Free The Banished of Muirwood by Jeff Wheeler Page B

bowed with a flourish to Maia. “Feint Collier, at your service.”
    “ Faint ?” Maia asked with surprise.
    Jon Tayt let out a short, wicked laugh. “A common mistake, lass. The king’s collier fancies himself to be a swordsman. When you trick your opponent by pretending to strike in one place before quickly switching to another, it is called a feint . As you may guess, he has a reputation for such trickery.”
    The man took the teasing good-naturedly. He indeed wore a blade at his hip, inside a rather battered scabbard. His vest tunic was dusty and frayed, though it was made of supple leather. His shirt was open at the collar. Now that she saw him more closely, she realized he was young—probably around her age.
    “I have, it is true, a reputation with a double meaning,” he said, smiling at Maia with a look of mild annoyance. “ Feint Collier, if you please. Tayt calls me Collier, and I call him Tayt. I discovered this little inn through my association with him, my lady. He is an expert in all things culinary, as you can tell plainly from the length of his belt.”
    “It is unfair to tease a man about his appetite,” Jon Tayt said waspishly.
    “As fair as it is to tease a man about his swordsmanship?” Collier answered, quick as a whip. Both men chuckled. “By Cheshu,” he continued with a mocking lilt in his voice, “but you both look hungry. Share my table. There is room for all, even your skulking friend over there. I was bou nd for Argus tomorrow anyway to find you, Tayt, so I thank you for sparing me the journey.”
    “I never refuse to eat at another man’s expense,” Jon Tayt said and sat down at the table. Argus curled up beneath his chair, wary.
    After Maia had seated herself, Collier followed her example and then leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “Tayt knows everything about everything. I am sure you have realized this already. The best way to care for a horse. The best way to sharpen an axe. How to construct a sturdy building. How to find water where there is none. No man in Dahomey is as prolific in his knowledge of useless things as our friend here.”
    “Useless?” the hunter said with a chuckle. “I found the Torvian Gap and saved you thirty leagues of riding. How is that useless?”
    “The worst part about him,” Collier continued to Maia, ignoring the comment, “is that he cannot hold his tongue. He talks all day long and snores and babbles all night. Even in his sleep he longs to talk. But I do not need to tell that to you. You have clearly endured hardships while roaming the mountains with him, so you must have learned these things for yourself.”
    Maia did not like being the focus of attention. This man was clearly trying to engage her in conversation, and it made her uncomfortable. But she knew she would need to speak eventually.
    “You are the king’s collier,” Maia said, trying to keep her Dahomeyjan plain. “What is that?”
    “He shovels the king’s stables,” Tayt said wryly. “Not even the king’s horses smell like daisies.”
    “You are insufferable,” Collier said to Jon Tayt, shaking his head, his brow wrinkling. It smoothed as soon as he shifted his gaze to Maia, regarding her with interest. “My lady, a collier is Master of Horses—the king’s, in my case.”
    “And is the Mark here?” Tayt asked dryly.
    “You keep calling him that and he will have your head,” Collier said with annoyance. “My master is encamped with the army thirty leagues away.” He saw the look of confusion on Maia’s face and explained. “Tayt calls the King of Dahomey the Mark because he’s rather fond of coins and luxuries—”
    “And women,” the hunter interrupted.
    Collier waved him down. “Yes, he does have a reputation for that as well. He once promised to pay Tayt a thousand marks to become his hunter, and Tayt refused. He is totally daft, as you already know. Stubborn as an unripe walnut.”
    “Ah, but you cannot purchase loyalty,” the