By the time the sun had begun to dip closer to the horizon, the horses were spent and the caravan had reached a bend in the road where a large walled inn stood all aglow with lanterns and torches.
The second half of the day’s journey had proven to be far more tense than the first. Little was exchanged between the occupants of Lin Jenin’s carriage except some whispered communication between Ăna San and her little maid. Twice she offered So Ga something to eat — first a dried peach dusted with sugar and then later a bit of crispy fried bread, which she also offered to Min La — and they thanked her. But otherwise little else was said or done. It was a relief to reach the inn, to leave the increasingly condensed air in the carriage and stand at last in the open, with the indigo sky above. So Ga stood a ways off from the carriage, his hands clasped behind his back, breathing large gulps of the crisp forest air, gazing up at the sky which glowed with an amber warmth that was cut through by the chill wind.
Min La, standing beside him, both of their bags looped over his shoulder, glanced around. When he was sure no one was close enough to hear he whispered to So Ga, “We should not linger out here. I have not yet seen our old friends, but it’s just a matter of time. We should go inside the inn’s walls. I will purchase rooms.”
So Ga turned to him and then glanced past him to their traveling host Lin Jenin and his carriage driver who were both looking at the two of them furtively.
He shivered a little in the cold, evening breeze and said to Min La, “Does everyone still feel this way about Hin Dan?”
“What way?”
“Do they think all of Hin Dan complicit in the— in what happened?”
“Don’t you?”
So Ga stared at him, stunned.
“I would think that you would have more of an opinion about this matter than anyone else in that carriage.”
So Ga didn’t know what to say to that. His own thoughts about that day had long been carefully confined to his own head and never spoken aloud. It was, indeed, strange to find the world so fixed in their hatred of Nŭnon when he had spent the last several months coming to understand that they had likely been innocent. He didn’t dare say anything of the kind to Min La, however.
Min La said, “Lin Jenin has probably decided that we aren’t being entirely honest about who we are. But he knows our gold is good, so even though he’ll never be friendly, it’s not likely he’ll take it any further.” He looked at So Ga. “Do you want to leave the caravan?”
“Being uncomfortable is better than being hunted.”
Min La almost smiled. “I assure you, my lord. We are still being hunted.”
The inn was typical of traveling houses close to the capital. Large, built of creamy white stone with dark wooden pillars and with a large wooden fence. No house in Láokoth was considered fit for living if it did not have a surrounding gated wall of some kind, even if it was only a fence. And no inn could expect a traveler to feel comfortable enough to sleep within its walls if it was not surrounded at least by a small fence. Though most inn walls were symbolic, this one was tall and sturdy and well lit all around by dozens of bright oil lamps to discourage bandits and other criminals emboldened by the absence of a city guard.
The merchant caravan, though well-armed and guarded, made use of the large stables within the tall, stout fence, above which there was housing for carriage drivers and other servants. Rows of these stables faced each other and, together with the broad, tall structure of the inn itself, formed a wide courtyard which was cobbled and swept clean and also well lit.
Not all the wagons were brought within the walls, but mainly those laden with goods. The others were left nearby, but guarded by the caravan’s hired swords. Among them Lin Jenin’s shining yellow and green domed jewel.
The caravan had reached the inn some hours before the exterior gates were set to close. Given the shift in weather, the place was not as occupied as it was in the more seasonable months or when some grand event brought crowds to the capital. All the same, the inn quickly became crowded and pushed to capacity by the merchants from the caravan and their passengers. They were fortunate to be able to purchase a single room for the night, as almost everything else had been filled.
It was a bright-faced young monk who told them this, while taking Min La’s gold which he handed over with great caution. The monk cut off a corner no larger than a kernel of corn and returned the piece to Min La. He seemed a little stunned to have been paid in this way.
Like most inns in Láokoth, this one rested adjacent to, and was serviced by, a temple. In this case, the inn was minded by the white-clad monks of Níoth who were known for their hospitality above all. As such, travelers who knew the road and knew the place itself had taken to calling it The White Inn.
