Page 27 of Silverbow (The Godsung Saga #1)

He glanced again at his sleeping boys. “Well, how it ended of course. Maia gone. Pallas on her throne. They put her guard to the question, every last one of them. In the end, all the lowborn guards were put to the sword. The sons of noble houses were allowed to keep their heads if their fathers paid their ransom, forbidden from ever serving the throne or the high courts ever again, not that there was much want of that after the questioners were done with them.”

Put to the question. Light .

“My father was one of Maia Trakbatten’s Queen’s Guards?” Enya was still struggling to move beyond that revelation. “You’re certain?”

Master Kenara scrubbed a hand down his face. “Aye. Hand picked by Esmond himself.” Esmond? Peras and Kennon were stirring, and the farmer eyed her warningly. “I’ve said more than I should. But the offer stands, Miss Ansel. To Trout Run.”

The Kenara boys crawled out from beneath the wagon, yawning and stretching. Their father turned toward them, plastering a grin on his face as he called his good morning. It seemed the Kenaras didn’t know of their father’s service either, and Enya wondered if all men were liars.

Still, when they set out, she found herself riding alongside the wagon, listening to Peras and Kennon bicker and rib one another as mid day slid into afternoon.

A Queen’s Guard. Renley Ryerson. Had he known this Master of Coin?

Is that why he had taken an interest? She snapped back as the boys competed for her attention, a welcome distraction from the questions she had no answers to.

“Is Trout Run a proper city, then?” She asked as they plodded down the road.

“A city? No, I don’t suppose it is. A town, I’d say,” Master Kenara mused.

Kenon swiveled to his father in disbelief. “Not a city?”

Master Kenara chuckled. “I can’t say I’ve seen the great cities of Estryia, but Trout Run is hardly more than an overgrown village with a few docks.”

Enya frowned at the lie. “It is larger than Innesh?”

“Oh yes,” the farmer nodded. “Not nearly as grand as Trowbridge, but if it’s a boat you’re after, Miss Ansel, you should be able to find one there to take you south.”

“Is it a pleasant town?”

The man scratched the stubble of his beard. “The town watch keeps a close eye, but merchants and sailors can be rougher folk. Most of that stays contained to the docks. The upper town is pleasant enough. Now Trowbridge, watch your purse and your horse if you disembark in Trowbridge, Miss Ansel.”

“You ought to see the bridge,” Peras beamed, and his brother’s scowl indicated only the elder Kenara had been as far as Trowbridge.

“Built by the dwarves,” Master Kenara nodded. “You ever seen anything dwarven built, Miss Ansel?” She shook her head, and the farmer sighed. “It’s too bad they stay walled up in Drozia these days. A work of art, that bridge. A fine work of art. Ah, there’s Trout Run now. ”

Enya squinted at the docks that jutted out to slice into the ribbon of blue ahead.

Small Trout Run might be, but it was guarded by a proper stone wall.

The crimson lion of Davolier House rippled in a lazy breeze on the gate tower, and below it, a leaping black fish on a field of blue marked some lower house she didn’t know.

As they lumbered toward the gate, a gate guarded by men in blue, Enya realized remaining with the Kenaras had been a grave mistake. She should have gone around the walled city, but the guards had already seen them approaching on the cart path.

“Your papers,” a watchman growled. Enya tried not to look at the parchments nailed to the gatehouse door as Berral and Peras reached into their coat pockets to produce theirs. My bow and quiver, my wits.

“My youngest haven’t got them yet,” the farmer said smoothly.

The guard eyed Enya and Kenon. “No papers, no entry.”

Berral gaped at the guard. “Since when?”

“Since trouble in Innesh,” the guard spat.

“Light, man. We’ve driven for two days. Can’t you see I’ve got wool to take to the market?”

Enya lowered her face to fiddle with her reins when she felt the guard’s eyes fix squarely on her. “No papers, no entry,” he repeated flatly.

“What am I supposed to do, leave my youngest here?”

Enya saw the guard’s hand tighten on his sword hilt. “I’m no nursemaid. You’re blocking the way. Two of you in, or all four of you turn around.”

“Edel Nilor!” Berral barked, and another watchman poked his head out of the gate tower.

“Berral!” He said brightly, a broad grin splitting his face.

He jerked his head toward the man who openly glowered at them now. “Will you vouch for us Edel? I’m in to sell our wool, but my youngest don’t have papers.”

He peered up at Enya. “Why, that can’t be little Loritte, can it?

” Enya tried not to let her panic show on her face.

“You must be beating the farm boys off with a stick.” Kenon sniggered and pink crept into her cheeks, but the guardsman rocked on his heels and whistled through his teeth.

“Leave over, Alen. Good folk the Kenaras. Let them through.”

The guard called Alen grunted but stepped back. “It’s your hide for the red coats if they’re any trouble. ”

Enya stilled, but she did not dare look up from her reins. “City full of them?” Berral asked casually.

Edel spat. “No more than usual, fewer actually. But the trouble in Innesh has them all riled up.”

