Chapter 18

The town of Spant was almost big enough to be a city. It had three inns, not two as Virien had heard, though considering what the girls offered upstairs in the third one, it was no surprise that she hadn't known of it.

The largest of the inns was The Rusty Bell. The deciding factor for me was its proximity to the western edge of Spant. We had decided that it would make for a quieter stay if the boys didn't accompany me into town, but I still wanted them as close as I could get them.

The Rusty Bell was no Three Seasons, nor was Feliks Moroe an Artuma. Certainly not in a physical sense. He was short, fat and seemed to sport his long, greasy hair with a pride that defied its stringy appearance. I arranged for a private room and two meals; tonight's dinner and tomorrow's breakfast.

I found a small table by the fireplace and sat facing the middle of the room. The crowd here didn't look all that rough, but I didn't want to let any opportunistic types come to the opinion that I was an easy mark. To emphasize the point, I sat and played with the same little ball of light I'd used to impress the girl Virien. It was inconsequential magic, mostly useless for anything practical, but I did use it now and then as a focus for my concentration. It was far less ridiculous than staring into a glass ball. The serving girl was somewhat put off by it when she delivered the lavis I'd ordered. I motioned to the table and she put it down, her eyes never leaving the blue glow flickering between my fingertips. I took a long sip of the wine, shivering slightly at the acidic bite. It was not the best I'd had, nor the worst. The girl backed away from the table, almost bumping into another patron at the table between the fireplace and the bar before remembering to turn around.

With my cup in front of me, and with a sip from it having diminished my desire for more, I sat waiting for my meal and playing with the blue light, pushing a little magic into it to run its color from blue to red and even into green. With out even realizing I did it, I pulled my dagger out and began to idly spin it about in my right hand. I did idle circles at first, but after I'd gotten comfortable being so occupied, I let my mind wander back over the events of recent weeks and years. I savored the memory of my time in Kaya Tumic, beyond that my mind wandered back to my time with Samaroc, learning the inker's trade. For a moment, I let my mind slip past that time and into the dark time beyond; to my failure.

There was a flare of light, and I came back to the present to find my little ball of light was glowing with a harsh, bright white glare and had grown as large as my head. Magic sang from between the fingers of my other hand and I looked with both sights and realized I'd woven a sharp, angry rune into the air with my dagger.

I pulled my magic back and let the rune fade, putting the dagger back in its place and taking a hurried swallow of the lavis. I let the ball of light shrink and fade to nothingness, dropping my left hand to the table and letting out a breath I didn't even know I'd been holding.

As soon as the light had died, the serving girl was back, a platter in her hand. She practically threw it onto the table in her haste. I thought about asking her to replace my cup with something fit to drink, but it wasn't worth the bother. I ate my mutton and dumplings surrounded by silence. Silence was good and fit my mood.

My room was far from luxurious, but it was private. There was even a small wash basin and mirror to go with the somewhat lumpy but clean bed and linens. While I was getting myself ready for bed, I used the basin and the small pitcher of water to wash the meal off my face and hands. I found myself looking at my reflection in the mirror.

I had never had 'boyish' features, even when I was a boy. My face was a little too long and my features a little too irregular. What boyish traces had been there seemed to have disappeared during my time in Kaya Tumic. My face wasn't unpleasant looking, I'd been told. Ilesa certainly seemed to think my features were pleasing. But boyish? Not exactly the description that fit me. Not then and certainly not now.

For one thing, shaving had begun to become more of a necessity than it had in the past. I had been dealing with what seemed to be random bits of hair here and there for a while now, but sometime in the last year my body had decided to begin producing facial hair with prodigious enthusiasm. It was almost trivial to deal with for those with a wizard's talent and training, but it had become a daily ritual which still caught me by surprise from time to time. Staring into the mirror, I considered growing a beard.

As I sat on the bed with nothing but a candle for light, I reached up to touch the tattoo at my throat and reached out for my master.

<It is late afternoon here>, my master sent, a touch of whimsy in his thoughts. <You have traveled far from home, my apprentice.>

<How is home?> I asked, my mind drawn to thoughts of the Vale.

<Cold, but surprisingly free of foul influences, so far>, he sent. <You won't see it yourself until well after you've crossed the Tatterik.>

<The touch of winter remains confined to the Vale then?>
<It does. Winter remains in the Vale even when it departs elsewhere.>