozen. She'd thought she'd been so careful! But there were spies everywhere, and all through the crowds. Of course there would be! There were no great lords in Lenayin as paranoid as Great Lord Arastyn right now.
“You, girl, up,” said another man, gruffly. “My lord will want to speak with you.”
“Hey,” said a Goeren-yai man from the neighbouring table. “You watch how you speak to the girl. She's Goeren-yai, and she ain't your servant.”
The noble pointed a black-gloved finger at the leatherworker. “You, shut it,” he said, dangerously. “This is our town, you yokels are here on the lord's forbearance. You'll mind your business and do what you're told.”
“Hey, friend,” said the second leatherworker, “I paid my way here.” He rose to his feet. The other Goeren-yais followed. “I don't need any lord's forbearance, I work hard for my coin and I'll come and go as I please.” The woman collected her daughter and pulled her aside, wary but not afraid. She grasped Sofy's arm, and Sofy got up and edged backward.
“This is Algery, you peasant!” the noble spat. “This is Verenthane land!”
“This here's Lenayin, you pissant, and I'm a Lenay.” About the inn, other Goeren-yai men were rising to their feet. In the doorway, the remaining nobles were coming forward to face the threat. It looked to Sofy an even fight.
“This here is your girl?” the noble demanded, pointing at Sofy.
“Aye,” the leatherworker lied, tossing long hair from his face. “What's it to you?”
“Then you're under arrest too!”
“Arrest!” Several Goeren-yai men laughed. “You've got no more power to arrest someone than I've got power to flap my arms and fly to Saalshen!”
“Aye, well you're about to learn differently,” fumed the noble. “Girl! You're coming with us!”
“Over my dead body,” said another man, from a different table entirely. All were armed. Goeren-yai men always were.
“Then we'll come back and get her later,” the noble suggested, with a dark, nasty smile. “With cavalry. We'll see how you like that, you stupid pagan goatfucker.”
The first leatherworker didn't bother drawing his sword, he simply punched the noble in the face. With a roar the two sides leapt at each other, barehanded, and the face-off disintegrated into a brawling mass of flying fists. Tables collapsed, chairs were picked up and hurled, bodies went crashing and wrestling to the floor. A Goeren-yai tried to throw a townsman through a window, missed, and crashed him headfirst into the wall instead. Another townsman dropped a Goeren-yai out cold with an impressive left, only to be crash-tackled into the bar by his companion.
Sofy scampered into a relatively safe corner with the woman, the two of them shielding the little girl. Sofy watched in disbelief as several of the younger lads danced about the perimeter of the fight, yelling encouragement to their fathers and uncles, and handing them chairs at need. No one had yet gone for their blades, however, in which respect the riotous confusion held to a remarkable discipline. If it weren't so completely preposterous, Sofy might have sworn that many of the men seemed to be…enjoying themselves.
“Oh how ridiculous,” said the Goeren-yai woman at Sofy's side, wincing as a man toppled backward over a table nearby. “I can't take my men anywhere. This is the third brawl this year.” The fallen man leapt back to his feet…he was Verenthane, and the woman reached out her foot and tripped him as he sprung forward. He stumbled, and his opponent took advantage, hurling him bodily into a wall, then pummelling him with fists. Sofy blinked at the woman, but she seemed far more interested in following the fight. Sofy wondered what Sasha would do. Probably the same as the other women, she decided. Against men, Sasha fought with her blade, or not at all.
A new arrival barrelled in through the door, a tall man with red hair flying. Teriyan. He grabbed a townsman, locked an arm with an athletic twist, spun whilst falling and threw…the townsman went shoulder-first through the bar, wood splintering as the innkeep ducked for cover. Another townsman came swinging, but Teriyan blocked, ducked, then lashed, lightning fast, catching his opponent in the jaw. The man staggered, caught Teriyan's boot in the groin, then an elbow smash to the side of the face that dropped him like a sack of vegetables.
“Oh, he's good!” enthused Sofy's companion. “He's an expert, you can tell.”
Indeed, Teriyan's arrival seemed to swing the fight and suddenly there were more Goeren-yai standing than townsmen. Another townsman was outflanked and dragged down, and a big Goeren-yai simply grabbed one smaller man and threw him out the window…which was closed, naturally. Glass crashed and fell, and then the remaining townsmen were backing away, making a dash for the door, or the broken window. The Goeren-yai men let them go, followed by much cheering and shouted abuse at the retreating men's backs as they ran, holding several hobbling injured between them.
The Goeren-yai woman abandoned her daughter to Sofy's care, dashing forward to assist one groaning, half conscious Goeren-yai on the floor. A Verenthane townsman was hauling himself up, his face bloody, legs refusing to cooperate as he clutched to a table. One of the leatherworkers went to him, and the townsman's hand went to the knife at his belt.
“Hey!” said the leatherworker firmly. “None of that, stranger. You put up a good fight and you lost, no shame in that. Now don't be a damn fool and spoil everyone's fun.”
The townsman's hand retreated from his belt. Even through the blood, he looked a little shamefaced.
“Did you see my daddy hit that man?” asked the girl in Sofy's care. She was beaming with delight. “He hit him so hard his face broke!” Well, Sofy supposed, Sasha had always said she should get out sometime and see the real Lenayin. Now she had. And she was learning why her people made lowlanders nervous.
“Hey there, M'girl!” said Teriyan, spotting her and striding over, sweaty and enthusiastic, yet not so triumphant as the others. “Is he here yet?”
The messenger, Sofy remembered. “No!” she replied, anxiously. “Maybe this will have scared him away!”
“Well he better get here fast before the real soldiers get here. What happened?” Sofy told him. Teriyan looked grim. “Damn, they'll be back then. For any old brawl they wouldn't bother, but if he was after you…”
“I don't think he…” knew who I am, she nearly completed, but silenced herself with a glance down at the little girl.
Teriyan crouched before the girl. “What's your name, petal?”
“Rassy,” said the girl.
Teriyan tipped her nose with a calloused finger. “Did you like that fight, Rassy?”
Rassy looked uncertain, her face screwed up with conflicting emotions. “No. But…well, we won.”
“Aye we did!” Teriyan beamed at her. “Goeren-yai always win when we stick together. Don't forget it!”
“Excuse me,” came a nervous voice to their side. Teriyan and Sofy both looked, but the young, swordless lad of perhaps fourteen years had eyes solely for Sofy, wide like saucers. He smelled of horses. “Are you…I mean, M'Lady…are you…?”
“Oh there you are!” Sofy said happily, put a hand on his shoulder and steered him out to the verandah as though he were an old friend. The men in the inn were preoccupied with settling their mess. “I'm just a common town girl,” she told the boy in a low voice once outside, “and you'd best remember it or my friend here will get angry.” Teriyan had followed them out, and loomed alongside.
The boy nodded hastily. “M'Lady, I was sent by Lieutenant Hamys…I was working in the stables as usual, and he comes to me, and he says-”
“Does he know where Jaryd is?” Sofy interrupted impatiently.
The boy nodded. “There's a small place on the edge of the main square, only you don't enter from there, you get in from an alley at the back. It's…it's where the lords keep their secret liquors and weed for big celebrations, the ones they don't want the priests to know about…”
Oh aye, Sofy had heard of those. Rumours were that Myklas and some of his stupid friends liked to keep such a place somewhere in the palace, to the scandalised horror of their elder brother Wyldred. A place with servants would never do, because servants always gossiped.