The Name of the Wind

The Tehlin church was the nicest building in town, three stories tall and made of quarried stone. Nothing odd about that, but bolted above the front doors, high above the ground, was one of the biggest iron wheels I’d ever seen. It was real iron too, not just painted wood. It was ten feet tall and must have weighed a solid ton. Ordinarily such a display would have made me nervous, but since Trebon was a mining town I guessed it showed civic pride more than fanatic piety.

Most of the other buildings in town were low to the ground, built of rough timber with cedar-shingle roofs. The inn was respectable though, two stories tall, with plaster walls and red clay tiles on the roof. There was bound to be someone in there who would know more about the wedding.

There was a bare handful of people inside, not surprising as harvest was in full swing and there were still five or six hours of good daylight left. I put on my best anxious expression as I made my way over to the bar where the innkeeper stood.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I hate to trouble you, but I’m looking for someone.”

The innkeeper was a dark-haired man with a perpetual scowl. “Who’s that then?”

“My cousin was here for a wedding,” I said, “and I heard there was some trouble.”

At the word wedding the innkeeper’s scowl turned stony. I could feel the two men farther down the bar not looking at me, pointedly not looking anywhere in my direction. It was true then. Something terrible had happened.

I saw the innkeeper reach out and press his fingers onto the bar. It took me a second to realize he was touching the iron head of a nail driven into the wood. “Bad business,” he said shortly. “Nothing I care to say about it.”

“Please,” I said, letting worry bleed into my tone. “I was visiting family in Temfalls when the rumor came down that something had happened. They’re all busy pulling in the last of the wheat, so I promised I’d come up and see what the trouble was.”

The innkeeper looked me up and down. A gawker he could turn away, but he couldn’t deny me the right to know what had happened to a family member. “There’s the one upstairs who was there,” he said shortly. “Not from around here. Might be your cousin.”

A witness! I opened my mouth to ask another question, but he shook his head. “I don’t know a thing about it,” he said firmly. “Don’t care to, either.”

He turned and made himself suddenly busy with the taps of his beer barrels. “Up at the far end of the hall, on the left.”

I headed across the room and up the stairs. I could feel everyone not looking at me now. Their silence and the innkeeper’s tone made it clear that whoever was upstairs was not one of the many who had been there, it was the one. One survivor.

I went to the end of the hallway and knocked on the door. First softly, then again, louder. I opened the door slowly, so as not to startle whoever might be inside.

It was a narrow room with a narrow bed. A woman lay on it, fully clothed, one arm wrapped in a bandage. Her head was turned toward the window, so I could only see her profile.

Still I recognized her. Denna.

I must have made some noise, because she turned to look at me. Her eyes went wide and for once she was the one who was at a loss for words.

“I heard you were in some trouble,” I said nonchalantly. “So I thought I’d come and help.”

Her eyes went wide for a moment, then narrowed. “You’re lying,” she said with a wry twist to her lips.

“I am,” I admitted. “But it’s a pretty lie.” I took a step into the room and closed the door softly. “I would have come, if I’d known.”

“Anyone can make the trip after they get the news,” she said dismissively “It takes a special sort of man to show up when he doesn’t know there’s trouble.” She sat up and turned to face me, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Now that I looked more closely, I noticed that she had a bruise high on one temple in addition to the bandage on her arm. I took another step toward her, “Are you alright?” I asked.

“No,” she said bluntly. “But I could be a damn sight worse off.” She came to her feet slowly, as if she was unsure how steady she would be. She took a cautious step or two and seemed more or less satisfied. “Right. I can walk. Let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO Borrorill

Denna turned left instead of right as she came out of her room. At first I thought she was disoriented, but when she came to a back stairway I saw she was actually trying to leave without heading through the taproom. She found the alley door, but it was locked fast.

So we headed out the front. As soon as we entered the taproom I was pointedly aware of everyone’s attention on us. Denna made a beeline for the front door, moving but with the slow determination of a storm cloud.

We were almost out when the man behind the bar called out. “Hoy! Hey now!”

Denna’s eyes flickered to the side. Her mouth made a thin line and she continued her walk to the door as if she hadn’t heard.