The caravan intended to stay here only for the night, but there was talk of a coming storm. This was conveyed to Min La — So Ga standing a bit behind him — by Lin Jenin, who had also told the other passengers, though they had all repaired already to their rooms. So Ga found himself feeling distrustful of Lin Jenin, though he wasn’t sure why and he feared it might have been little more than a childish reaction to Lin Jenin’s distrust of them. Childish and perhaps unwarranted. After all, they were lying about who they were.
Having delivered his information, Lin Jenin bowed stiffly to both of them, hands clasped behind his back, and retreated to the inn’s main hall where several of his fellow merchants of On Dŭn had gathered to smoke their slender Sívo pipes.
The young monk informed them at what time the evening repast would be served in the inn’s large main hall and then Min La took So Ga to find their modest room.
On their way down the corridor of the inn’s third floor — in the northern wing which had windows overlooking the surrounding wall and the great stretch of forest beyond — Min La turned and said apologetically to So Ga, “ I would have found a set of rooms or at least one superior room had I been able.”
“I don’t mind,” he answered. And he didn’t. It was sufficient to have a roof and door that could lock. The addition of a bed was enough to make the room seem luxurious in his eyes.
“The monk downstairs called me your brother and I allowed it as I thought it suited our disguise.” He glanced back and So Ga found his face completely unreadable. “I hope you do not take offense.”
So Ga again found himself amazed at his new guard. Here, in these flashes of illumination across his shrouded character, he detected a person of fine breeding and disciplined character. He could be delicate and polite and even conveyed the sense that it was inappropriate to have been mistaken for a blood relative of the crown prince, something an uncouth beggar was unlikely to care about. So Ga suspected that Min La had once been a member of a proud House. He wondered what misfortune had befallen him to place him in the terrible circumstances in which he now found himself. He suspected that he had been cast out of his House and that was why he never spoke of his own circumstances, out of shame. More and more, however, So Ga found himself wondering if this casting out had been unjust. He wondered at the character of a man who could be brought so low and yet still behaved in this civilized manner.
As a door opened ahead of them, Min La motioned for So Ga to be silent. A young man stepped into the corridor, closed the door behind him, and then carefully locked it. He started in surprise when he saw them, but then he gathered himself and offered the two of them a polite bow before making his way down the corridor in the opposite direction.
So Ga and Min La looked at each other. It had been one of the two young men they had seen at the riverbank at midday, who had been surveying the caravan’s members with clumsy stealth. He carried in his left hand a fine sword with a leather sheath of deep red that had been worked with a design So Ga had never seen before, something unmistakably foreign.
Their own door was at the end of the same corridor. Min La stood before it for a moment while he watched the end of the hall. Satisfied that no one was nearby, he opened the door.
The room was not grand, but it was better than So Ga had expected. The low roof and plastered walls were painted white which made it seem larger and brighter. Had this been a private home these white walls would have been painted with intricate patterns along the ceiling and in the corners, or perhaps large frescoes like in the north. But the monks of Níoth were as austere as they were hospitable and so the white walls had been left plain. A short window looked out over the back wall of the inn, but Min La pulled the heavy white curtains to cover it.
The monks had laid a fire in the small white ceramic stove which roared and cast its amber glow over the now-darkened room. A single wide wooden bed occupied nearly half the space, its base, cover, and wooden frame lacquered so dark it was almost black. Instead of curtains, it had sliding wooden doors that enclosed it behind stretched white linen screens which were also unadorned. A similar white linen screen hung from the low ceiling, separating the bed from the part of the room that was lit by the fire. A low table with a stone base and a tiled tabletop was in front of the fire with large round cushions on either side instead of chairs. Such a practice was common in the private rooms of northern houses where tables were often placed low, as close to a fire as possible. It was also common in inns, where cushions were cheaper than chairs and easier for the monks to maintain.
The monks had, at Min La’s request, prepared a pitcher of coffee which was on the table along with two small clay cups glazed in green. So Ga could smell the coffee. The sudden fragrance brought with it an unexpected memory of Hin Lan. Each morning he had sat next to the prince while he ate his breakfast. Sometimes he would read to him, usually one of the old tales of Soháth or Netholom, So Ga’s favorites. And he would sip coffee from a large porcelain carafe. The small porcelain cup he favored had been broken by So Ga when he was a child. But Hin Lan had repaired it himself.
