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    “It’s all right, Nearra,” he said in a soothing voice. “We won’t be long.”
    He smiled and Nearra felt the tingling—and her anger—subside. “I’ll wait,” she said.
    Davyn nodded, then turned to Catriona. “Let’s go.” Without waiting for Catriona to respond, he started toward the tavern’s entrance.
    Catriona scowled. It appeared she didn’t like taking orders, at least not from Davyn. But she followed, and the two of them went inside the Blind Goose.
    Sindri sniffed the air. “Does that smell like dead cat to you? Let’s go see!”

 
    A s they stepped into the tavern, Davyn scanned the room, looking for Oddvar. The Theiwar wouldn’t be expecting him to be accompanied by anyone except Nearra, and Davyn needed to figure out a way to let Oddvar know that the plan was still on track.
    The patrons, mostly male and mostly human, sat at tables and chairs made of stained and scratched wood. The dirt floor was smooth and packed down from all the feet that had trod upon it over the years. The room was dark, the only light coming from the window with the now-broken shutters. But the patrons liked it that way. The Blind Goose wasn’t the sort of tavern where people went to be seen—quite the opposite, in fact.
    Davyn spotted Oddvar sitting on a stool at the end of the bar. The Theiwar wore the hood of his cloak up, despite the dimness of the room. On the counter before him was a clay mug, most likely filled with the bitter dark ale Oddvar favored. The dwarf sat between two humans—a bald man with a black patch over his left eye, and a slender man with shoulder-length blond hair. A traveler’s pack rested on the floor between the blond man’s feet.
    “Let’s go speak with the tavern keeper,” Catriona said.
    Since that meant they would have to go over to the bar whereOddvar was, Davyn nodded. As they began making their way through the crowd, Davyn noticed that more than a few eyes followed their progress—or more accurately, Catriona’s progress. The red-haired warrior was certainly a striking figure—tall, attractive, with an aura of strength and confidence. Davyn wasn’t worried about Catriona; he knew she could take care of herself. But he was glad that Nearra had stayed outside. He knew he shouldn’t feel such a thing but he did. She was nicer than he’d expected, and braver, too. He was impressed by the way she was handling the loss of her memories. If it had been him, he didn’t think he would handle it half as well.
    Stop it, he told himself. You’re here to do a job, so do it!
    The tavern was crowded, and it took some jostling and elbowing before Davyn and Catriona reached the bar. There were no seats open, so Catriona had to lean in between two customers and say, “Barkeep, I have a question for you.”
    The tavern keeper, who was wiping a mug with a filthy rag, looked up. “What do you want?” he said.
    “My companions and I seek a guide to the north. The healer Wynda said we might find such a person in your establishment.”
    The tavern keeper frowned and glanced toward the end of the bar where Oddvar sat. The Theiwar lifted his index finger off the counter.
    The tavern keeper jerked a thumb in Oddvar’s direction. “Try the dwarf.”
    Catriona nodded. “My thanks, good sir.”
    The tavern keeper burst out laughing. “Good sir, is it? It’s been a long time since this pesthole has seen such courtly manners! Do you fancy yourself a knight? You’re certainly dressed for the part!” The tavern keeper laughed again, his merriment spreading to the others seated at the bar.
    But Catriona was far from amused. Quick as lightning, she drew her short sword and pressed the tip against the roll of flab beneath the tavern keeper’s stubbly chin.
    “Do not make fun of Knighthood,” she said in a low voice. “You are not worthy to so much as speak the word.”
    She hesitated, then removed her sword point from the tavern keeper’s neck.
    “For that matter, neither am I.”