4
Kayman looked around the small common room of the inn and sighed. The Traveller’s Call was only a shell of what it had been when he and his brother had last seen the place. It was in shambles; the floor was filthy, and ruffians were scattered about the worn wooden tables, playing dice and cards. Very little in the building resembled the sprawling traveller’s destination it had at one time been. He scanned the surroundings, trying to find out where the innkeeper was hiding when his brother shuffled up to him and smiled wryly.
“What have you been up to?” Kayman asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Kalen replied. “I was just off making sure that we would have enough coinage to grab a meal and a bed. I’m tired of sleeping outside!”
“I thought you were off searching for the outhouse,” the warrior grumbled.
Kalen reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of silver coins. They sparkled even in the dim lamplight of the inn. “I was outside, all right—and whether or not I needed the outhouse is none of your business—and I might have picked a few pockets. Hey! Don’t look at me like that. You know full well that we’re on the verge of starvation. You also know that I’m good at my trade. Don’t worry, Kayman; no one saw me and now we get to have a good meal and sleep in a real bed.”
Kayman’s mouth watered. They had not been able to afford the luxury of an inn for quite some time. Not that The Traveller’s Call was much of an inn anymore—he would have to find out what happened to the place—but surely the establishment had some meat, cheese, and decent ale to offer up for the right price.
Just as he was about to give up the search for an innkeeper, a rotund, balding man with a small patch of dark hair on his chin burst into the room from a pair of swinging double doors leading into the kitchen. He approached the brothers, a strained expression forming on his face.
“We ain’t done nothin’ wrong, so stop harrasin’ us!” He wrung his hands together nervously. “There’s no need for you guards to keep comin’ in here and threatenin’ my customers!”
“Wait,” Kalen said, raising his hands to silence the man. “We’re not guards. We’re just looking for a room and something to eat.”
“Oh, well… We’re not a damn soup kitchen either, so you better be able to pay!”
Kalen placed four of the smaller silver pieces into the man’s hand. “Here; that should be more than enough. Are you the innkeeper now?”
“Sure am. Name’s Grimmel. Jame Grimmel.”
Jame’s expression softened; he stared at the coins hungrily and then they disappeared in his apron pocket.
“Say,” Kalen said. “Didn’t a gentleman named Roderik own this establishment? We were acquaintances and I was hoping to sit down with a cup of his fine Alurian ale and catch up.”
“Roderick’s dead,” Jame replied. “I’m his wife’s brother.”
“Great G’Mek, God of the sword!” Kayman exclaimed. “Dead! How did that—”
“Shh!” Jame’s eyes shifted around the common room. Several men looked up from their mugs, shook their heads, and returned to drinking. “Not so damned loud. There’s eyes and ears everywhere these days.”
Jame lowered his voice. “He was carried off not more than a year ago by one of those blasted men wearin’ the red armor. Never came back again, so I figured he’s just another victim and took charge of the place.”
Kayman leaned in to whisper. “I have seen them patrolling the streets. Who are they? There were a few of the fools in small towns to the North, too. We never stayed long enough to gain any information about them.”