So Ga touched one of the green cups and remembered this. He felt an inexplicable tightening in his chest.
On one side of the fireplace a small grotto had been carved into the plaster and the little concave space tiled over with small, shining copper disks. A plain wooden carving of Níoth stood on a shelf within surrounded by small candles. The flickering golden light danced against the copper tiling of the little nook and made the wooden figure glow as if lit by the golden rivers of Deep Light from the ancient stories. A small cup offered the room’s occupants unlit incense, while next to it an empty copper dish for burning it shone dull but clean.
Upon seeing the copper grotto, So Ga went directly to the little altar where he used the flame from one of the candles to light one of the little cylinders of incense, which he placed in the copper dish. The slim thread of fragrant smoke curled around Níoth like a length of velvet ribbon. So Ga cupped his hands over the smoke and then touched his palms to his forehead. This abbreviated greeting was a version of the longer ritual by which tolibins honored Níoth for the gift of their bodies, usually performed daily. But it had been days since So Ga had been able to carry out such devotions.
“The evening meal will be prepared in the hall downstairs in a little less than an hour,” Min La said, pouring himself some coffee.
“We will eat in the hall?”
Min La frowned, sipping the steaming coffee while looking at the closed window. Outside they could hear the chill wind swirl through the trees. “I have asked them to prepare a hot bath for you. You may wash while I eat in the hall and then I will bring you your meal.”
“Is that common practice?” So Ga asked.
He had always understood that it was unusual for a traveler to take his evening meal outside an inn’s great hall. In all the old stories his mother had read to him the heroes met friends and allies in the great halls of inns. Mingling with other travelers was an important aspect of any journey. Even pilgrims would suspend their devotions for an evening of socializing. How else would Houses learn news of each other? How else would the people of Láokoth learn news of the greater world?
Min La said, “It is not irregular.” After a pause he added, “Swords who protect young charges usually keep them apart from the crowds at inns. It is not irregular.”
So Ga nodded finally and sat on the cushion opposite Min La who still sipped his coffee.
“After you eat,” Min La said, motioning to the enclosed bed, “you should sleep. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“I will not sleep. As I said, our old friends are certainly not far behind us.”
“You think they will find us here, in this inn?”
“They have probably determined by now that we are no longer in Rensoth. And that we have not taken a path to the capital.”
“And they will know that if I have not gone back to the capital, it is because I am going to Osa Gate.”
Min La did not answer.
It made sense, of course. It would not take these mercenaries very long to predict where he would go if he did not go back west towards the Palace. Osa Gate, with his father’s vast army and the incorruptible loyalty of its general Ko Gŏth La-Enlen1, his royal father’s Iron Hand, was the next obvious destination.
Once the mercenaries arrived at this realization — if they hadn’t already done so — they would blanket the roads between here and there like ants crowding over a trail of honey. Their only advantage was that they had a day’s head start. But, So Ga realized, their adversary would not likely rest in the night. So Ga looked at Min La and wondered if he, like himself, feared tomorrow. Did the stone-faced young man fear the road and the shadows between the trees? Did he fear the humming silence of the long, dark nights? Did he, like So Ga, fear his weak arms and his lacking abilities?
The prince looked relieved that he would be allowed to remain in the room. Min La was coming to learn that So Ga seemed to prefer the security of a hiding place to the adventure of curiosity. Before his life had become what it was now, Min La had been the very opposite. He found himself feeling pity and endeavored to check it. So Ga was not his friend. He was his charge and the future king of Láokoth. Min La had no business seeking friendship from a member of the Sona royal House.
He drank the rest of his hot coffee, which had been made in the northern way with the finely ground beans thickening the sweet, dark liquid into almost a syrup. It was strong, which was good. He would need to stay alert through the whole of the evening and night. There was no telling when he would have the opportunity to get a good night’s sleep again. Yet another reason it would be best to get to Osa Gate as quickly as possible.