“What kind of trouble?”

The guardsman scratched a gray beard and eyed Enya and the boys. “Oh, nothing for you to worry about out at the farm, Berral, but I suppose you’ll hear soon enough. Rumor’s all over town. They say the village rioted a few days back.”

“A riot? In Innesh? Whatever for?” Master Kenara asked in surprise.

Edel shrugged. “Some business about a witch.”

Kenon whistled through his teeth and Peras asked, “A witch burned Innesh?”

“Light, boy. No,” Billy said. “She was strapped to the pyre when someone put an arrow in her. Denied the king’s justice. The people rose up. Over the archer or the king’s justice, it’s not clear, but the red coats sent for half the garrison to quiet things down.”

“Well. That is…trouble. Nothing for us to worry over at the farm,” Berral agreed. “Edel, good to see you man.”

Enya did not breathe again until they were three blocks into the town without a shout going up behind them.

Dirt had turned to wide, flat stones under Arawelo’s hooves, and the shadows grew long in the fading light of the streets.

Berral Kenara reined his team up, and gestured for Enya to draw nearer.

“The boys and I need to offload this wagon tonight, or we’ll find it lighter in the morning. Straight on is the Riverboat, best inn in Trout Run.”

“Thank you, Master Kenara,” Enya said. He looked on the point of saying something more, but he clucked to the team and swung wide onto a side street.

Despite the waning hour, Trout Run bustled with people afoot.

The local garb was similar to that of the merchants and farmers in Westforks, but she blinked twice at the first two barefoot men she saw swaggering through the streets.

They wore voluminous trousers banded above the ankles, held up by wide woven belts.

Their shirts were cut from the same cloth, with big sleeves cinched at the wrists, and vests hanging open.

The bare feet had to name them sailors, though from where, Enya could not hazard a guess.

The Riverboat Inn was a sprawling building as big as any she’d ever seen. Voices and laughter drifted out into the street, along with the smells of roasted chicken and mutton, but Enya glanced at the parchments fluttering on the door and did not intend to stay. She kept on toward the southern gate.

It stood open with a line of wagons waiting to rumble on to the south. Joining the queue, she stood in her stirrups and craned her neck to get a look at what was causing the delay. Enya’s heart sank.

Open as the gates were, a knot of blue clad men stood to either side, flanked by the crimson coats of Pallas Davolier’s men.

They checked papers and poked their heads into carriages and covered wagons.

With a quiet curse, she steered Arawelo out of the line before any had noticed her or the heart that pounded too loudly in her own ears. A needle and thread, sewing scissors.

She was trapped inside Trout Run like the fish netted for market. Bloody walls.

Enya ran through her list over and over, the recitation holding the panic at bay.

A lantern with a spare cask of oil, flint and steel, her belt knife, a spare bowstring, a waterskin, a tin cup and bowl, a small kettle, a blanket roll, towel, three changes of clothes, bandages, a salve, a needle and thread, sewing scissors.

A brush, hoof pick, feed bag. A hair comb and a bit of soap.

Bread, hard cheese, dried meat, honey, and tea.

Silver and gold, a few coppers. The horse head carving. Arawelo. My bow and quiver. My wits.

A lantern with a spare cask of oil…Took half the garrison back with them.

There couldn’t be that many of the king’s men left in Trout Run. If she had a way to get them off the gate, some kind of distraction…A distraction that they would leave the gates open for…

Flint and steel…

She huffed a laugh.

Rash, Enya. Very rash.

She turned Arawelo in search of kindling. There was plenty of it in the warehouses stacked against the docks, but she had no quarrels with these men. The merchants and traders hadn’t done her any wrongs. The king and his Master of Coin though…

She found herself strolling down an alley beside the soldier’s outpost. It was easy enough to find, marked by the crimson lion flying out front and matching uniforms hanging on a clothesline in the back alley.

Enya skirted the wood sided building, humming to herself.

Pallas Davolier really ought to build things from stone .

With a glance over her shoulder, she pulled the cork from her cask of lamp oil and splattered it over the rough wood. With trembling hands, it took a few strikes before sparks caught, but flame quietly licked across the siding, bathing the alley in a warm glow.

Enya admired it before she turned and strode back to where she left Arawelo waiting. Hiding her triumphant grin, she rejoined the queue at the gates, fighting the urge to turn in her saddle and stare in the direction of the soldier’s outpost. She bit her lip when the cry went up behind.

“Fire!”

“Something’s on fire!”

All around her, people turned to point at the plume of smoke, and then the line was surging forward.

“Let us out!”

“Order!” One of the soldiers was shouting. “Order!”

“The city’s on fire, man! Let us out!”

“Order!”

“Don’t shut the gate, you light blinded fool!”

An argument seemed to break out between the soldiers and the town watch, and the line surged again. Carts and wagons scrambled to be well clear of the blaze and Enya slipped out between them. She gave a silent salute to the plume of smoke that billowed above Trout Run and rode south with a smile.