There was a square near the docks, and he knew there were decent inns nearby. He would go there and book a room. He would book a room and think about Merilla, he knew, as he walked through the darkening streets of Estone, as the autumnal sun set, casting its last weak rays into the city. Then, after he had a room, he would eat dinner, and he would continue to think about Merilla. And after that, no matter what he did, whether he went to an armory and practiced, or sat in a tavern and drank, or walked around the streets near Daley’s shop, he would think about Merilla.
Minutes later he reached the square, and selected an inn, The Mermaid, where he got the last room available. He left his pack and his bow and his sword in his room, and went downstairs with his staff. He stood in the doorway and looked into the dining room, where a few men in red sat, then walked outside into the darkness, and began to walk towards the section of town where Daley’s millinery shop and Hammon’s leathermongery were located around the corner from one another.
When he arrived, both shops were dark, but the living quarters above each showed windows that glowed with light, and he stood on a far corner where he could stare at both sets of lights and both doorways and felt the turmoil in his heart as the minutes passed and he made no move to approach either home. He felt his feet grow cold as he stood motionless on the corner, then the cold began to seep through his cloak, and at last he left the corner and returned to his inn, where he sat alone at a table in the tavern, and drank an ale with his dinner, before he went to bed alone for the evening.
He laid in his bed with a dim lantern providing light, as he read the intricate directions from Silvan, information on how he was to pass his findings along to the elven forces. There were a number of locations along the border with Hydrotaz where he could secretly stash a message, and know that it would eventually be found and picked up by an elf courier.
His messages would have to be written in obscure codes, full of symbols and hidden meanings that he would need many days to memorize. Flowers, shapes, colors — they all had to be written into a message that seemed to describe something else. There were sequences of words that would trigger meanings — “a square of yellow roses” meant that life-threatening conditions were imminent, for example. “A triangle of three red pansies” meant that he expected he was going to die. There were few happy or positive meanings he could convey, he noted grimly as he turned down the wick to put out his bedroom light. Apparently, he wasn’t expected to uncover many happy outcomes, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning Kestrel went to see Castona at his shop, where he was greeted with a combination of warmth and awe. “It’s the return of our champion!” one of Castona’s assistants shouted.
Castona poked his head out from a back room to see the reason for the shout, then grinned. “It’s not always good to have to need a champion, but if you’re going to have one, this is the best to have!” he said.
“Kestrel, what brings you through our door, and have you been to the palace to see the Doge?” the merchant asked.
“I just arrived in the city last night,” Kestrel replied. “I’d like to get a berth on a ship to take me to the Inland Seas kingdoms.
“Why do I need to see the Doge?” he asked.
“The Doge wants the prestige of having you seen in public with him, of course,” Castona explained. “Let me do some checking on the tides and departures this morning, while you go to the palace, flash your chest — funny, I wouldn’t have thought I’d ever say that to a man!” he laughed at his own joke, “and then go see the Doge. He’ll probably want to host a dinner or reception with you and invite all the noblemen he can.
“You should do this, Kestrel. The Doge has been very upset about your disappearance, and this will help quite a bit, especially with the restlessness that has been growing among the people,” Castona urged. “It won’t delay your departure by more than a day or so. And there have been some unusual occurrences around the city lately; your appearance will give people — including the Doge — some comfort.”
“Alright,” Kestrel agreed, willing to accept a reason to spend another night in Estone.
“Good!” Castona smiled. “And when you see the Doge, could you put in a good word for me? Let him know that I was the one who told you to go see him? I’d appreciate it.”
Kestrel laughed at the ulterior motive revealed. He clapped his trader acquaintance on the shoulder. “I’ll go to the palace right now, and demand to see the Doge. You go find a ship for me.” He stood up and left the shop, striding through the streets of the city on his way to the palace, dodging traffic and slipping down alleyways to avoid slow spots. Within several minutes he stood at the gates of the palace and approached a guard.
“I want to see the Doge. I am the People’s Champion,” Kestrel said. He saw the boredom on the faces of the guards, and responded by pulling his cape away, then lifting his shirt over his head.
“I want to see the Doge, and I understand he wants to see me,” Kestrel said, as the two guards looked at him closely, then whispered between themselves.
“Step inside the gate here, and we’ll have a guide sent to take you inside,” one of the guards said.
Kestrel entered the gate, then pulled his shirt back on and wrapped his cowl around him. Within minutes, a palace servant in a luxurious uniform arrived, and led Kestrel inside, to a luxurious sitting room. “Moresond will be here in a few minutes to meet with you,” the servant said.
Moresond was the herald of the palace, the man with the deep rich voice who had met Kestrel at the time he had been invested with his titles. It was a check on his authenticity, he realized, one that might not even require him to remove his shirt again to prove his worthiness to be taken before the Doge.
The door handle turned, and a man dressed in black entered the large ornate room where Kestrel sat alone.
“Well, it is our young divinely approved champion, I see,” Moresond spoke as he approached. “We’re delighted at your return. I’ll go immediately to see the Doge and arrange for an audience, and then the two of you can make plans. He’ll be relieved to know that you have returned to protect your people.
“Just as a matter of curiosity, may I see the divine marking on your chest? I recognize you and will vouch for who you are, no matter. This is simply to indulge my own wish to see what the touch of a goddess can do,” he explained.
“Of course,” Kestrel agreed. He again lifted his shirt, realizing that he was likely to repeat the performance again for the Doge and others, and thinking that he needed to wear an easier shirt to remove.
“It is remarkable,” Moresond said. “There’s nothing to let one know it isn’t completely natural.”
“It is natural, now,” Kestrel assured him.
“Of course,” the herald agreed as he straightened up. “I’ll go now, and be back very soon.” He left Kestrel alone in the room as he departed. Only a moment later there was another knock on the door and two maids entered.
“Oh! We didn’t know anyone was in here,” one feigned to be unaware of Kestrel’s presence in the room.
“It’s no problem,” Kestrel assured them as they began to wipe and dust random pieces of furniture around the room, constantly stealing glances at him. Within two minutes, a young servant boy also entered the room.
“I came to see if I could help you with anything,” the boy said, his body pointed towards the maids, but his eyes focused on Kestrel.