Wandering through her favorite tavern, Sexta Uria Servilla almost missed them. Two homani against the wall, one in well worn, tarnished armor, the other wearing leathers of a style rarely seen in this age. Both possessed the tall frame, pale skin and brown hair of the Annadari folk. Neither seemed at ease with their own kind around them. No tankards or goblets sat at their table, just simple mugs of steaming (chicory).
Something about them drew her eyes. Despite the battles with the lemures that afternoon, they seemed at ease, yet ready for battle. Iron, in eyes and near their hands kept her from moving to them. She wished again to have another here, such as Jarthun or her own second, Ariana, to approach them as she watched, but their wounds taken at the camp earlier prevented such.
Her caravan's cohort was filled, but Servillius still sat several bodies short. These two met the base requirements, keeping arms at hand and wits unclouded in a strange place. What order the knight was of, no clue lay on his armor. No sigils, no paint, not even a crest on his shield. The other seemed out of time, a man from a by-gone era. Spear and leather armor, the small hexagonal shield of the Old North Empire, and simple broadsword leaning against his thigh, detached from his belt.
Finding a seat across the room, she motioned a server for wine. What arrived made her face twist in disgust. Even the worst local vintage tasted better than Vamoian (Blue Wine). Blueberries gave a bitter taste to the royal grapes those homani mingled together for drinks. She never liked those bush fruits, nor the darker grapes. She began to wonder if perhaps the two homani had a better drink.
Looking around the room, Servilla found it lacking in the talent she hoped to find. Only the most desperate came here to the east gate inns.
Of all those, The Vulture indeed held the worst reputation.
Three pumillo entered, finding a seat at a table with a fourth. One she knew well, having already hired him, despite his ill reputation among her kinfolk. All appearances to the contrary, that dwarf was one of her folk, a numeni with stunted limbs, broad build and rather wild in his actions. She found it natural he would accept those he appeared more like as friends than his own folk.
While the tables were numerous, many still sat empty. Servilla hoped they would fill later, with travelers coming in after dark.
That wish died fast when a custos she knew entered. the room, joining the dwarves. Unlike the others, he spoke loud, wishing the words he said heard.
"The gates stay closed after dark now. Just glad you three made it past the outer fence."
Not unexpected news, but definitely some that would delay the caravan leaving. Servilla winced. She preferred sleeping in her wagon over the bug infested beds the local inns offered. Among other visitors in the night, many two legged and seeking wealth or blood.
Eyes narrowed, considering each table, she sipped the wine slowly. Most did not rate notice for her needs. One table bore extreme caution for her, a group of filthy men each eyeing the rest of the place, her especially. Thieves, she felt in her gut. Not candidates for the journeys ahead for the family's caravans.
The few others perhaps for hire did not measure up in some ways, save one veteran of the caravans, who celebrated his final trip loudly, Gravon's reputation on those trips left her smirking. She knew no master wanted him around, even on his few sober days.
Her eyes drifted across the dwarves to the two homani again. They both appeared at ease in this place, which dropped her interest a bit in them. The dwarves looked a better prospect. Save the youngest, whose skin marked him as one from beneath the (last mountains), gray skin and clothing, weapons whose markings tickled some memory deep down. One that resisted rising up fast.
A glance to her right left her shocked. Only the armored man still sat at the table. The only way out was across her field of vision. Unless...
"We do not appreciate being watched." The old style broadsword settled lightly on her table.
"I find those who threaten a potential employer rude." Fighting down her impulse to draw her own weapon, she noted the now bared steel's markings. Very old, an antique of faded days.
A chair from another table settled in beside her. "Those dwarves would fill your caravan's needs perfectly."
Turning her head, she met cold grey eyes, filled with pain and something else. Like her own, those eyes echoed many years of life. More than one would expect from his ephermeal blood. But not outside her experience with those who lived full lives in fewer years than her childhood lasted.
"Strange, you know me and my needs. I know nothing of you."
She watched the left corner of his mouth fight rising into a half-smile. "Ah, but you are famous, oh great Servilla of the Sands."
