Taniel (The Taverner's Daughter I)

81: Hanrey

Hanrey stopped to catch his breath before using the stones to cross the creek. More than an hour, he reckoned, had frittered by while getting rid of the damned clan-ring.

There was much to be done at the tavern before he left. He crossed the cow paddock and, at the back gate, surveyed the backyard. All seemed normal.

The gardener dug over a new seedbed with fairy wrens flitting about his feet, foraging on each newly turned sod. Linen flapped lazily on the lines. In the poultry pen, the yard boy whistled as he fed kitchen scraps to the hens. Across the yard, the blacksmith hammered in the smithy adjoining the stables. Behind him, cows munched, belched, and tore at grass.

But, things were not normal, far from it. He glanced at Taniel's bedroom window, acutely aware of her absence.

Bloody dragonriding scum, he thought. If they had left her alone, Taniel would still be here. No doubt, after one of their dragons discovered her ability, the filthy bastard traded the information for coin.

He remembered the backpack he had found outside her window and wondered if anything else lay about. The fellow seemed to have shed stuff everywhere: ring, boots, shirt, pants... smallclothes.

Hanrey growled.

The dragonrider's gear might hold a clue to its owner. With a name, he could start looking, himself, without bothering the wizards.

He let the back door slam after him. The hallway wore the usual hush following lunch, broken only by intermittent bangs and clashes in the kitchen. Rita would be helping Jimbo with the washing-up.

He should tell her that he was back.

Hanrey did not want to talk to anyone. He poked his head beyond the door, nodded when he caught her eye, and withdrew. He better not waste more time, just grab the dragonrider's gear and save the inspection for when he made camp in the evening. He stopped off at his bedroom to collect a bag.

Taniel's room, dimmed by closed curtains, had been tidied. The extraneous boots leaned against the refastened pack and the discarded clothes were stacked neatly on top. He shoved the belongings into the bag before looking around the room for anything odd. Rita had probably done the same. He was wasting time.

"She's not dead," he muttered, his throat thick. He strode to the window and let in the light. There was no need for her room to be a place of mourning.

Dead, she was no good to anyone.

"Hanrey." Rita spoke from the doorway.

Whosoever took her would wish her a long, productive life.

"Hanrey?"

He sighed.

"There's a bloke out front wanting to talk to you," she said. "Says it is urgent."

"Who is he?"

"Sedgley Briant. He looks like a wizard."

His pulse quickened.

"He might know something about Taniel," he said, ushering his sister out the door ahead of him. From the escalating warmth of his armring, Hanrey knew she was right.

He found the visitor sitting at the small table by the chimney, getting a good view of the comings and goings in the common room. Mostly goings, since he had the place to himself. Customers always recalled pressing tasks, even unseasonable ones, when a wizard called. Fortunately, such visits were rare. Peter collected abandoned tankards and he cast an anxious glance Hanrey's way.

"Master Bartle?" The wizard rose from his chair.

"That's me," Hanrey said, appraising him as they shook hands. The wizard had a full head of white hair. A matching beard fell to the waist of his black homespun robe. Hanrey admired a man who flaunted his wizardry and he was pleased when this one did not try the usual magical tricks on his clasped hand.