When the monks brought the basin for So Ga’s bath, Min La left for the inn’s main hall. Though it made him anxious to leave the prince alone in the room, he was reasonably confident in the monks’ own security measures which he had observed when they arrived. Besides the high outer wall and the heavy iron gates, the monks had also trained some of their number — a separate, less spiritual group of them — to act as Houseswords, of a sort. He suspected that this group also managed most of the monks’ worldly affairs outside the temple and the inn.
Temples, like Houses, functioned according to a set of rules or bylaws which were particular to each temple. Some, like the tolibins, maintained many temples and elected a head who oversaw the monks for a lifetime, just like a Housemaster. Others existed as single temples alone in the wilderness. The former were often more wealthy and the latter relied heavily on the alms of pilgrims. Some monks concerned themselves primarily with study, others devoted themselves to caring for the poor. Monks maintained most of the hospitals in Sona Gen and were often the most learned in matters such as medicine or astronomy.
The monks of Níoth had, historically, devoted their energies to providing safety to travelers. In the old days this had been in an effort to afford poor pilgrims security along their journeys to various temples. That a man would be robbed or killed on his way to pray for his dead was considered tragedy enough that even the king at the time had taken it upon himself to find some way to protect these pilgrims. In the end it was the monks who did so, having no other worldly affairs to which they needed to attend. In particular, it was the monks of Níoth, who had already embedded deep in their temples’ bylaws the importance of caring for those in need. They built humble inns adjoining their humble temples, erected walls around them and then they armed the strongest of their numbers to police the gates. In time the temples of Níoth became known as the most secure houses along any road.
It was said that the king had given them gold to do so. Besides just pilgrims, he desired also to keep safe the merchants who carried trade from his princedom to all the others. The monks of Níoth had never denied this, deaf to any claims of corruption made against them. And despite the grandeur of many of their temple inns, they still kept several small rooms in every inn for poor pilgrims. They were known to give up their own beds rather than turn away any traveler in need.
The armed monks of Níoth in their trim white golts were positioned variously in the White Inn and outside it. Min La expected that they were keeping peace among the travelers as much as they were protecting them. He wondered if these monks also guarded a section of the road. When he consulted the old map he had in his mind of the Houses of Sona Gen — as it had been nine years ago, at least — he realized that this inn and this section of the Prince Road crossed through a large swathe of forest owned and maintained by the Ŏklo House. As one of the Fourteen Ancient Houses, they were a powerful and proud House and probably guarded the road themselves. He anticipated that they would encounter some of their Houseswords tomorrow. That thought offered his anxious mind a little relief. Theirs was a force large enough to temper the boldness of the mercenaries who hunted them — and anyone else who might take interest in Min La’s young charge.
It was not just to retrieve food for So Ga — and to afford the incommoded little prince this brief moment of peace to bathe in privacy — that Min La wanted to go to the inn’s main hall. He had hoped, also, to take stock of the inn’s occupants to see if their old friends from Rensoth were yet upon them, though even by his most pessimistic estimates they could not possibly have reached them by now, and would probably not think to look for them within the merchant caravan.
It was good that Min La was not yet known to the mercenaries who hunted the prince. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep it that way, but for the time it allowed him to move more freely than So Ga could and to go among strangers, as he did now, to seek out information that would benefit his journey with the prince. Any news could help them. It would benefit them to know what roads to take and what Houses to avoid.
The main hall of the White Inn was not white like the exterior of the building but was made of the same dark wood that had been used for the pillars and the beams. This large room was interior and used no outer walls and so none of it shared the white sandstone of the exterior. All was paneled in wood, from the floor, to the walls, to the high ceiling which vaulted up two stories and was ribbed across its width by thick wooden beams. The wood was lacquered in a dark varnish that shone in the candle light, giving the whole space a dark, glassy gloss, interrupted here and there by screen panels hanging from the beams. These served to section off parts of the hall into smaller, more intimate chambers. Unlike the screens in the rooms, these were ornately embroidered in various scenes, mostly depicting the ancient legends of Níoth himself or of his more well-known attendants. Min La recognized on one screen the famous scene in which Níoth had appeared upon Soháth’s ship when he had sailed into the endless southern oceans with the dying Netholom to beg the Ădol to save him. It was a favorite story in Láokoth, for obvious reasons.
