“Well, I’ll at least try to make sure the food is far better than the accommodations. Eat up before it goes bad,” she directed him. “When you’re done, just hand the pail to the guards. I’ll come collect it in the morning when I bring you a hot breakfast—you can let me out now, milords, now that I’m satisfied the man won’t starve, or die of food poisoning.”
“Oh, come now,” the lead guard protested, moving up to the section of bars that formed the cell door. “What we serve wouldn’t kill a fly. But what makes you think we’ll let you bring in a hot breakfast for the prisoner?”
Nannan gave him a pointed look. “And just what sort of reaction do you think the Keeper will have, when Her Holiness finds out you’ve thrown her duly appointed, Gods-blessed assistant in prison for doing his job?” She tsked and shook her head. “I’d hate to be in your shoes, when the wrath of Heaven comes down on your heads.”
“So you say,” one of the other guards stated, lifting his chin. Aradin recognized him as the second man to put him in the anti-magic cuffs. “But you’re just the housekeeper. You don’t have your finger on the pulse of the Department of Temples.”
Nannan exited the cell and gave the other speaker a sniffy look. “You don’t live with Her Holiness day in and day out. You don’t commune with the Gods on a daily basis like Her Holiness does . . . and like she did when she asked Them if Holy Brother Aradin had Their approval to work with her. Which is why you aren’t getting a hot breakfast cooked by me.”
And with that, she flounced out. Aradin was a little bemused by the sight of a somewhat plump, middle-aged woman stalking out with a huffy look and a bounce to her step, but Teral was outright amused.
(Be very, very glad I find Saleria more appealing than Nannan,) he told his Host, chuckling. (That almost endeared her to me.)
(The food’s endearing her to me,) Aradin replied, spreading out the layers of carefully stacked plates tucked into the metal bucket. (Roast beef cold cuts, four kinds of cheeses, that salad we both like of greens with that tasty honey sauce, a dish with chicken and fruit mixed with nuts . . . ah, Gods bless the woman. She’s included one of her cinnin cakes at the bottom!)
Grinning like a little boy receiving presents on his birthing-day, Aradin bit into the broad, flat roll. Unlike the ones found in his homeland, where the sweet added to the spice was found as an icing drizzled over the top, Nannan had figured out some way of injecting a thickened cream filling into the spice-infused, round, bready disks.
Teral sighed in the back of his mind. (I’d chide you for not being a man and eating your vegetables first . . . but even I would eat her cinnin cakes above all else. Eat up, then rest. Tonight, we sneak back through the Keeper’s house to the Grove and augment the wave of beasts that little snot must face.)
(You really like her nickname for him, don’t you?) Aradin asked.
Teral snorted mentally. (He is one! If he were my son, I’d turn him over and blister his backside.)
It wasn’t often that Aradin got to turn the tables on his Guide and give sage advice. (Now, Teral, you must remember he is young, and Youth Equals Stupid. At least, until the bludgeoning of a personal learning experience has been applied to a young man’s head. Sometimes thoroughly applied, first.)
(I look forward to witnessing it,) his Guide replied. (Eat your vegetables. We’ll need our strength.)
* * *
Nannan brought the Witch a hot breakfast as promised, and for lunch, and for supper. She kept this up for two full days . . . then didn’t appear with his anticipated lunch. Instead, Aradin Teral could hear even through the glazed windows the shouts of alarm and the cries for the guard. Something about strangling vines and tumbling weeds.
The guards didn’t know what to make of it. He could make an educated guess as to what was happening, of course, but he didn’t speak up about it.
Lying on the narrow cot, hands tucked under his head, Aradin listened to them debating the matter in hushed tones. Should they hold to the requests which the young deacon had given them, or should they interrogate Aradin under a Truth Stone? Not every word was clear enough to hear despite the way he strained, even held his breath occasionally, but the Darkhanan still got the impression that Shanno had held some secret over the captain of the Groveham city guard, demanding certain concessions of the older man.
The current shift of jailers didn’t know what that secret was, but it did impress them that the deacon would know some secret that would make their stern captain eager to obey. They finally ended their debate by deciding to just sit tight and wait. All three of them waited, Aradin and the two men in their leather armor and teal-colored tabards . . . until the ground started shaking with a rhythmic thudding.