The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) Read Online Free PDF Page A

before darkness fell completely she would have to make haste. But she had not eaten since morning and was wildly hungry now, and knew that she could not go on without a little food, at least. Ahead of her, she spotted a tavern. Amazingly, it looked open. A pair of soldiers sat by the doors, sharing a pipe and a bottle of liquor. Mirage reined in her mount, keeping to the shadows while she studied the place, reading the battered sign over the door.
    ‘The Red Stallion,’ she whispered.
    The name sounded familiar to her. They would have food, probably, and give her a chance to rest. Mirage wondered if she should stop or go on to Lionkeep. Stopping would make it that much later – and darker – when she finally asked for Thorin. But her bones ached and her stomach roared to be filled, and she knew she could not go on much longer. Screwing up her courage, she trotted back into the light and headed for the tavern. Outside, other horses had been bridled and a boy had been hired to look after them. Despite the obviously drunk Norvans at the threshold, the place seemed safe enough, at least enough to draw Mirage forward. The Norvans looked up from their drink when she approached, staring at her through the pipe smoke. In Liiria, a woman riding alone was a rare sight, but in Norvor it was unheard of, and the two soldiers blinked in disbelief. Mirage dismounted and tied her weary horse at the post. She had left Borath with precious little money, but her horse was important and she couldn’t afford anything happening to the beast.
    ‘Here,’ she told the boy, dipping into the pockets of her riding pants and fishing out a coin. ‘Look after him and don’t let anyone touch him. All right?’
    The boy nodded dumbly, as struck as the Norvans by her appearance, and quickly took the coin. Mirage felt the eyes of the men on her backside as she sidled toward the door. The Red Stallion was a large place, and as she entered she immediately noticed the crowd, laughing and drinking, playing cards by the fire, and teasing the prostitutes with promised coins. Mirage felt herself blush. The only women in the tavern were whores. Her eyes darted about, wondering if she should leave. A man hurried into the side of her vision.
    ‘You want a table?’
    Startled, Mirage stared at him a moment. He was a stocky man with a kind, round face. Obviously the proprietor, his skin gushed sweat from the rushing he’d been doing.
    ‘Uhm, yes. Do you have food?’
    ‘Food, yes, we have food.’ The man looked at her peculiarly. ‘Are you alone?’
    Mirage nodded. ‘That’s right.’
    The proprietor’s smile was awkward. ‘You’re not looking for work, are you? I mean, you’re not a . . .’ His grin broke down. ‘You know.’
    ‘I certainly am not,’ said Mirage indignantly. Flustered by the question, she thought again of leaving, but the man hurried an apology.
    ‘No, of course you’re not,’ he said. ‘Forgive me, but a lovely lady like yourself . . . well, you probably shouldn’t be on your own, especially at night.’
    ‘I have no choice,’ Mirage replied. ‘I’m in the city looking for someone.’
    Sympathy suffused the man’s chubby face. ‘Ah, the war. You’ve lost someone.’ He looked suitably sad. ‘Come, I’ll find you a table away from the noise.’
    When he turned, Mirage followed reluctantly. An empty table sat in the corner of the room, away from the worst of the men and commotion, beneath a quickly darkening window. The proprietor wiped the wooden chair with his towel and held it out for her. Mirage took her seat, glancing around. Not surprisingly, the men in the room noticed her. She averted her eyes.
    ‘You’ve been on the road all day, I can tell,’ said the barman. ‘We have good food for you.’
    ‘And beer,’ added Mirage. She reached into her trousers and pulled out two more coins, one slightly larger than the other. ‘Whatever this will buy.’
    ‘That won’t buy you much,’ said the man. ‘But you