Mage light.
Mages. The power they’d had. How would it be to conjure fire when needed and make the rains fall during a drought? Mages were good. Necessary, even. Why, then, was the Lady and her priests so against them?
Every night, after putting in a full day with the guards and more with Father Dmitri or reading, Martin fell into bed in the wee hours, too exhausted to think of naught but sleep.
Magic was real, not merely some story handed down. And magic lived in him as surely as it had his parents. But, even if he’d been given the great gift Dmitri claimed, he was still a man with a man’s needs.
Perhaps the good father had noticed Martin’s longing glances becoming more frequent each time they passed the tavern. Whatever the reason for a night’s respite, Dmitri had given Martin an eve free from studies. Martin had no intention of wasting a moment of his eve off.
“Greetings, stranger,” resounded around the well-lit tavern as Martin opened the door and slipped inside. The light and good cheer chased away the lingering inner chill.
Martin’s head swam with symbols and sounds—symbols and sounds he should have begun learning long ago.
The large stone hearth occupied much of one wall, the granite indistinguishable from the walls, save for soot stains.
The tempting scent of roasted chicken drifted from the kitchen. Chicken. How long since he’d eaten roasted chicken? The garrison served mainly fish, or stews, or fish stew, or something better eaten without dwelling too hard on the ingredients.
Exposed beams displayed similar markings to the walls, bearing witness to their age, and steps wound around the far side of the hearth, leading upstairs to rooms for hire, no doubt.
Comfortable. Homey.
Martin usually only went to the lower tavern floor and never worried what else might lie in the squat stone building. His lessons with Father Dmitri instilled the necessity of paying attention to all his surroundings.
The barmaid approached, handing Martin a full mug of ale and placing a plate of roasted chicken with potatoes before him without asking his pleasure. “Aye, love! And welcome!”
A heavy iron pendant hung from a thong around her neck, perfectly positioned to draw eyes toward her breasts. Her profession belied her outward symbol of servitude to the Father. Something else peeked from her bodice.
A medallion? She tucked the token back into her ample cleavage. Interesting. He’d have to ask Father Dmitri about the woman.
Martin accepted the ale and added silver to the coffers, thinking, as he so often did, about Petran’s brief explanation of coins.
He lifted his cup in a silent toast and drank to the boy who’d saved his life. Quietly, he enjoyed his meal. Oh, heaven. Was that rosemary on the chicken? Delicious. While eating, he studied the room but found no sign of the tavernkeeper.
Sipping on the finely crafted drink, he maneuvered his way around patrons to the tables in the back. No matter what tavern he’d chosen for an eve’s entertainment during his time in E’Skaara, there were always tables in the back. Tables in the back meant games of chance.
Or so the patrons thought. Time to put his newly learned skills to use.
Did they not know the dice they rolled and cards they played had once held significance in future-telling? According to Father Dmitri, many former skills were lost in time by those who believed themselves no longer in need of divining abilities.
Martin knew a little about the cards. Dmitri taught him so much more.
About everything.
He leaned against the far wall, angling for a view of the cards of the two nearer players, amusing himself with the knowledge he’d gain that they never dreamed they revealed.
A short man, facial tattoos marking him as a sailor from a distant land, with too little hair and too much bragging, drew from a deck on the table. The black swan.
The man seated to his left drew the fallen soldier.
Martin sucked in a surprised breath, quickly perusing the surrounding area to ensure no one saw his reaction. No need to tip off a soon-to-be criminal. He eased his hold on the part of him that blocked out thoughts, focusing on these two men. Others’ thoughts tried to encroach, but he pushed them back. The older man bore no ill intent.
The sailor? Stealing, cheating. He’d abandoned a pregnant mate.
These men saw only a game of chance. The cards revealed the future to Martin.
Play by play increased his alarm. The elderly man seated by the sailor stood no chance of surviving the eve without intervention. Though Martin didn’t know these men, he couldn’t in good conscience allow the unfolding crime to take place.
He’d longed for a legitimate reason to speak to the tavernkeeper, but tonight left him little choice.
