Free The Sable City (The Norothian Cycle) by M. Edward McNally, mimulux

and as it was Oti’s second language after Orstavian he squinted as he tried to keep up with the rapid stream rippling with fluttery hand gestures.
    “ I am the Lady Haversmythe of Lothdowne, en route to visit relations out past the Ortel Spur, although presently guesting with your most gracious Lord Baron who this morn was good enough to arrange for horse-borne tour of his demesnes for my traveling party. Well, at the conclusion of said tour and after a delightful mid-day sup, we sought further amusement via a most spirited game of chase, during the course of which - would you believe it? - I proved perhaps only too proficient at the contest and so find myself not only having lost my pseudo pursuers, but myself as well, rather altogether!”
    She beamed even wider, eyes twinkling. She seemed to be expecting something in return, though Oti was at a loss as to what it could be.
    “ You need to know the way back to the baron’s village, Milady?” Oti’s wife spoke from the doorway after realizing her husband was stuck.
    “ Quite.”
    Oti cleared his throat and explained. Past two ridges to the west, the wide dug-out road leading due north, only an hour or so on horseback. The lady bobbed her head.
    “ Oh, many thanks. That sounds simple enough, even for silly old me!”
    She bent from the waist so her face was nearly level with that of Oti’s young daughter, still staring wide-eyed at the stranger. The woman held up a coin, a shiny silver swan, and offered it to the girl.
    “ My lady, there is no need!” Oti began, but the woman shushed him.
    “ No, no, I quite insist. There is no telling how much consternation you have spared me, not to say embarrassment should the baron’s men have to ride all over hill and dale searching for their wayward guest! Can you imagine? Here you are, my pretty little Miss. Would you be so good as to take this for your father?”
    Oti’s daughter had no trouble doing so. In fact, the coin immediately disappeared into her own pocket.
    The woman blinked and grinned at the girl before straightening to leave, but paused and gave a wistful sigh as she looked at the fur cap in Oti’s hands. She made a clucking sound.
    “ My lady?”
    “ Oh, I do so wish I had brought a bit more coin, for I should so love to have a bit of your rustic garb to take back with me to the Beoshore!”
     
    *
     
    Tilda knelt on the damp bank of a stream, not the same one where she had done wash yesterday but for all other purposes identical. She scrubbed her face free of the powder and rouge more typical of the distant Tullish side of Lake Beo, spat into the water, then sat back on her haunches and went about the deft and automatic motions of returning her hair to its long, intricate braid. The Captain was just up the stream, mounted and idly holding the reins of both horses as they drank. Soon enough the man Dugan emerged from behind an elderberry bush. He was outfitted now in baggy woolen trousers with his sandals and knee-high leggings poking out from underneath frayed cuffs, and a long Orstavian jerkin of strong brown cloth with cord laces from mid chest to throat. Finally, a threadbare and almost shapeless hat of unidentifiable gray-and-white fur, with flaps hanging over the ears, perched on his head. He had his old clothes and the blanket he’d been wearing bundled in his hands, and as Tilda could not see his sword she assumed he had shifted it to his back, The blade was now concealed beneath the thigh-length jerkin.
    “ What do you think?” he asked. “Do I pass for an Orstavian herdsman?”
    “ About as much as Matilda does for a noblewoman,” Block grumbled. “Now let us away. We have burned enough daylight doing your shopping.”
    We? Tilda thought, but of course did not say out loud. She patted her face dry and hurriedly went about replacing the mare’s baggage which she had removed for their sprightly ride. Expecting no help, much less thanks, she was surprised as Dugan knelt to take up and tie