The fire was quenched before we got to it and I felt a small amount of relief. One less threat to Jocasta's survival. I had been on the watch for something and it wasn't far. The inn sprawled on a crossroad, as big as a small villa. The door was shut and barred but I hammered on it relentlessly. I needed a drink. We could use horses. Down the street a door opened and was immediately closed when I glanced that way. I saw an old woman hurrying down the street fearfully, a bag in her hand. She opened the door to a small cottage and I saw the relief in her posture as she closed the door behind her. Home, she was thinking, safe. I imagined her sick feeling of relief and knew it was an illusion. No place was safe in a town in enemy hands. I hoped she would be left alone, her precious stock of food left for her use. I hammered on the door again.
“Who is it?” The voice was full of false bravado, tainted by fear.
“Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian, patron of the city.”
The door opened and a short but broad man opened it, ushering us in. “Patron, what news do you have? What is happening?”
I shook my head. “Get me a drink, we'll talk in a while.”
He did as he was asked and I sucked it down. Damn, I had needed that. I felt less shaky, steadier, more in control. The taproom was dim and empty, though I could hear whispering and shuffling in the distance. His family hid while he hovered nervously, waiting to hear something he could tell them to reassure them.
“Food,” Sapphire told him. “We will need horses, saddles and tack, supplies.”
The short innkeeper nodded. “You have coin or scrip?” He wanted coin, hoped for scrip, would settle for our word no doubt.
“Some,” I told him, and dumped my looted coin on the bar. “Bring whiskey, half a dozen bottles.”
Sapphire was cold faced as he reached under his coat. “I have scrip. We will pay well in that and you can redeem it when this is over.”
“When will it be over?” The man asked, lightly, trying not to let his bitterness show. “I have dray horses. You can have them. I could not deliver beer to those who cannot pay, even if the barbarians didn't steal it first.” He was of the same blood himself, but he spoke the language of the city well and counted himself one of us. We are the friends of traders everywhere and experience had taught him that was true. We protected traders and trade, kept peace in our territories so that traders could safely move their goods to far markets. He was a trader and our natural ally.
I nodded, the dray horses would do. “No saddles, then?”
“None that will fit. You'll have to ride bareback,” he made it sound unimportant, and he wasn't far wrong. I had done it in my youth and I could do it again. I had no doubt of Sapphire. I let the barkeep go and arrange things, walked around the bar and poured myself another brew. Idly kicking barrels as I walked the length of the bar. There were few and what remained were mostly empty. A bad time to be a brewer, I thought. “How much scrip do you have?”
“Enough.”
“In my Father's name?” It wasn't really a question.
“Yes.”
He did not elaborate and I left it. It didn't matter that I suspected he had enough to equip and maintain an army. There was no hope of doing that now, just the two of us in enemy territory.
As I sipped my second beer I became a little less aware of the constant growling, whining and snuffling of the dogs. I was so used to the sounds that I barely noticed.