Food stalls were doing a roaring trade about the square's perimeter, and she stopped at one for a handful of roasted nuts. The seller pointed the way to Tarys Market square, warning that it would be empty right now. Sofy nodded, giving a coin from her belt purse (exposed, as theft was rare in Lenayin) and looked about. She saw no one obvious, just a throng of people, most with their backs turned, more interested in the lords and ladies dismounting before the temple. There was a flash of fire there, and gasps from the crowd. Fire-breathers, no doubt. Above them all walked a man on stilts…surely a travelling lowlands troupe, no Lenay man would sully his dignity for jest.
For a moment, Sofy hesitated, dry-mouthed. Should she wait here for a little, for the safety of crowds? Hamys surely couldn't find out Jaryd's location that quickly? But then, perhaps he could. What if a messenger arrived at The Cavalryman and found no one there?
She took a deep breath, and strode past a stall selling roast duck wings and another baking potatoes in raal, and turned down the narrow, cobbled road to which the stall owner had pointed. She walked fast, her boots echoing. The lane ahead was dark despite the sunny day, and she could not resist a short glance over her shoulder, but no one appeared to be following. She considered ducking into a narrower alley to see if someone did indeed come down after her…but what would she do if he saw her? What could a girl who could not fight do, face to face with such a man?
The lane twisted several times at cross streets, and then she entered Taryst Market square. It was not so large, perhaps fifty strides from one end to the other, and utterly deserted, save for a prowling cat.
On the corner to the left, an inn with a sign in Kytan, Tyree's predominant tongue after Lenay. She couldn't read it, but it was accompanied by a picture of a man on a horse. The Cavalryman, surely. Sofy approached, looking furtively around…and wondered what in the world an eighteen-year-old girl, alone, could have for business in an inn. She thought furiously, but as she pushed in the doors, had thought of nothing.
Astonishingly, the inn was half full. Not of locals, but of Goeren-yai, mostly men, but a few women too. They sat at their tables and drank ale and talked loudly. Several younger boys were with them…and one girl, no more than six, sitting with her parents. Sofy smiled, suddenly realising why Hamys had sent her here. A big wedding attracted Goeren-yai traders and craftsmen from all over, but most would rather find an inn and down a tankard or two than attend a wedding parade. The Verenthane townsfolk were all aflutter, but the rural Goeren-yai couldn't have given rat's arse.
“Will you have a drink, lassie?” asked the innkeep behind his bar-a Verenthane with a big moustache, looking quite pleased to have customers on such a day. Sofy was for a moment astonished…a drink? For a young woman, in a Verenthane city? But then she realised-he thought she was Goeren-yai too.
“I'll have your lightest ale, thank you,” she said.
“Oh aye,” said the innkeep, unstopping a barrel and holding a mug under the stream that poured out. “We do that nice here, with some lemon water for the ladies.”
Sofy paid for her mug and took a seat by a window, near three men, a woman and a young girl. She'd hoped to be ignored, but amongst Goeren-yai, that wasn't always likely.
“You waiting for your pa then, lass?” one of the men boomed, loud enough for the whole inn to hear. As if it were everyone's business.
“Aye,” said Sofy, with a conscious effort to remove the Baen-Tar education from her speech. “We brought ale from Eyud. We're headed back this afternoon, Pa's just asking after other business, for the next time he comes down this way.”
“We're leatherworkers from Malry,” another man added. “All the lords and ladies riding into town today on their pretty horses, we were up to late evening yesterday making the final touches on the bridles.”
“Eyud's a long way to bring a pretty girl on a trading trip,” said the woman, eyeing her curiously. Something about her expression made Sofy nervous. Like she suspected something. “Do you not have any brothers, then?”
“Three,” said Sofy. “But one's not well, and the other's just recently married, and Myklas…he's too lazy and Pa always spoils him.” It sounded right to the group, they nodded and smiled knowingly. She was becoming a good liar. It nearly worried her.
“So,” said the woman, slyly, “your pa has a man lined up for you? Is that why he really brought you all this way, to meet some boy?”
Expectant looks from all present. Sofy smiled coyly, and sipped at her ale. “He's not a boy,” she replied finally.
“Ah!” said everyone, in unison. There were footsteps on the verandah, and the inn's doors swung open. Sofy looked, and her heart nearly stopped. Noblemen entered the inn, Verenthanes with a dashing cut to their shirts and jackets, swords prominent at their hips.
One scanned the room, saw Sofy and pointed. He and two others marched over. Behind them, more gathered in the doorway. At the table to Sofy's side, the Goeren-yai men turned to look. “That's the one,” said the leading man. “That's the one who was asking nosy questions down by the river. My maid pointed her out to me in the square, she swears it's the same girl.”
Sofy sat frozen. She'd thought she'd been so careful! But there were spies everywhere, and all through the crowds. Of course there would be! There were no great lords in Lenayin as paranoid as Great Lord Arastyn right now.
“You, girl, up,” said another man, gruffly. “My lord will want to speak with you.”
“Hey,” said a Goeren-yai man from the neighbouring table. “You watch how you speak to the girl. She's Goeren-yai, and she ain't your servant.”
The noble pointed a black-gloved finger at the leatherworker. “You, shut it,” he said, dangerously. “This is our town, you yokels are here on the lord's forbearance. You'll mind your business and do what you're told.”
“Hey, friend,” said the second leatherworker, “I paid my way here.” He rose to his feet. The other Goeren-yais followed. “I don't need any lord's forbearance, I work hard for my coin and I'll come and go as I please.” The woman collected her daughter and pulled her aside, wary but not afraid. She grasped Sofy's arm, and Sofy got up and edged backward.
“This is Algery, you peasant!” the noble spat. “This is Verenthane land!”
“This here's Lenayin, you pissant, and I'm a Lenay.” About the inn, other Goeren-yai men were rising to their feet. In the doorway, the remaining nobles were coming forward to face the threat. It looked to Sofy an even fight.
“This here is your girl?” the noble demanded, pointing at Sofy.
“Aye,” the leatherworker lied, tossing long hair from his face. “What's it to you?”
“Then you're under arrest too!”
“Arrest!” Several Goeren-yai men laughed. “You've got no more power to arrest someone than I've got power to flap my arms and fly to Saalshen!”
“Aye, well you're about to learn differently,” fumed the noble. “Girl! You're coming with us!”
“Over my dead body,” said another man, from a different table entirely. All were armed. Goeren-yai men always were.
“Then we'll come back and get her later,” the noble suggested, with a dark, nasty smile. “With cavalry. We'll see how you like that, you stupid pagan goatfucker.”
The first leatherworker didn't bother drawing his sword, he simply punched the noble in the face. With a roar the two sides leapt at each other, barehanded, and the face-off disintegrated into a brawling mass of flying fists. Tables collapsed, chairs were picked up and hurled, bodies went crashing and wrestling to the floor. A Goeren-yai tried to throw a townsman through a window, missed, and crashed him headfirst into the wall instead. Another townsman dropped a Goeren-yai out cold with an impressive left, only to be crash-tackled into the bar by his companion.