A faint ember of hope kindled in Roran’s breast. “When will the auction be held?”

“Why, it’s posted on every message board throughout the city. Day after tomorrow, to be sure.”

That explained to Roran why they had not learned of the auction before; they had done their best to avoid the message boards, on the off chance that someone would recognize Roran from the portrait on his reward poster.

“Thank you much,” he said to the man. “You may have saved us a great deal of trouble.”

“My pleasure, so it is.”

Once Roran and his companions filed out of the shop, they huddled together on the edge of the street. He said, “Do you think we should look into this?”

“It’s all wehave to look into,” growled Loring.

“Birgit?”

“You needn’t ask me; it’s obvious. We cannot wait until the day after tomorrow, though.”

“No. I say we meet with this Jeod and see if we can strike a bargain with him before the auction opens. Are we agreed?”

They were, and so they set out for Jeod’s house, armed with directions from a passerby. The house—or rather, mansion—was set on the west side of Teirm, close to the citadel, among scores of other opulent buildings embellished with fine scrollwork, wrought-iron gates, statues, and gushing fountains. Roran could scarcely comprehend such riches; it amazed him how different the lives of these people were from his own.

Roran knocked on the front door to Jeod’s mansion, which stood next to an abandoned shop. After a moment, the door was pulled open by a plump butler garnished with overly shiny teeth. He eyed the four strangers upon his doorstep with disapproval, then flashed his glazed smile and asked, “How may I help you, sirs and madam?”

“We would talk with Jeod, if he is free.”

“Have you an appointment?”

Roran thought the butler knew perfectly well that they did not. “Our stay in Teirm is too brief for us to arrange a proper meeting.”

“Ah, well, then I regret to say that your time would have been better spent elsewhere. My master has many matters to tend. He cannot devote himself to every group of ragged tramps that bangs on his door, asking for handouts,” said the butler. He exposed even more of his glassy teeth and began to withdraw inside.

“Wait!” cried Roran. “It’s not handouts we want; we have a business proposition for Jeod.”

The butler lifted one eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Aye, it is. Please ask him if he will hear us. We’ve traveled more leagues than you’d care to know, and it’s imperative we see Jeod today.”

“May I inquire as to the nature of your proposition?”

“It’s confidential.”

“Very well, sir,” said the butler. “I will convey your offer, but I warn you that Jeod is occupied at the moment, and I doubt he will wish to bother himself. By what name shall I announce you, sir?”

“You may call me Stronghammer.” The butler’s mouth twitched as if amused by the name, then slipped behind the door and closed it.

“If his head were any larger, ’e couldn’t fit in the privy,” muttered Loring out the side of his mouth. Nolfavrell uttered a bark of laughter at the insult.

Birgit said, “Let’s hope the servant doesn’t imitate the master.”

A minute later, the door reopened and the butler announced, with a rather brittle expression, “Jeod has agreed to meet you in the study.” He moved to the side and gestured with one arm for them to proceed. “This way.” After they trooped into the sumptuous entryway, the butler swept past them and down a polished wood hallway to one door among many, which he opened and ushered them through.

JEODLONGSHANKS

If Roran had known how to read, he might have been more impressed by the treasure trove of books that lined the study walls. As it was, he reserved his attention for the tall man with graying hair who stood behind an oval writing desk. The man—who Roran assumed was Jeod—looked about as tired as Roran felt. His face was lined, careworn, and sad, and when he turned toward them, a nasty scar gleamed white from his scalp to his left temple. To Roran, it bespoke steel in the man. Long and buried, perhaps, but steel nevertheless.

“Do sit,” said Jeod. “I won’t stand on ceremony in my own house.” He watched them with curious eyes as they settled in the soft leather armchairs. “May I offer you pastries and a glass of apricot brandy? I cannot talk for long, but I see you’ve been on the road for many a week, and I well remember how dusty my throat was after such journeys.”

Loring grinned. “Aye. A touch of brandy would be welcome indeed. You’re most generous, sir.”

“Only a glass of milk for my boy,” said Birgit.

“Of course, madam.” Jeod rang for the butler, delivered his instructions, then leaned back in his chair. “I am at a disadvantage. I believe you have my name, but I don’t have yours.”

“Stronghammer, at your service,” said Roran.

“Mardra, at your service,” said Birgit.

“Kell, at your service,” said Nolfavrell.

“And I’d be Wally, at your service,” finished Loring.

“And I at yours,” responded Jeod. “Now, Rolf mentioned that you wished to do business with me. It’s only fair that you know I’m in no position to buy or sell goods, nor have I gold for investing, nor proud ships to carry wool and food, gems and spices across the restless sea. What, then, can I do for you?”