Patterns had been carved into the beams much like the ones common in the north. Glass lanterns tinted amber or green hung from the center of each beam that crossed the high, vaulted ceiling. Candles guttered on the long wooden tables and a fire roared in a tiled stove near the back of the hall. Judging by the ducting that fed from the stove into the wall behind it, Min La guessed that the kitchen was on the other side of the wall.
The hall was indeed crowded, though most of the faces were familiar as Min La had seen them among the caravan when it had stopped at the riverside. The merchants made up the larger part of the inn’s occupants. Though he also saw the young man from Bin Koth wrapped in his fur cloak, solemnly drinking soup from a clay bowl while the others near him shared a carafe of coffee. The young couple from the Sengí House were not present, though that did not surprise Min La. Halfway through the day he had begun to suspect that the Ăna San was with child. Her behavior reminded him of his sister when she had borne her first, the son who had not survived. In those days of her first pregnancy she had attempted to conceal it from her husband — Min La’s brother-in-law — until she was certain. Ăna San Sengí seemed to be doing the same thing. Her husband had not indicated that he had any knowledge of his wife’s condition. If he was anything like Min La’s brother-in-law had been, he would not have let his wife leave the security of their village, must less ride in a merchant caravan, if he had known. The sudden memory of his sister’s husband — a man who had been close to Min La’s family for as long as he could remember, as close to him as his own brother — brought him a small amount of surprising happiness. It did not last, however, when he remembered the unmarked grave in which his sister and her little family now rested.
Lin Jenin was there, huddled together with a group of his comrades smoking their Sívo pipes near the great tiled stove. He had changed from his golt and cloak of blue into a thin orange velvet garment with a wide brown belt of shining silk tied high around his large stomach. The buttons down the front of his velvet golt were brass and shone in the flickering firelight. On his head he wore a cap like the blue one he had had on the road, though this one matched his velvet golt and had a small tassel dangling over the side that hung low enough to get tangled somewhat in his beard. His face glowed with the warm wine he had been drinking and, remembering their tense exchange earlier today, Min La resolved to avoid him.
Besides the merchants and the other passengers in their caravan, there were others Min La was interested to see. Those sitting at the table with the young man from Bin Koth were of especial interest to him.
Two were dressed in matching silver golts, trim and unadorned but fine. Houseswords, Min La suspected, though he wasn’t sure of the House. These two seemed exhausted and melancholy and spoke in whispers between themselves.
The other two were known to Min La, at least by sight. They were the same two young men who had been surveying the merchant caravan at the riverside, one of whom had passed Min La and So Ga in the hall some minutes ago. They were similar to each other in age but dressed quite differently and he doubted they were from the same House. Nevertheless, they conversed with great familiarity. Min La judged that they were close to him in age and, given the fiction of his identity, close to him in station as well.
His first thought was to avoid them. Their strange curiosity at the riverside — and their reappearance here at the inn — had made him anxious. As he watched them speaking to each other and then to the two clad in silver, he found himself imagining a whole host of possibilities, each more ridiculous than the last. Perhaps they were mercenaries in disguise. Perhaps they were from some power-mad House who wanted to kidnap the prince for their own ends. Perhaps they were spies from Srenléth who had been sent to assassinate the crown prince while he was vulnerable and exposed.
This last possibility almost made him laugh. It sounded like the plot of some over-dramatic puppet show he had seen theater troupes put on for children.
In the end, despite his misgivings, their friendly, open demeanor indicated to him that this was the best source of information he was likely to find in the whole inn. Moreover, he decided that he ought to look these two suspicious young men in the eye and see if he could determine their purpose. Otherwise he feared he would be leaving himself — and the prince — vulnerable. Ignorance and blindness were fearful enemies to any in their situation.
And so he strode across the hall to their table.
The two from the riverside looked up at him when he arrived at their table, and their faces betrayed keen surprise.
“Friends,” Min La said amicably, “Might I join you?”
Loving the book so far. I enjoy slower paced stories that allow for deeper immersion.
Possible typo in the large paragraph near the end starting "The hall was indeed crowded": there is a "must" that reads like it should have been a "much" by the phrasing.
It's a very small part of the chapters, but I love how you write food. Reminds me of Redwall.