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

Chapter Three

A rush of water cut into the imposed silence as the door opened and then shut again behind the sodden travelers. The eatery was especially somber, an obvious result of the types of patrons that chose that particular inn that particular evening. There was a storm, but that was not the culprit behind their disquiet. The crowd was primarily local—the everyday customer that expected an everyday experience. Instead, they were greeted with an awkward host of affluent men of various ages and questionable motives. Nobles, no doubt, for they were far too vain to be merchants and far too overdressed to be anyone else. Most of the locals did their best to ignore the group, only allowing their eyes to wander over them long enough to scowl, or frown, or whisper to their neighbor what they thought of such additions to their otherwise uneventfulness. The nobles seemed not to notice, or not to care, which was the same as not noticing. There were five of them, all sitting where they could see the door, all distinctly on edge.

A man in a yellow surcoat with the sigil of a beaming sun sat at the head of the table, if there was such a thing at the inn’s eatery. Sitting across the room at a table by himself, Karn had pegged the leader almost immediately. The leader was cautious, pedantic even, and it was clear that he was concerned not only about being double crossed, but also about the public nature of such a meeting. The leader was the obvious choice. He was the most seasoned of the five, with a salted beard and sober eyes, and he was the only one with a fresh surcoat on. His boots were specifically tailored for riding, not for combat, which spoke more about him than anything. In the end the boots always told the truth. Three of the other four were purely there for their sword hands, and they did little to hide such a fact. They were rippled with muscle that was visible even through their mail armor, and they had a habit of checking and rechecking their sword belts, as if they might autonomously get up and find more competent hosts. The fifth, and also the smallest, was obviously the money. He had short cropped hair, a smooth face, and the demeanor of a nervous child about to challenge his first foe. The fact that there was a man in charge of three swordsmen and a comptroller meant that he was someone important indeed, probably a lord, or at least a very important knight speaking for a lord. Though, why he was present at this meeting was a mystery to Karn, for there would be no currency exchange happening, at least not any common type of currency—assuming everything went to plan.

The man named Karn who sat across the room yawned and took a long pull from his flagon. He was an expert at appearing disinterested. He was not there for the liquid refreshment. He had a job to do. He wore a leather jerkin and wool trousers with tall, sturdy boots and no weapons—at least no visible ones. Cloaks tended to slow him down, not to mention that he hated the strain they put on his posture. It seemed like a petty rebuke to an otherwise useful garment, but he found warmth in pelts and furs, leaving the cloaks and cowls to those inclined to look like monks or archers.

It was almost time, Karn knew. He could feel the others approaching. After taking one last drink, he sat back in his chair and did his best to focus. It was most certainly not his most difficult job, even with eight as the total number, but it was not far from it. The required detail would nearly tax his abilities, and he knew he would have trouble matching the accents, but there was little he could do on such notice. He frowned and then closed his eyes.

A ripple moved through the eatery. It was subtle, unnoticeable, but had anyone been looking they would have seen it.

The door swung open and three men entered. They were the cowl types, with shrouded features and tense movements. They formed a straight line across once they were all inside of the inn. The two on the outside gave a quick look-over, ensuring that the room was indeed safe and that their business could begin. The local crowd seemed to understand and feigned disinterest by staring at the tables, or the walls, or anywhere but the meeting. After a nod from his men, the cowl in the middle stepped to the table and stopped as the three swords rose. They moved cautiously, two of the men stopped in front of the two cowls that flanked the leader. The other moved directly to the front man and motioned something at his chest.