Nalaam looked at the others proudly. He had no pins on his coat. He was only a soldiet, but he should have been advanced by now.
"You bragging about your travels again, Nalaam?" Androl asked, unlacing the leathet armguard.
"We Domani get around," Nalaam said. "You know, the kind of work my father does, spying for the Crown. . . ."
"Last week you said your father was a merchant," Canler said. The stutdy man was the oldest of the group, his hair graying, his square face worn from many years in the sun.
"He is," Nalaam said. "That's his front for being a spy!"
"Aren't women the merchants in Arad Doman?" Jonneth asked, rubbing his chin. He was a large, quiet man with a round face. His entire family his siblings, his parents, and his grandfather Buel had relocated to the village rather than letting him come alone.
"Well, they're the best," Nalaam said, "and my mother is no exception. We men know a thing or two, though. Besides, since my mother was busy infiltrating the Tuatha'an, my father had to take over the business."
"Oh, now that's just ridiculous," Canler said with a scowl. "Who would ever want to infiltrate a bunch of Tinkers?"
"To learn their secret recipes," Nalaam said. "It's said that a Tinker can cook a pot of stew so fine that it will make you leave house and home to travel with them. It's true, I've tasted it myself, and I had to be tied in a shed for three days before the effect wore off."
Canler sniffed. However, after a moment, the farmer added, "So . . . did she find the recipe or not?"
Nalaam launched into another story, Canler and Jonneth listening intently. Emarin stood to the side, looking on with amusement he was the other soldier in the group, bearing no pins. He was an older man, with thin hair and wrinkles at his eyes. His short white beard was trimmed to a point.
The distinguished man was something of an enigma; he'd arrived with Logain one day, and had said nothing of his past. He had a poised bearing and a delicate way of speaking. He was a nobleman, that was certain. But unlike most other noblemen in the Black Tower, Emarin made no attempt at asserting his presumed authority. Many noblemen took weeks to learn that once you joined the Black Tower, your outside rank was meaningless. That made them sullen and snappish, but Emarin had taken to life in the Tower immediately.
It took a nobleman with true dignity to follow the orders of a commoner half his age without complaint. Emarin took a sip of water from the serving boy, thanking the lad, then stepped up to Androl. He nodded toward Nalaam, who was still talking to the others. "That one has the heart of a gleeman."
Androl grunted. "Maybe he can use it to earn some extra coin. He still owes me a new pair of socks."
"And you, my friend, have the soul of a scribe!" Emarin laughed. "You never forget a thing, do you?"
Androl shrugged.
"How did you know what a Retashen Dazer was? I consider myself quite educated in these matters, yet I'd heard not a word of it."
"I had one once," Androl said. "Drank it on a bet."
"Yes, but where?"
"Retash, of course."
"But that's leagues off shore, in a cluster of islands not even the Sea Folk often visit!"
Androl shrugged again. He glanced over at Taim's lackeys. A village boy had brought them a basket of food from Taim, though the M'Hael claimed not to play favorites. If Androl asked, he'd find that a boy was supposed to have been sent with food for the others, too. But that lad would have become lost, or had forgotten, or made some other innocent mistake. Taim would have someone whipped, and nothing would change.
"This division is troubling, my friend," Emarin said softly. "How can we fight for the Lord Dragon if we cannot make peace among ourselves?"
Androl shook his head.
Emarin continued. "They say that no man favored of Logain has had the Dragon pin in weeks. There are many, like Nalaam there, who should have had the sword pin long ago but are denied repeatedly by the M'Hael. A House whose members squabble for authority will never present a threat to other Houses."
"Wise words," Androl said. "But what should we do? What can we do? Taim is M'Hael, and Logain hasn't returned yet."
"Perhaps we could send someone for him," Emarin said. "Or maybe you could calm the others. I fear that some of them are near to snapping, and if a fight breaks out, I have little doubt who would see the rough side of Taim's punishments."
Androl frowned. "True. But why me? You're far better with words than I am, Emarin."
Emarin chuckled. "Yes, but Logain trusts you, Androl. The other men look to you."
They shouldn't, Androl thought. "I'll see what I can think of." Nalaam was winding up for another story, but before he could begin, Androl gestured to Jonneth, holding up the armguard. "I saw your old one had cracked. Try this."