"Well, sir," Nightfall started, not needing to feign difficulty finding his words. "I’m not sure how to explain this."
Finndmer made a vague, yet benign, gesture to continue. He yawned, hiding it behind a hand, but the message came through clearly to Nightfall. He had not yet given the fence a reason to listen.
Nightfall rose and paced. The position of the benches kept him too far from Finndmer to discover how much the sorcerer had paid, and movement would better mask any thieving he might need to do to find the answer. With only four silver coins and a handful of copper, Nightfall dared not misjudge the sorcerer’s resources. He suspected he would need the captain’s sapphire ring now. Though he hated the thought of sacrificing his last ditch security wealth so soon, gaining Finndmer’s goodwill would mean the difference between freedom and a constant need to dodge and hide, exactly the sort of situation for which he had saved it. Given Prince Edward’s regal presence and open outspokenness, and his own need to wear Alyndar’s colors, Nightfall felt certain violence would become a daily occurrence if he did not settle the matter now.
"There’s a man." Nightfall turned and headed toward Finndmer, gauging reaction by facial features. "He’s followed me and my master, Prince Edward Nargol, since we left Alyndar. He keeps promising people money to hold us for him. Then, when he catches up with us, he tries to kill my master." Nightfall spun again, assessing Finndmer. The woodcutter sat in silent contemplation, his expression revealing nothing. "He started a big fight in a Nemixian bar that got a whole bunch of people killed. We wound up paying restitution and blood price, and the man who instigated it all never even paid the money he promised."
"Is that so?" Finndmer said conversationally, his thoughts surely deeper than his look would indicate. Only a hand in a pocket of his sleeping gown betrayed him. His fingers flipped a coin repeatedly, its circular form imprinting the fabric. Nightfall listened for the click of metal against metal, guessing from the sound that the pocket held three coins, copper or silver. It made little sense for Finndmer to carry his assets to bed, so Nightfall guessed he toyed with the presumed-sorcerer’s front fee. Having ascertained that without the need to steal and return the money, Nightfall took his seat.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Nightfall met Finndmer’s gaze directly, then glanced away as quickly, trying to look suitably discomfited. “I saw him come here. The man trying to kill my master, I mean. I thought maybe he’d offered you money, too. Usually, he picks grimy, evil-looking people, ones he thinks might have a link with killers and ruffians. I don’t know why he picked you." Nightfall chose his words with care. The sorcerer’s apparent sloppiness, as well as his inadvertent steering of royalty toward Finndmer’s ties to the underground, would bother the woodcutter as few other things could. "Did he come here?”
Finndmer frowned, keeping his answer vague. "A man visited. I don’t know if he’s your man."
"Did he ask about us?" Nightfall knew he walked a thin boundary now. If he pressed too hard without payment, he might alienate his informant. However, he had to play his character as well as his knowledge. A squire too streetwise and bribe-competent would draw suspicion.
Finndmer considered longer than either a direct positive or negative response required. Finally, he slipped into an act of his own. “Please, sir. I’m just a poor woodcutter trying to eke out a living in a harsh and lonely place. Treason? Assassination? I would have no hand in those things, I swear it."
Nightfall believed him, at least in a general sense. However, simply providing information to the sorcerer in ignorance did not make him an accessory. "I’m sure he promised payment, perhaps even offered some money right away. That’s how he does it."
Finndmer opened his mouth, presumably to deny the remuneration. Self-consciously, he pulled his hand from his pocket and the coins he had glibly jangled moments before. "Why’s this man after your master? What can he gain from killing a prince, other than a painful execution?"
"I’m not sure, exactly. My master doesn’t tell me everything." Nightfall leaned closer, as if sharing camaraderie and a secret. “From what I can gather, this man’s some sort of nobility. His family wanted his sister to marry my master, but my master refused. From what I’ve heard, she’s not the kind of woman you’d like to wake up to in your bed."
Finndmer chose a local euphemism. "If she were a cow, you wouldn’t know which end to milk?"
"More like the bucket you put the milk in. In shape and complexion.”
Finndmer assumed an exaggerated expression of revulsion, mouth puckered and eyes crumpled. It brought out every wrinkle on his aging face, crow’s-feet prominent at the corners of his eyes and lips.
"Anyway, the family handled it well enough, except for the vengeful brother. That’s why I’m prepared to give you this.” He pulled the ring from an inner pocket of his cloak. Gold gleamed in the lantern light, and blue fire seemed to wink from every facet of the sapphire. Nightfall kept his hand moving slightly from the moment he displayed the ring to keep the highlights glittering in a ceaseless dance.
Finndmer stared, fascinated.
"All you have to do is convince that man my master and I headed east, toward Tylantis or Shisen, or north back to Alyndar." Nightfall resisted the urge to tack a threat onto the end of his request, a vague vow of retribution should Finndmer go back on his word. The warning would break character, and it also seemed unnecessary. Directing the sorcerer, whether honestly or falsely, might still gain Finndmer the other nine to twelve silver pieces the sorcerer promised, and he would not have to share with Trillium’s network.
"Done," Finndmer said.
Nightfall tossed the ring.
The woodsman’s deeply etched, callused hand flicked out suddenly, catching the offering. He cupped it into his palm, studying it in the lantern light while blue reflections shivered across the walls and ceiling. "Shisen should seem logical enough, what with the tournament there. The event’s still months away, and already droves of royal-born have headed there to get a ‘feel’ for the battlegrounds.” Finndmer shrugged, "Dirt’s dirt to us commoners, you know, but high-bred seem to think it’ll give them an advantage. Of course, I might look for a miniscule edge, too, if I had a chance at a duchy."
Duchy? Land! Excitement rose in Nightfall, and he praised the sense of obligation that made Finndmer eager to talk after feeling overpaid. "Some duke’s giving away his land?"
Finndmer laughed. "Of course not. About a year ago, the duke and his wife got killed in a carriage accident. Whole family of bleeders. No heirs. Not even a cousin. King Jolund took back the land for a while, but he’s got enough to deal with. So he set up this tournament to find a strong and competent leader. I think he figured a famous warrior as a duke would attract soldiers to help him fight the border wars.” His eyes narrowed. "I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. Surely, your Prince Edward was invited.”
Nightfall shrugged. "Not that I’m aware of. Not that he would necessarily tell me." Even when I deliberately asked about ways to get him landed. "How else does a man get landed?” He explained the motive behind his question, finding truth the most appropriate. "We’re on a mission to get my master landed, but neither of us has a real clear idea of what we need to do. Any information you could give us would help." He plucked the stolen wedding ring from his pocket. “I can pay."