Free Scourge of the Betrayer by Jeff Salyards Page B

I’ve looked them over, nose to tail, and true to your word, the care appears to have been exemplary.”
    The boy wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, but when Braylar tossed him two coins instead of the promised one, his face lit up. “You’re a fair dealer, by my account. I’ll tell anybody that asks, too, maybe a few that don’t.”
    “And I’ll be sure to tell anyone that travels this way, a stay at the Three Casks will involve bad food, bad drink, and good horse care.” Braylar flicked the reins and we were off.
    I noticed a package alongside Braylar, wrapped in felt. He saw me eyeing it and said, “It’s a gift.” And when I didn’t respond, or move, he added, “For you. Meaning, you should open it.”
    I picked the package up, finding it surprisingly heavy, and slipped the small cords off the cloth and unwrapped the object. I didn’t have a particular thing in mind, but what I found would have exceeded even the greediest expectations. It was a large brass box, inlaid with fantastic scenes of silver and niello. On the top, two horsemen carrying crossbows and a pack of hounds bringing down a huge stag. On one side panel, a unicorn lying down, legs folded serenely beneath it, and on the other, a gryphon at rest in much the same position, with its wings down across its back and a large collar around its neck. The box (or case, as it turned out to be) was a metalsmithing masterwork of exquisite and elaborate detail, the likes of which I’d seen only in the inventories of some of the highest of nobles who had interviewed (but never retained) me.
    I tried thanking Braylar, but he interrupted me before I said two words. “Do you know what this is?”
    After examining the case again, I said, “No. I can’t say that I do.”
    He pointed to finely worked clasp on the front. “Open it. Your gratitude should double.”
    Freeing the clasp, I lifted the lid. There were several small holes along the upper right side, perfect for holding sharpened quills. Below those were two rectangular openings with small hinged lids, one for sand and another for a container of ink. Alongside the small compartments for ink, a polished smooth writing surface flashed in the sun, with a small lip running along the bottom to keep pages from sliding off. Then I saw the small clasps on the inside of the lid, designed to hold any finished pages as they dried. I turned back to Braylar again, but he indicated that my inspection wasn’t complete. Turning the brass box around, I noticed the gryphon panel was actually a cleverly disguised drawer that held extra sheets of vellum, some quills, and a small knife for keeping them sharp.
    I also noticed two knobby legs that popped out from the rear of the pen and parchment case that enabled the whole station to sit at a slight incline, perfect for writing. Braylar had been wrong—my gratitude more than doubled. The generosity was almost appalling. I said, “Thank you, Captain Killcoin. But this is much too fine.”
    “You’re not wrong,” he replied. “It’s a lordly gift so I expect you to perform well enough to warrant its gifting. Fill it with whatever supplies you need.”
    Having thanked him again, and retrieved the necessary supplies, I reclaimed my seat at the front of the wagon. I was fiddling with the case, trying to set it on my legs to eliminate as much movement as possible, when Braylar said, “Perhaps I’ve not thought of everything, but what is the category just beneath everything? That’s what I’ve thought of.”
    He handed me a thin board and I set it under my writing case. I was sure I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank him again, so I did, and then set to recording.

    ⊕

    Braylar took us out of the alley and into the traffic on the thoroughfare. Even with the board, it wasn’t like writing on a secure table or desk. The quill tip made countless unseemly scratches with every small bump and shift of the wagon, skipping across the page in small jumps as of its own