Kinsley nodded and slapped his knees as he rose. “There’s a tub of hot water upstairs to bathe; my nose sincerely hopes you’ll take advantage of it. Meanwhile, I’ll see what else I can find on these three renegades. I know a couple of people in Smiths’ Alley. Maybe I can loosen their tongues a bit.”
“Wait,” Berthal said as he rose, using his staff for support. “Where was the inn where these attacks took place?”
“Merchandising District.”
“And Smiths’ Alley is to the northwest of that by many blocks, yes?”
“At least an hour’s travel, yes.”
“Then perhaps we’re looking for someone who used to live there? A prodigal son returned in desperate times? If Smiths’ Alley is so tightly knit and the hunters are searching there, it could mean the sorcerers once knew that neighborhood. That might suggest your avenue of questioning.”
“Find out who has returned after a long absence? Sounds reasonable. I guess that’s why you’re the leader.”
“That and my rugged good looks and virility,” Berthal said, scratching his beard. He straightened with a groan.
“How could I forget?” Kinsley said, chuckling. He left Berthal to enjoy the luxuries of a real bath and a real bed.
Ladonna’s condition had improved greatly over the past five days. Although still bedridden by the two dagger strokes to her kidneys, she was seated in bed with her back to the wall and the table within easy reach. Rosie’s thick quilt covered her lower body,
Par-Salian marveled at their good fortune with the innkeeper and the healing draught. There was barely a spotting of blood on her bandages when, normally, an injury of that type would take a month to recover from … if one even survived. He was determined to return their horses when they could do so safely. Right now, per Ladonna’s and Rosie’s orders, neither he nor Tythonnia were venturing far from the barn. Gossip was easy in that part of town, and two strangers wandering in and out of Rosie’s Smithy was sure fodder for chitchat. Still, there was time enough in the late evening to stretch their legs and take in fresh air.
During the day, they took turns helping Rosie, studying their spells, and keeping Ladonna company. To Par-Salian’s surprise, Ladonna was easier to talk to, as though her injury had stripped her of all the pretensions that accompanied members of the Black Robes. She smiled more often, despite the lingering pain, and laughed more easily. Par-Salian found it difficult reconciling the woman he met in Solanthus the previous month and the different sides of the woman he had discovered: Ladonna the Black Robe, Ladonna the orphan, Ladonna the street waif, Ladonna the fighter.
“What?” Ladonna said, looking at Par-Salian as he stared at her.
“Sorry,” Par-Salian said, shaking his head. “I was just thinking about everything you’ve been through. Nothing like that’s ever happened to me.”
“No hardship? Ever? Nothing bad?”
“My father was very protective. Oh!” Par-Salian said suddenly. “I did stub my toe once. Father was very upset. We held a vigil.”
Ladonna laughed, wincing at the pain it caused. “Stop making me laugh, you idiot,” she said, though her expression was far from serious.
“I’m sorry,” Par-Salian said. He couldn’t stop grinning. “I’ll stop.”
“Fine,” Ladonna said and abruptly switched topics. “What about the test? You can’t tell me you didn’t face hardship there?”
“Oh, that. That was hard, yes,” Par-Salian admitted. “I was forced to face my worst ordeal, my … gravest fear.”
“Can I ask what that was?” Ladonna asked.
Par-Salian hesitated then nodded gravely. “Yes,” he whispered.
Ladonna drew closer.
“I stubbed my toe again,” Par-Salian said.
Ladonna’s voice rang in a new peal of laughter.
“Stop laughing,” Par-Salian protested. “It was both feet this time!”
She laughed harder with yelps of pain, but there were tears rolling down her face. Par-Salian had to admit, he liked making her laugh.
“Don’t make me come up there!” Rosie shouted from the barn floor. The giggles and laughter died down a little but continued in whispered fits like two small children sharing a secret.
Rosie smiled and motioned for Tythonnia to set down the wooden crates they were carrying. They weren’t heavy but they were unwieldy for just one person, and Tythonnia’s shoulder still hurt. She healed quickly even though the injury was still enough to limit her mobility. Tythonnia’s muscles hurt from the exertion, but it felt good to be working so hard. She missed the simple life, the heavy days accompanied by hours of the deepest sleep one could imagine. Magic set the mind working constantly, and insomnia was a common curse for all wizards.
Tythonnia leaned against the pillar, trying not to breathe hard in front of Rosie.
Rosie, however, seemed pleasantly distracted by the voices upstairs. When she noticed Tythonnia watching her, she said, “How’s the shoulder?”
“Good enough for any job you have in mind,” Tythonnia said.
“You’re a sturdy girl. It’s good to have a pair of strong hands helping out again.”
Tythonnia nodded. “A farmer’s upbringing,” she admitted.
Rosie sat on a wood crate and patted the one next to her. Tythonnia joined her.
“That explains it,” Rosie said. “You didn’t strike me as the wizardly type.” When she saw Tythonnia’s expression, the slightly pained one, she amended her statement. “Don’t take it that way. Most of the wizards I’ve seen are frail little sticks never blessed with the joy of hard work,” she said. “But you’re like them in one regard, if that helps.”
“How’s that?” Tythonnia asked.
Rosie tapped her own temple with her finger. “You live up here too much.”
“I know,” Tythonnia said and went quiet at all the thoughts raging in her head.
“You’re doing it again,” Rosie said. Another fit of laughter in the loft, however, seemed to distract Rosie. She laughed, winking at Tythonnia.
“I’m not the only one,” Tythonnia said.
“It’s been too long since I heard happy voices,” she admitted.
“No children?” Tythonnia asked.
“Not for a lack of trying, but no. The only children we had were the ones we welcomed into our home. Orphans of the Alley, my Lawry called them. Ladonna was one of many, but she was also the most precious of them.”
“You stopped taking care of children?” Tythonnia asked.
“The Alley is changing,” Rosie admitted. “The city has closed down many smithies because our smoke is tarnishing the walls of their beautiful Palanthas,” she said with a sneer. “More people are leaving and strangers are moving in. It’s not the home I remember.”
The two were quiet for a moment, indulging in memories of homes lost and families forgotten. Finally, Rosie patted Tythonnia’s leg. “I have work to do and an errand to ask of you.”
“Ask,” Tythonnia said.
“I need you to go to a couple of shops nearby. We need provisions and I have work to finish up here.”
Tythonnia nodded happily. She was looking forward to sunlight and fresh air, or at least as much as Smiths’ Alley could provide.
Sunlight dropped into the Alley as slivers of light, making the shadows deeper. The street bustled with life, however, a thin traffic of humanity made thicker by the street’s width. Tythonnia made her way past windows where tough-looking women leaned out and jabbered with their friends, past gangs of kids running through the crowds, past shops that were so shallow in depth they’d barely gouged the stone and wood of the storefront.
Still, life was rich here, every day a luxuriant tapestry of noises and experiences. It felt alive and far less austere than the indifferent arrogance of the people and stores in the Merchandising District. Tythonnia relished it far more than she thought she would. She preferred the wilderness, she always did, but there was a flavor to the city that she loved as well.