“See that our guests’ hound is fed and stabled for the night.”
Heb, a wiry lad with an unruly mop of hair, gulped down the last bite of his pie and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He nodded to his mother then looked at Snaffles. The hound barked happily in greeting, wagging his tail and immediately taking a liking to the lad.
Izzy wasn’t keen on the idea of letting Snaffles out of her sight—there was no telling what he might get up to—but Heb’s easy manner reassured her somewhat as he knelt and scratched Snaffles behind the ear.
“Want some pie, lad? Come on then.”
Snaffles woofed excitedly and without even so much as a backward glance at Izzy, followed Heb around the back of the building.
“I’m Mistress Kearnan,” the woman said, smiling at them both. “Welcome to my boarding house.”
She turned and led them inside, the door groaning as she pushed it open. The dim flicker of candlelight within revealed a large common room, with wooden furniture and floorboards scrubbed scrupulously clean. A fire burned in ahearth at one end and bunches of herbs hanging from the ceiling gave off a sweet aroma.
As the door swung shut behind them, a man suddenly scraped back his chair and stood from a table. Izzy’s eyes widened as she recognized him. It was the sandy-haired archer who Magnus had been so keen to avoid in Hodwell. The man’s eyes flashed as he spotted them. Then he strode over, hooking his thumbs into his belt.
“Hello, Magnus,” he said.
Magnus stiffened, his broad shoulders pulling taut and his gaze narrowing. The friendly atmosphere in the inn seemed to recede, replaced by an electric tension.
“Emeric,” Magnus acknowledged curtly, his voice reverberating in the silence that had suddenly engulfed the inn.
Mistress Kearnan looked between the two men, seeming as confused as Izzy felt. These two men knew each other?
Emeric was tall, almost as tall as Magnus, but not as broad. His emerald eyes glinted with an indecipherable emotion as he ran them over Magnus.
“Ye have been avoiding me, my friend,” he said with a faint smile. “It’s lucky I’m not the sensitive type, otherwise I might start to take it personally.”
The two men stared at each other, and Izzy couldn’t quite decipher the expressions on their faces.
Magnus’s jaw clenched. “What are ye doing here, Emeric?” he growled.
“Isnae that obvious,” the archer replied, his voice equally low. “Looking for ye. Trying to stop ye doing something stupid.” His steely gaze flicked to Izzy. “Question is: have I gotten here in time?”
“That’s none of yer concern.”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to disagree on that point. Unfortunately, our commanders think it’s very much my concern.”
Izzy didn’t like the tension that crackled between them. It reminded her too much of the violence she’d seen in Hodwell. Fear tightened her stomach. Here were too men capable of savage ferocity if the situation called for it.
Then Emeric suddenly backed away a step and the tension eased. He turned to Izzy with a smile. “Seeing as my esteemed sword-brother seems to have forgotten his manners, I’ll make introductions. My name is Emeric MacKintosh, of the Order of the Osprey. Dinna let Magnus’s scowl fool ye: I’m actually one of his oldest friends. Pleased to make yer acquaintance.”
“Oh.” Izzy blinked in confusion. From the way Magnus had reacted back in Hodwell, she’d assumed Emeric was trouble, but now she discovered they were friends? Like Emeric said, she never would have guessed it from Magnus’s glower.
“Right,” she stammered. “I’m Isabelle. Izzy. Nice to meet you. Have you come to join Magnus’s mission?”
Emeric’s eyebrows rose. “Magnus’s mission? Nay, lass, I’ve not come to join him. I’ve come to drag him back to Dun Saith.” The archer’s green eyes fixed on Magnus and the two men glared at each other. “I dinna know what my friend has told ye,” Emeric continued, addressing Izzy but looking at Magnus. “But he isnae on any mission for the Order of the Osprey. My wife has a term for it. How does she put it? Oh, aye. Magnus has gone AWOL.”
“DRAG ME BACK TO DUNSaith?” Magnus growled. “Ye and whose army?”
He felt an unreasonable anger burning in the pit of his stomach at the sight of his sword-brother. His friend. Why had Emeric come here? Why couldn’t he just leave well alone?
Emeric sighed, passing a hand over his face. “I was hoping ye wouldnae make this difficult, my friend. There’s no need for things to get unpleasant.”
“I agree. So turn around, ride back to Dun Saith, and tell them ye couldnae find me.”
“And let ye drag the Order down with ye when ye get yerself arrested by the king’s men? This isnae our fight, Magnus.”
“Nay, but it’smine!” Magnus snapped. He realized he’d curled his hands into fists at his sides and forced himself to relax. “Ye dinna understand—”
