They took a break for dinner.
The evening meal entailed a spicy tomato stew with peppers and oxtail meat over long noodles. Kihrin ate most meals with sag bread, but he accepted the two-pronged forks the locals used for the noodles.
As he finished eating, he realized the smell of burning wood had grown more intense. His eyes watered. Right around the same time people started to cough.
Himself included.
Kihrin looked up from the stew in time to see smoke pour from the fireplace next to him. Also, from the larger fireplace across the room. A man he hadn’t seen before came running out of a room he assumed led to the kitchen, gasping. A gray smoke cloud followed him, pouring from the room beyond.
Janel stood. “Everyone on the ground! Stay low.”
“What’s going on?” Someone said.
“Glyphs, people. Right now!” That sounded like Ninavis.
Kihrin crouched. As he did so, Qown dropped down next to him. “Pull your hair back,” Brother Qown said.
“Why, what are…?” He didn’t finish the sentence, remembering how Brother Qown had dealt with the witch-smoke back in Mereina. This smoke was the normal variety, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t choke to death on it. He pulled back his hair.
Brother Qown hesitated. “Wait, the sword—” He looked toward Kihrin’s waist, where Urthaenriel rested.
“Should still work,” Kihrin said. “As long as I don’t try to dispel it or Urthaenriel thinks it’s a threat to me. You’re affecting the air, not my body or tenyé, right?”
“Right.” Qown touched Kihrin’s forehead with a finger and drew something. Qown then moved on to the next person. Immediately, the air tasted sweet and fresh. Kihrin couldn’t smell smoke anymore. He stood up and watched as the smoke parted around his head as if there were an invisible barrier there. Kihrin couldn’t see very far into the smoke beyond, but at least he could stand. And breathe.
“Horses first,” Janel ordered to the room at large. “They’ll end up on the ground fast.”
“Somebody put those hearth fires out.”
Kihrin almost volunteered before he remembered he carried Urthaenriel. No magic for him. As much as he’d have liked to help, he wouldn’t set her down.
He wasn’t sure Urthaenriel would let him set her down.
“What can I do to help?” Kihrin shouted.7
“Check the back rooms,” a man answered. “Make sure there’s nobody sleeping or … whatever.”
Kihrin couldn’t see far enough to find the back rooms, but he had a rough idea. He stumbled his way over to them and started opening doors. “Anyone back here?”
The inn offered rooms for overnight guests.
The last of which was occupied.
Kihrin turned away. “Okay, people. Put your clothes on and hurry out here. Stay low—the fireplaces are blocked.” He left as soon as he heard the trio yell back their agreement.
When he returned, the smoke had thinned. Given Urthaenriel’s grousing, he had to assume someone had used magic to dissipate it. Janel came back from the stables with Arasgon, Talaras, and Hamarratus. No one seemed to think that strange.
“Attention, everyone!” Ninavis shouted. “Let’s settle down. It’ll be a while before any cold seeps its way down here. We’ll clean up the smoke. Maybe even see if we can heat these stones up for warmth.”
“Did Aeyan’arric do this on purpose?” someone asked.8
“I don’t think so,” Janel answered. “All the accumulated snow and ice must have finally blocked up the chimneys. This doesn’t change a thing, so everyone relax.”
The crowd didn’t disperse, but they settled down. People pushed chairs and tables to the side. Since most felt it too early for bed, this seemed like less a sleeping arrangement than a lounging arrangement. Everyone sported glyphs on their foreheads, some drawn in ash or chalk, but most formed from elegant glowing yellow lines. Clearly magical in a land that notoriously hated magic.
Kihrin hoped they had enough warning to remove the marks before the last person Janel expected arrived.
If not … they wouldn’t be fooling anyone at all.