Horeb, the innkeeper, wiped his thick fingers on a towel and cast a tired yet wary eye over the crowd, alert for trouble, ready to step in with a word and a smile before a snarl and a fist became necessary. For a second he wanted to crush the glass into fragments, destroy the eyes and the accusation. He lifted the crystal close to his face, seeing a dozen eyes reflected there.Īnd each accused. Crafted with care, even love multi-faceted like a gossamer diamond. ‘Easy meat for Drenai lances.’ More laughter. ‘Barbarians!’ roared a voice above the babble. Blood, death, conquest, starvation, plague and horror. He did not need to be able to hear the words to know the topic of every conversation: it had been the same for days. He pulled his blue cloak more tightly about his shoulders.
Like someone walking over your grave, he thought. He shivered as someone laughed – the sound was as cold as the winter wind beating against the wooden walls. Then it was gone as a newcomer slammed shut the wooden door, muttering his apologies to the crowded inn.Ĭonversation which had died in the sudden blast of frosty air now resumed, a dozen voices from different groups merging into a babble of meaningless sounds. A lantern flame danced briefly in the icy wind as a shaft of cold air brushed the room. A log fire in the hearth warmed his back, the smoke stinging his eyes, the acrid smell of it mixing with the odour of unwashed bodies, forgotten meals and musty, damp clothing. Not enough to matter, but enough not to matter, he thought, staring at the ruby wine casting blood shadows in the lead crystal glass.
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