She let the comment sit, keeping her distasteful business face up. Now able to see him close up, she was shocked at the weapons and man. Like something out of time, his clothing marked him as part of a Legion long lost to the Numeni. One given to the humans just as their Old North Empire coalesced from the ashes of a long, bitter war. Leathers made from hides of the Fell Beasts, mostly the great mastari, though she thought the hardened plate areas on the shoulder, forearms and breast might be dyed Arsinoitherium hide, all lined with the soft grey skin of a kurela, the great river sharks of the south.
"How much did your armor cost to have made in that style?" Probing that might give her a clue to the man.
Chuckling, he stopped the waitress, ordering tea for them both before answering. "Its not too pricey, when you remember how to make it. Luckily, a set fell into my hands a while back."
"Takes some guts to wear the armor of the Twenty-Third Legion, so long after it disappeared. Do you have the skills to match that armor?" He shifted at her qeustion, slight tilt to the right, something she used to indicate his discomfort at the inquiry.
His hesitation let their tea arrive. She sipped cautiously, as some brews could be lethal to her kind, looking for that hint of iron's taste in the fluid before swallowing. It proved far better than the so called wine.
"The Twenty-Third still exists, milady." She struggled to keep hold of the cup, shock and fear at that statement. "We wait in the Glowing Lands for the day of restoration, and I trained among them. From time to time, some of us wander about, seeing if that day is nigh." He sipped his tea calmly.
Meeting his eyes, she felt no lie in them or the words. He spoke the truth, or what he thought was the truth. Servillia found herself wishing her doni was not weather sensing but truth reading. To see if his skills included hiding falsehood's signs. He seemed familiar now, looking closer at his face, the features at last made a connection.
"Alar, son of Dizrath. How do you yet live."
Chuckling, he refilled his cup from the small pot sent with their cups. "Aldo Rensyn, son of Ren Alarsyn, actually." A small jar appeared on the table between them. "The fruits of the hives you taught my grandfather to nurture, milday. He, and our family, would be proud if you shared this with me."
Servillia laughed at that. "Dear gods. Alar found a woman to tolerate him after all." Then the sadness took her. "How long since he passed on?"
"Still keeping his hives, actually, when not spoiling the children with candies and tales of adventures he had. Or, at least Hikan still was when I left five snows ago." Calm, judging her reaction, the spearman laughed. "Yes, he was of the Legion as well, milady."
Hikan. That word sought in her mind a long time, until it connected. The old language of the Empire, Annadari tongue. Grandfather, it meant. "If you seek a job, I can hire you. But it is Servius who needs swords and spears at this time."
The spearman smiled. "The Urias gens is our preference. My friend seeks knowledge of something. He is quiet, as he never learned to hide that awful accent from Geldean."
Geldean. Now the caravan leader was nervous. Aldo implied his friend was a Justicar, seeking something. The Knights of Justice, while not known for shedding their accouterments, did at times to find the Truth amid scandals and crimes they sought to avenge. "What does he seek?"
The same wave as her old second in command, his Hikan, once used to dismiss worries. "His spurs. His family long has been squires for the order, but his study of law brought him to the attention of their god and the order." Shoving the honey to her, he smiled. "Knighting quest, and as my vessel called on their port, I got drafted to guide him along."
She relaxed, opening the hand fired ceramic jar gently. Honey would not keep on her journey, and none here deserved such a rich reward in her opinion. "So, can I hire you both for Servius?" Finger touched the golden liquid softly, rising to her lips for a taste of heaven.
"Yes." Looking over his shoulder to the dwarves, his smile fled. "Better hire the Tsar's men as well. Garz and Jakin are both good with an ax."
"But the boy...."
"Is hired by that alf. I pray to my gods and yours it goes not ill for them." Fingers touched the table lightly. "They say the alf has foresight, I pray he consults it concerning this one.
At that moment the alf in question rose, lifting his cup calling for a toast to Sir Basil, and his passing. The rougher set became angry.
"Not using it now, though." Servillia sealed the precious honey, tossed the innkeeper coins to pay for the tea and wine. She barely escaped the fight that exploded when the thieves took umbrage over a guard making that toast.
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