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Temple Lives

Birrin Thund

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

If you can, dear friends, do not live through a siege

Ubilast (the Legless)

The inn co the southeast corner of old Daru Street held no more than half a dozen patrons, most of them visitors to the city who, like Gruntle, were now trapped The Pannion ar for five days and counting There had been clouds of dust froeline to the north, the caravan captain had heard, signalling … so had co for, no-one knew, though there was plenty of speculation More barges carrying Tenescowri had been seen crossing the river, until it seemed that half the empire’s population had joined the peasant army ’With numbers like that,’ someone had said a bell earlier, ’there’ll be barely a mouthful of Capan citizen each’ Gruntle had been virtually alone in appreciating the jest

He sat at a table near the entrance, his back to the rough-plastered, double-beaedthe earthen floor beneath the tables, sca between the shoes or boots of whatever patron its path intersected Gruntle watched its progress with low-lidded eyes There was still plenty of food to be found in the kitchen -- or so its nose was telling it That bounty, Gruntle well kneould not last if the siege drew out

His gaze flicked up to the s the roo from the crossbeam The feline hunted only in its dreams, for the moment at least

The mouse reached the foot-bar of the counter, waddled parallel to it towards the kitchen entrance

Gruntle took another mouthful of watered wine -- lehold on the city by the Pannions The six other patrons were each sitting alone at a table or leaning up against the counter Words were exchanged a them every now and then, a few desultory corunt

Over the course of a day and night, the inn was peopled by two types, or so Gruntle had observed The ones before hi their wine and ale Strangers to Capustan and seely friendless, they’d achieved a kind of community none the less, characterized by a vast ability to do nothing together for long periods of tiin to asse the street whores inside with their coins which they tuht of toy, a bluff hail to Hood We’re yours, you scything bastard, they seemed to say But not till the dawn!

They’d churn like a foa sea around the immovable, indifferent rocks that were the silent, friendless patrons

The sea and the rocks The sea celebrates in the face of Hood as soon as he looms close The rocks have stared the bastard in the eye for so long they’re past budging, hs uproariously at its own jokes The rocks grind out a terse line that can silence an entire room A Capan ue to , its banded black stripes rippling across its dun fur Cocked its head doard, ears pricking