frowning. “Mysane Kosk.”
The other man nodded his silvered head, taking two sticks of roasted pork from his cart and passing them up to Juhrnus, who took them with a thankful grin. “Bad as they say?”
“Like nothing I’ve seen.”
The other man nodded again, absently stroking the decorative green stitching adorning the collar of his cloak. “Was a pretty city once. Brother’s wife’s family was there. Glass-makers. Haven’t heard from them since . . .” He paused. “Seen any of those nokulas ? The plague?”
Juhrnus swallowed and wiped his mouth. “Saw where they’d been. Bad way to die.”
“They say they’re coming here.”
Juhrnus shrugged a shoulder, taking another bite. “Most nokulas seem to stay up in the western mountains. Not that many down low. Not yet anyway.”
“They’ll come, though, won’t they?” The vendor didn’t seem to need an answer, looking up at the sky and shaking the snow from his head. “Won’t keep you. Appreciate the news.” He staggered forward as his mule shoved against his back. He muttered and cuffed the beast lightly on the neck. The mule brayed a protest. “Winter’s going to be long and hard. Don’t think you won’t end up on the pointy end of a stick,” he said in the tone of a threat oft made.
Juhrnus thanked the vendor again and continued on. The Lady’s Temple sat inside the brown district, a stone’s throw from the road separating brown from orange, where the nobility played. Across that road expensive dining rooms, luxurious hotels, posh theaters and music halls abounded, as well as gambling dens, drug parlors and elite brothels that catered to every whim.
The Lady’s Temple was an ancient four-story building made of polished green stone ranging from shades of early spring green to brilliant sea moss to shadowy evergreen darkness. Two sweeping wings circled around a spacious courtyard, large enough to fit a dozen merchant caravans with room left over for a herd of a hundred cattle. It was roofed over by a lattice of vines looped around spreading tree limbs. In the warm months, it was a shady glen of cool comfort and retreat. Now the lattice was bare, and leaf litter collected in fountains, in piles against the walls, in ice-scummed pools and in thick blankets beneath the trees.
Nothing moved in the courtyard as Juhrnus rode in, his beard thick with snow. He crossed to the archway leading into the mews, where he found a crew of the orphan stable boys dicing in an empty stall. The stable master was at dinner, and the boys started guiltily when he poked his head over the door. He didn’t recognize any of them.
“Sir!” one of them said, scrambling to his feet.
Juhrnus held up his hand. “None of that. See to my mare. She needs a hot mash and a good rubdown. Don’t stint her or I’ll be having a word with your master.”
They swarmed out of the stall, watching as he pulled his cloak aside and lifted Esper to his shoulders before removing his saddlebags.
“Where’d you come in from?” one of the boys dared.
“West.”
There was an audible gasp and Juhrnus couldn’t help but grin. A dangerous trip, riding through the western mountains. The boys were suitably impressed by the journey.
“Did you see Mysane Kosk?” one asked breathlessly.
Juhrnus felt his face harden. “Hurry up the mare. Don’t want her getting stiff or colicky. And don’t forget—a hot mash and plenty of straw in her stall.”
With that he returned to the expansive courtyard, turning left from the archway and up the cloistered walk to the main entrance. He pushed open the doors and was greeted by a cacaphony. A swarm of orphan girls was rallying in a nearby classroom, singing loudly off-key, much to the annoyance of their long-suffering teacher. A group of both boys and girls slid raucously down banisters and played a boisterous game of tag in the sprawling foyer.
Juhrnus entered quietly, adroitly avoiding the careening bodies as he proceeded up the
The other man nodded his silvered head, taking two sticks of roasted pork from his cart and passing them up to Juhrnus, who took them with a thankful grin. “Bad as they say?”
“Like nothing I’ve seen.”
The other man nodded again, absently stroking the decorative green stitching adorning the collar of his cloak. “Was a pretty city once. Brother’s wife’s family was there. Glass-makers. Haven’t heard from them since . . .” He paused. “Seen any of those nokulas ? The plague?”
Juhrnus swallowed and wiped his mouth. “Saw where they’d been. Bad way to die.”
“They say they’re coming here.”
Juhrnus shrugged a shoulder, taking another bite. “Most nokulas seem to stay up in the western mountains. Not that many down low. Not yet anyway.”
“They’ll come, though, won’t they?” The vendor didn’t seem to need an answer, looking up at the sky and shaking the snow from his head. “Won’t keep you. Appreciate the news.” He staggered forward as his mule shoved against his back. He muttered and cuffed the beast lightly on the neck. The mule brayed a protest. “Winter’s going to be long and hard. Don’t think you won’t end up on the pointy end of a stick,” he said in the tone of a threat oft made.
Juhrnus thanked the vendor again and continued on. The Lady’s Temple sat inside the brown district, a stone’s throw from the road separating brown from orange, where the nobility played. Across that road expensive dining rooms, luxurious hotels, posh theaters and music halls abounded, as well as gambling dens, drug parlors and elite brothels that catered to every whim.
The Lady’s Temple was an ancient four-story building made of polished green stone ranging from shades of early spring green to brilliant sea moss to shadowy evergreen darkness. Two sweeping wings circled around a spacious courtyard, large enough to fit a dozen merchant caravans with room left over for a herd of a hundred cattle. It was roofed over by a lattice of vines looped around spreading tree limbs. In the warm months, it was a shady glen of cool comfort and retreat. Now the lattice was bare, and leaf litter collected in fountains, in piles against the walls, in ice-scummed pools and in thick blankets beneath the trees.
Nothing moved in the courtyard as Juhrnus rode in, his beard thick with snow. He crossed to the archway leading into the mews, where he found a crew of the orphan stable boys dicing in an empty stall. The stable master was at dinner, and the boys started guiltily when he poked his head over the door. He didn’t recognize any of them.
“Sir!” one of them said, scrambling to his feet.
Juhrnus held up his hand. “None of that. See to my mare. She needs a hot mash and a good rubdown. Don’t stint her or I’ll be having a word with your master.”
They swarmed out of the stall, watching as he pulled his cloak aside and lifted Esper to his shoulders before removing his saddlebags.
“Where’d you come in from?” one of the boys dared.
“West.”
There was an audible gasp and Juhrnus couldn’t help but grin. A dangerous trip, riding through the western mountains. The boys were suitably impressed by the journey.
“Did you see Mysane Kosk?” one asked breathlessly.
Juhrnus felt his face harden. “Hurry up the mare. Don’t want her getting stiff or colicky. And don’t forget—a hot mash and plenty of straw in her stall.”
With that he returned to the expansive courtyard, turning left from the archway and up the cloistered walk to the main entrance. He pushed open the doors and was greeted by a cacaphony. A swarm of orphan girls was rallying in a nearby classroom, singing loudly off-key, much to the annoyance of their long-suffering teacher. A group of both boys and girls slid raucously down banisters and played a boisterous game of tag in the sprawling foyer.
Juhrnus entered quietly, adroitly avoiding the careening bodies as he proceeded up the
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