The Tree of Black and White (The Shadowdancer Chronicles, Book Two)

Chapter Nine

Functioning with a counterpart, especially a forced counterpart, was an unfortunate development that succeeded in only frustrating Karn. He had not worked with anyone in a very, very long time—it was simply easier to improvise alone. His new undertaking would be exceedingly difficult, especially with Sir Egan acting as his shadow. All of that, of course, was considering the fact that he was forced to leave Mordom, to leave the wall, and thus forced to abandon his search. As far as he knew there was nothing in Llyne that would prove to help his quest, save for a decent collection of oclasalt that could prove to make the voyage worthwhile. Though, his chances of retrieving it from House Terric were slim at best.

            His gelding neighed as he pulled on the reins, slowing its movement as the small village materialized in the distance. Sir Egan's destrier matched his slowed pace as he flexed out his mailed arms, stretching sore muscles. Riding for days on end took a toll on the body.

            “Traemor,” the knight said with indifference. “A small town with little to offer. They have an inn, perhaps a market in which we can procure supplies.”

            Karn ignored the knight. He was noble, and he was not like to let Karn forget it, which meant that he had little to say to the man.

            “I will find us a room.” The knight spurred his mount forward, but Karn gave his intrusive nature little thought. He would suffer the nobleman as long as he was forced to, no longer. For now, he was content with a dry room and a warm bed.

            The town was indeed small, but it was also intriguing in its own right. The architectural style of most of the buildings was Vintish, but they also had a hint of something else in them—Panthosi no doubt. It was not entirely prevalent, but he could see the curves, the aesthetic beauty that could only be found in the south. Such things were lost upon the northerners.

            Karn watched as the knight dropped from his horse and handed the reins to the stable boy. The inn was larger than he would have guessed, towering over the rest of the buildings in the small town. There would be rooms, tiny ones, with straw beds that smelled of manure and pillows that did little to deserve their names. The pork would be salty, the wine tart, and all the while Karn would wonder why he was lost in this southern land that he had left so long ago.

            The inn was as lively a place as any, complete with a bard worth his weight in silver and serving wenches that made the world a happier place. Sir Egan was already sitting at the back of the candlelit room. He pulled off his mail gauntlets, stretching out his fingers as Karn found a place beside him.

            “Quite the establishment,” Karn observed. “Good music.” He paused as a serving wench dropped flagons in front of the two men. “Good wine,” he added after taking a long pull.

            Sir Egan did not immediately respond. “Do not mistake my presence as company, Distorter.” He spat the name, as if the very thought of a magik user disgusted him. “I am accompanying you to ensure that you fulfill my lord’s purpose, not to make small talk with you over beef and barley.”

            “And what is your lord’s purpose, if you don’t mind me asking?” Karn took a healthy pull of wine before glancing at his surroundings.

            “I will not play these games with you,” the knight replied.

            Karn frowned. “You are my handmaiden, is that it?” He did little to hide the smile that crept to his face. “Here to ensure I do not break a nail or stub a toe. Honorable profession for a knight, if I must say so myself.”