The Catalyst

Chapter 7

After a long afternoon spent riding, Noah headed to Sashay Hills for a well-needed rest. A town of stone and brick with paved streets twisting around hills. Noah had heard they made their wealth mostly from gemstones mined in the surroundings.

The traffic was impressive. The terraced market squares were crowded, taverns and inns brimming with people. Musicians and jugglers in colorful garb performed at intersections, hoping to earn a few coins from passersby.

It was on every local's lips if you cared to listen, coded messages were circulating between villages, folks were gathering in Sashay Hills to talk politics. There was even rumor of a coup being planned. Still, according to the locals, this was good for business.

As Noah stopped in front of the inn called Traveler's Nest, a two-story brick building with a pointed rooftop and smoke coming out of two chimneys, he felt a prickle along the back of his neck. Like he was being observed.

Perched on the steep tiles was a red-tailed hawk, beady eyes unmistakably surveying Noah. But then the hawk just vanished, without taking flight, as though it had never been there at all.

Was that Red?

~ That was definitely Red. ~

Why would Kitera's demon be watching me?

~ How would I know that? ~

Noah pushed the front door and saw a crammed common room where almost every seat was taken. A man in a dark blue coat with silver buttons greeted him. He had thinning reddish hair, freckles, and a warm smile despite tired eyes.

"Welcome, my name is Shaun, this is my establishment! There are no rooms left, but," he said, raising a finger, "everyone innkeeper in town will tell you the same thing, and I at least can offer you a meal, and a stall in our stables for your horse. If you have the coin for it, of course."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Noah said.

"Lovely." The innkeeper's smile widened.

As if on cue, an old man with a wispy beard came from behind Shaun to take Shadow's reins from Noah.

"Thank you," Noah said.

Hoisting his bags, Noah followed the innkeeper inside. He could always negotiate for a room later.

Serving maids in dark blue dresses and white aprons bustled in and out of the kitchens, carrying trays bearing mulled wine, ale and plates of what smelled like roasted lamb. Noah's stomach growled with longing.

No one played music on the little stage, where a fiddle's leather case rested forgotten on a chair. Two roaring fires in hearths placed at either end added warmth and brightness to the room. In the back, a black cat sat on the windowsill, watching everything with lidded eyes.

The innkeeper miraculously found him a small unused table. Noah sighed as he sank in his chair. Stuck between a wall and three groups of people, he didn't have much room to stretch his legs.

A serving maid came by and took his order: mulled wine and roasted lamb. Why the hell not, he was rich now.

Noah managed to hear bits and pieces of conversations. The locals were right about people discussing politics. Many were disappointed with the new queen, her take on religion was all wrong, she was insane to ban ritual sacrifice, she didn't care about tradition, the gods were most certainly angry, and so on.

They banged their fists on tables and shouted arguments at each other when they weren't busy drinking or filling their pipes with tobacco.

The serving maid came back and set down the hot mug of wine and the generous portion of lamb served with potatoes and carrots. Noah immediately started to wolf it down. Still, his ears stayed sharp, picking up on a few more things.