If she could find him.
He may not even be in the city, she realized. Looking up again at the battered library, she knew he would not be there. He’ll be at Lionkeep.
Lionkeep had been ruined too, though not as badly as the library. And Mirage had heard rumours that Thorin had set up a command post there. Still, it was a longshot to find him, and she wondered what she would say to gain an audience with him. Already her presence was arousing suspicion. She didn’t want anyone’s attention, especially not one of the Jazana Carr’s greasy mercenaries.
A strange sense gripped her then, forcing her to look over her shoulder. Except for the soldiers she saw no one, yet all day she had felt the cold appraisal of unwanted eyes. She calmed herself, told herself that no one was following her, then proceeded across the avenue. Lionkeep was on the other side of the city, and if she was to reach it before darkness fell completely she would have to make haste. But she had not eaten since morning and was wildly hungry now, and knew that she could not go on without a little food, at least. Ahead of her, she spotted a tavern. Amazingly, it looked open. A pair of soldiers sat by the doors, sharing a pipe and a bottle of liquor. Mirage reined in her mount, keeping to the shadows while she studied the place, reading the battered sign over the door.
‘The Red Stallion,’ she whispered.
The name sounded familiar to her. They would have food, probably, and give her a chance to rest. Mirage wondered if she should stop or go on to Lionkeep. Stopping would make it that much later — and darker — when she finally asked for Thorin. But her bones ached and her stomach roared to be filled, and she knew she could not go on much longer. Screwing up her courage, she trotted back into the light and headed for the tavern. Outside, other horses had been bridled and a boy had been hired to look after them. Despite the obviously drunk Norvans at the threshold, the place seemed safe enough, at least enough to draw Mirage forward. The Norvans looked up from their drink when she approached, staring at her through the pipe smoke. In Liiria, a woman riding alone was a rare sight, but in Norvor it was unheard of, and the two soldiers blinked in disbelief. Mirage dismounted and tied her weary horse at the post. She had left Borath with precious little money, but her horse was important and she couldn’t afford anything happening to the beast.
‘Here,’ she told the boy, dipping into the pockets of her riding pants and fishing out a coin. ‘Look after him and don’t let anyone touch him. All right?’
The boy nodded dumbly, as struck as the Norvans by her appearance, and quickly took the coin. Mirage felt the eyes of the men on her backside as she sidled toward the door. The Red Stallion was a large place, and as she entered she immediately noticed the crowd, laughing and drinking, playing cards by the fire, and teasing the prostitutes with promised coins. Mirage felt herself blush. The only women in the tavern were whores. Her eyes darted about, wondering if she should leave. A man hurried into the side of her vision.
‘You want a table?’
Startled, Mirage stared at him a moment. He was a stocky man with a kind, round face. Obviously the proprietor, his skin gushed sweat from the rushing he’d been doing.
‘Uhm, yes. Do you have food?’
‘Food, yes, we have food.’ The man looked at her peculiarly. ‘Are you alone?’
Mirage nodded. ‘That’s right.’
The proprietor’s smile was awkward. ‘You’re not looking for work, are you? I mean, you’re not a. .’ His grin broke down. ‘You know.’
‘I certainly am not,’ said Mirage indignantly. Flustered by the question, she thought again of leaving, but the man hurried an apology.
‘No, of course you’re not,’ he said. ‘Forgive me, but a lovely lady like yourself. . well, you probably shouldn’t be on your own, especially at night.’
‘I have no choice,’ Mirage replied. ‘I’m in the city looking for someone.’
Sympathy suffused the man’s chubby face. ‘Ah, the war. You’ve lost someone.’ He looked suitably sad. ‘Come, I’ll find you a table away from the noise.’
When he turned, Mirage followed reluctantly. An empty table sat in the corner of the room, away from the worst of the men and commotion, beneath a quickly darkening window. The proprietor wiped the wooden chair with his towel and held it out for her. Mirage took her seat, glancing around. Not surprisingly, the men in the room noticed her. She averted her eyes.
‘You’ve been on the road all day, I can tell,’ said the barman. ‘We have good food for you.’
‘And beer,’ added Mirage. She reached into her trousers and pulled out two more coins, one slightly larger than the other. ‘Whatever this will buy.’
‘That won’t buy you much,’ said the man. ‘But you bring elegance to the Stallion, pretty thing like you. Don’t worry — I’ll take care of you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mirage as the barman turned away. She sat back, trying to get comfortable while she waited for her meal, feeling remarkable suddenly. She was free. No longer tied to Lukien or the library, she could go anywhere she wanted, and not answer to anyone. During her long years in Grimhold, she had craved freedom, almost as much as she craved her old, unscarred face. Now she had both. She dared to look at the men in the room, noting with satisfaction the way they stared. They frightened her, yet it was so much better to see hunger in their eyes than revulsion.
But they’re the enemy, she told herself. They conquered Liiria.
The bar girl brought her a tankard of beer and laid it sloshing on the table. She was gone in an instant, Mirage barely noticed her. She lifted the beer and tasted it while she scanned the tavern’s patrons.
I’ll have to live among them if Thorin will have me, she realized.
While Mirage drank she noticed a man in the opposite corner, looking at her. He sat alone, nursing his own tankard and spinning a coin on the tabletop. The taut skin around his face pulled back in a sharp smile when their eyes met. The man did not wear the uniform of a soldier but rather dressed himself in black, a long cape draped around his shoulders. He had a strangely familiar face. Mirage was sure she’d seen him before, probably at the library. Was he a Liirian, one of Breck’s men? She was nearly certain she had seen him at the farm, where the survivors of the siege had fled, but she did not know his name or even remember speaking to him. The stranger’s smile faded and he went back to spinning his coin.
If he was at the farm, what was he doing here, Mirage wondered? As though deliberately ignoring her curiosity, the man stood, pushed back his chair, and walked out of the Red Stallion, leaving his coin spinning on the table. He hadn’t eaten — there were no dishes near his seat. Mirage wasn’t even sure he’d been there when she entered. But when the proprietor finally brought her plate of food, she forgot about the stranger entirely.
‘For you,’ the man said proudly, laying down a feast of meat and bread. ‘This should get your strength back and then some.’
Mirage nearly melted when she smelled the food, the odour of which rose up from the plate like a steaming bath. ‘All this?’ she exclaimed.
The man winked at her. ‘Enjoy it. Stay as long as you like.’
Mirage picked up her fork and dug into the buttery beef. Already there were benefits to beauty, she realized, and she smiled secretly as she ate, her confidence soaring. Thorin would take her in, she was sure.
Mirage stayed in the Red Stallion for more than an hour, far longer than she intended, taking her leisure while the innkeeper occasionally refilled her tankard, free of charge. He was plainly smitten with her and stopped by to chat from time to time, mostly, he claimed, to protect her from the other patrons. Once they had got used to her, the Norvans in the tavern stopped leering and offered to buy her drinks, all of which Mirage politely refused. She also got dirty looks from the Stallion’s prostitutes, but these she ignored as well, realizing none of them were a danger.