Free A Play of Shadow by Julie E. Czerneda Page A

the light. Not a house toad, not here. The light found calico fur and a long tail. The barn cat, lying along a rafter, stared down as he past beneath.
    Other than horses and cat—and any mice it may have missed—he was alone. The hayloft would be packed with sleeping guests later, but not this early, and he’d seen the stablehands at work repairing the far paddock fence. Such things happened, when strange horses were mixed together, though he’d have thought the plentiful feed would have kept them out of trouble.
    Blowing out the lantern, the truthseer hung it on a hook and stepped into the second last stall, an arm over Perrkin’s dappled shoulders. The aged gelding sighed and gave a little shake to rouse himself, a soldier’s horse accustomed to the unfairness of life. “Not tonight, old friend,” Bannan said gently, holding out the apple he’d brought from the kitchen. Bristled lips worked soft over his fingertips, then collected the offering with a contented rumble. Scourge would have nipped the fingers, usually without drawing blood, but that depended on the treat. A mouse, preferably alive. He was out hunting his own treats at the moment, that being best for all concerned. Bannan gave Perrkin a final pat.
    “—told you. Marrowdell’s here.”
    About to call a polite greeting and reveal himself, Bannan checked the impulse. There was an odd smugness to the stranger’s voice. Instead, the truthseer moved into the shadows near Perrkin’s head.
    “So you did.” The second voice was deeper. Older. Light dipped and bobbed along the walls and ceiling as the pair went down the aisle, pausing as lanterns were raised at various stalls. “Ancestors Bountiful and Blessed. Well-loved, these beasts, and well-tended. They’ll do nicely.”
    Heart’s Blood. The damaged fence, taking the ’hands from the stable? Tir, ever-suspicious, would have spotted the ploy in a heartbeat. Bannan silently promised his friend to be less gullible in future. As for the sword he’d not wanted to bring and now would be most glad to have at hand? With his gear at the inn. Oh, he was every sort of fool this night.
    He could die of it.
    “Take them all, then?”
    “That’d be greed to no point. There’s only the five that’ll fetch decent coin. We’ll scatter the rest, stop anyone following too quick.”
    A bucket would have done. Something substantial he could send flying at a head. His hands searched, but Perrkin’s stall offered nothing he could move. If the lantern on its hook had been empty of oil? No. Better to lose the horses than risk a stable fire. For all their sakes, he hoped the thieves felt the same. Bannan shook his head and patted Perrkin, then smeared straw and manure onto his clothes. With a grimace, he put some in his hair as well.
    Then stepped half out of the stall and blinked sleepily at the men standing in the aisle. “Ancestors Witness.” A feigned yawn. “When did it get dark? Have I missed supper?”
    The two raised their lanterns. One was older and larger, white-haired and neatly dressed. The other was in rougher garb, pimple-faced and wide-eyed.
    The third—because if he was alone there’d be a third, wouldn’t there?—just stood there, staring at Bannan through narrowed eyes. He had halters over both broad shoulders.
    And a sword at one hip.
    “Fair evening to you,” replied the older man civilly enough. He appeared unarmed; under that loose fitting coat he could have a brace of pistols as well as knives. Or axes.
    He could, Bannan decided, use Tir about now. Or Scourge for that matter.
    Even Pimple-face had a short knife.
    They weren’t sure of him, yet, in the dim light. A caution about to end.
    White-hair, the leader or buyer, smiled. “I’m sure supper’s still to be had, young man. Take my advice, you’ll wash before asking for it.”
    His best abashed grin on his face, Bannan made a show of brushing the filth from his clothes as he calculated the odds. The stable had thick timbered