Chapter 10

Zelgadis had chosen mid-afternoon to alter his appearance and head into town, the limp coming to him now by almost habit. He carried a worn leather bag, a few random possessions within, a travel log that he'd won one evening in a game before he 'turned in' for the night, and a small kit with a comb and a razor… though the stubble that he affected belied its presence.

He'd come in by the main road and not the pass, helping a man whose cart had gotten stuck in the mudded ruts from the rain of the previous day. It cost him nothing to help, and in the end, the merchant was happy to give the limping swordsman a ride to the town, dropping him off at the hotel and promising to make sure he was stocked for his journey in the morning.

Zelgadis had every intention of being stocked for his next journey… though not in the fashion that the merchant likely had intended. Nevertheless, he thanked the man and lifted a hand as the cart pulled away, leaving him at the door of the hotel.

The door opened easily, and Zelgadis nodded to himself at the décor within the lobby. Yes, this was a town worth the time it would take to make plans. They wouldn't be able to hit it tonight, but tomorrow would be a different story.

The hotel room was a decent size, and he sat on the bed with a small smirk. He didn't truly need the bed, but it was all part of the façade. He dropped the bag on the bed beside him and reached inside it to pull out the small purse that he carried three or four silvers and a small handful of coppers from around the realm. It was enough to get him started in any card game, and not so much as to look as if he were an easy target for card sharks.

It wasn't yet late enough for any worthy games to be running in the tavern, but he could wait. He'd go, sit at the bar with a meal and a drink, buy a round and get the information that invariably flowed with the alcohol. It was the easiest way to gather information, and he was becoming the master at it.

Rising from the bed, he moved across the room silently, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway just as the door opposite his closed. Damn. Someone so close to his room might be problematic… but he could handle it as it came.

The tavern was a reasonable size, not too small, but not large enough to have its own room for games. That usually meant that the stakes were fairly low and that few, if any high-rollers came through. That was a pity, for the emotions that rolled off of a player in the high stakes were particularly good. Better when they had a lousy hand… or believed that they did.

"Evenin', traveler," the barkeep said as Zelgadis sat heavily on the stool, the picture-perfect weary older swordsman. "Haven't seen you before. What'll it be?"

"House ale, if you will. How's the stew?" Zelgadis replied, setting the purse down on the bar just within reach. Stews were generally the best food in taverns that an un-bonded swordsman would buy… filling enough without being a drain on the purse.

The barkeep grunted. "Fair to middlin' I'd say." He reached for a bottle of ale, uncorking it and placing it on the bar in front of Zelgadis. "Meat's been a bit gamey lately. Hunting isn't what it used to be."

"Is it ever?" Zelgadis countered, picking up the bottle and taking a swig. "I'll take a bowl anyway." He set the bottle down and half turned to look around the tavern as the other moved to call back to the kitchen. "Quiet place. Think an old man will find a card game to pass the time?"

The barkeep chuckled at the swordsman, completely taken in as he set the requested bowl of stew before him. "You're not that old by the looks of you. You may have seen more summers than I, but I dare say the ladies see that glint of a devil in your eyes."

Zelgadis played along, laughing good-humoredly. "For that, my man, you earn a coin." He opened the purse, taking out a fine copper and tossing it easily to the surprised barkeep, and then picked up the spoon and stirred the stew. It smelled like a hearty stew, spiced to help flavor the meat. He took a taste and nodded appreciatively, even though it didn't matter to him what it tasted like. He only ordered it for show.

"So what brings you to the area, traveler?" The barkeep asked, polishing a glass with a rag before setting it down to fill it with water for his own use. The swordsman didn't have the look of the haggard and road-weary, but his accent wasn't a local one, either.

"Rick," Zelgadis said, almost absentmindedly, as if his attentions were caught by the stew. He glanced up and crooked a grin, setting the spoon down and picking up the ale. "I'm traveling, on my way South for a new chance."

The barkeep nodded, taking a sip of his water and waving with his free hand to a new arrival. "Thought so. Might have made out a bit of a Northern Ralteague accent in there." He watched the flicker of surprise cross the swordsman's eyes, and nodded. "Had a daughter move up that way. Married a nice young man and settled down in Ambervale. That was right before the town went to hell."

Zelgadis nearly choked. Mazoku or not, Ambervale still had power over him. He covered by coughing and taking a swig of the ale again. Something, somewhere, prompted him to look to the barkeep and open his mouth. "I'm sorry for your loss." Sorry for your loss? He was losing what tenuous control he had.

He turned, and would have slipped off of the stool to leave the tavern, but for the redheaded woman who had walked up behind him with a strange look on her face. "Hey… do I know you?"