Warprize

sell any more books.
    As I moved through the crowd, a funny feeling began to creep up the back of my neck. As if someone was watching me. I stopped for a bit and rummaged through my bag as if looking for something. I glanced through my hair, trying to see if someone was following me, or watching me, but I saw no one. I shrugged. Guess the hours that 1 was keeping were getting to me.
    “Xylara.” Estoval greeted me cooly, surrounded by his pungent stock. “How may I help you?”
    I rattled off my mental list, and he gestured for his apprentices to gather up the items. I moved about, picking up the items that looked best for some of my lotions. “Estoval, do you recall an unguent to prevent scarring? With goat’s milk boiled thick?”
    His tone was even cooler as he recited the recipe for me. I added those items to my growing pile. He stayed close, nervously sorting some of the stock near me. “I was wondering if you had heard anything, Lady? About the war?” His tone was fawning, but I heard the fear underneath. I responded, keeping my tone calm and my information general. He nodded, listening carefully, and I was sure my words would be all over the market within minutes of my departure. I kept it simple, and positive, and made no mention of the truth. That was for Xymund to announce, not I. Finally I had what I wanted and headed to the counter to where the apprentices had set out the other items. I gave them a sharp look, for they were clearly Estoval’s older stock—wilted and withered and not at all suitable. I gave Estoval a sharper look when he named his price. He avoided my eyes. “Prices go up when supplies are limited.”
    “Supplies aren’t limited yet, Estoval. And I wouldn’t feed some of this to a goat, much less use it in medicine.”
    He lifted his chin. “You’re healing those barbarians. The better stock is reserved for Xyians, not those filthy—”
    I cut him off. “By the Order of the King, Estoval.” I drew myself up, and fixed him with my best High Court look. “As I am a Daughter of Xy, and as I execute the King’s Command, you will sell me the best you have and at your normal prices. Or answer to Xymund and his Council.”
    Estoval shriveled up. With a quick gesture, his apprentices brought out fresh items, and I paid a fair price for it, exchanging herbs for coins in silence. I was grateful that he had relented for there would have been no support from Xymund. Of that I was certain.
    As I was packing the last of my purchases, Estoval’s normal civility to a customer took over. “Was there anything else you required, Xylara?”
    “No, I think that I have everything for today, Estoval.” I hesitated for a minute, thinking. “Have you ever heard of kavage?”
    Estoval wrinkled up his nose. “Is it a herb?”
    “No.” I shook my head. “It is a drink of some kind. I have no idea what it is. I think one of my patients would enjoy some, but I doubt that there is any to be had.”
    “One of the prisoners?” Estoval sniffed, but his merchant’s instincts won out. “You might try the tinker’s cart three stores down, if he is there. I think he has snuck out of the city and is trading with the warlord’s men. Mention my name, Daughter of Xy.”
    I nodded my regal thanks, and headed off in the direction he’d indicated. I spotted the tinker’s cart easily, decorated with pots and pans, and ribbons aflutter in the breeze. I paused for a bit, since he was dealing with a customer, a tall, broad-shouldered man in armor. I occupied myself by looking over his wares. There was all matter of trinkets and metalware that gleamed in the sunlight. After a bit, the tinker turned his attentions to me.
    “How may I help you?” His eyes gleamed in anticipation.
    I smiled. “I am in no hurry.”
    The tinker winked. “This fellow can’t make up his mind. While he ponders, you and I will treat. What can I interest you in?”
    “Estoval told me that you might be able to help me. I am looking for some kavage.”
    He wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. What would you be wanting with that foul stuff?”
    “I am tending some of the prisoners. One mentioned that it is a drink that they enjoy.” I wavered, thinking. “Is it some form of spirits?” I had visions of trying to explain a tent full of drunken prisoners. Xymund would kill me.
    “No.” A deep voice with a faint accent answered me. I turned to see the other customer looking at me. Short black hair and skin tanned dark by the sun