Page 49 of Silverbow
“Built by the dwarves,” Master Kenara nodded. “You ever seen anything dwarven built, Miss Ansel?” She shook her head, and the farmer sighed. “It’s too bad they stay walled up in Drozia these days. A work of art, that bridge. A fine work of art. Ah, there’s Trout Run now.”
Enya squinted at the docks that jutted out to slice into the ribbon of blue ahead. Small Trout Run might be, but it was guarded by a proper stone wall. The crimson lion of Davolier House rippled in a lazy breeze on the gate tower, and below it, a leaping black fish on a field of blue marked some lower house she didn’t know.
As they lumbered toward the gate, a gate guarded by men in blue, Enya realized remaining with the Kenaras had been a grave mistake. She should have gone around the walled city, but the guards had already seen them approaching on the cart path.
“Your papers,” a watchman growled. Enya tried not to look at the parchments nailed to the gatehouse door as Berral and Peras reached into their coat pockets to produce theirs.My bow and quiver, my wits.
“My youngest haven’t got them yet,” the farmer said smoothly.
The guard eyed Enya and Kenon. “No papers, no entry.”
Berral gaped at the guard. “Since when?”
“Since trouble in Innesh,” the guard spat.
“Light, man. We’ve driven for two days. Can’t you see I’ve got wool to take to the market?”
Enya lowered her face to fiddle with her reins when she felt the guard’s eyes fix squarely on her. “No papers, no entry,” he repeated flatly.
“What am I supposed to do, leave my youngest here?”
Enya saw the guard’s hand tighten on his sword hilt. “I’m no nursemaid. You’re blocking the way. Two of you in, or all four of you turn around.”
“Edel Nilor!” Berral barked, and another watchman poked his head out of the gate tower.
“Berral!” He said brightly, a broad grin splitting his face.
He jerked his head toward the man who openly glowered at them now. “Will you vouch for us Edel? I’m in to sell our wool, but my youngest don’t have papers.”
He peered up at Enya. “Why, that can’t be little Loritte, can it?” Enya tried not to let her panic show on her face. “You must be beating the farm boys off with a stick.” Kenon sniggered and pink crept into her cheeks, but the guardsman rocked on his heels and whistled through his teeth. “Leave over, Alen. Good folk the Kenaras. Let them through.”
The guard called Alen grunted but stepped back. “It’s your hide for the red coats if they’re any trouble.”
Enya stilled, but she did not dare look up from her reins. “City full of them?” Berral asked casually.
Edel spat. “No more than usual, fewer actually. But the trouble in Innesh has them all riled up.”
“What kind of trouble?”
The guardsman scratched a gray beard and eyed Enya and the boys. “Oh, nothing for you to worry about out at the farm, Berral, but I suppose you’ll hear soon enough. Rumor’s all over town. They say the village rioted a few days back.”
“A riot? In Innesh? Whatever for?” Master Kenara asked in surprise.
Edel shrugged. “Some business about a witch.”
Kenon whistled through his teeth and Peras asked, “A witch burned Innesh?”
“Light, boy. No,” Billy said. “She was strapped to the pyre when someone put an arrow in her. Denied the king’s justice. The people rose up. Over the archer or the king’s justice, it’s not clear, but the red coats sent for half the garrison to quiet things down.”
“Well. That is…trouble. Nothing for us to worry over at the farm,” Berral agreed. “Edel, good to see you man.”
Enya did not breathe again until they were three blocks into the town without a shout going up behind them. Dirt had turned to wide, flat stones under Arawelo’s hooves, and the shadows grew long in the fading light of the streets. Berral Kenara reined his team up, and gestured for Enya to draw nearer.
“The boys and I need to offload this wagon tonight, or we’ll find it lighter in the morning. Straight on is the Riverboat, best inn in Trout Run.”
“Thank you, Master Kenara,” Enya said. He looked on the point of saying something more, but he clucked to the team and swung wide onto a side street.
Despite the waning hour, Trout Run bustled with people afoot. The local garb was similar to that of the merchants and farmers in Westforks, but she blinked twice at the first two barefoot men she saw swaggering through the streets. They wore voluminous trousers banded above the ankles, held up by wide woven belts. Their shirts were cut from the same cloth, with big sleeves cinched at the wrists, and vests hanging open. The bare feet had to name them sailors, though from where, Enya could not hazard a guess.
