“So you think Maldor will leave the southern jungle alone?” Jason asked.
“From what I’ve managed to gather, I believe the southern jungle is Maldor’s last priority, even after the Seven Vales. Which is why I never went there. The region was not particularly relevant, and unquestionably dangerous.”
“But some people visit the Temple of Mianamon,” Jason said. “Galloran went there.”
Ferrin nodded. “Formerly, many pilgrims went to Mianamon for advice from the oracles. A wide, stone road cut through the jungle, and the inhabitants of Mianamon welcomed visitors. The Last Inn thrived in those days.
“After the war with Zokar, none went to Mianamon for years. Word had it that the oracles had dwindled in number and in power. The jungle reclaimed the road. Only a few intrepid explorers, like Galloran, have ventured there since. The Last Inn became a curiosity mostly frequented by locals rather than the gateway to a mysterious society.”
“Well, you’ll finally get to see the jungle,” Jason said.
Ferrin rolled his eyes. “If I stick with you, there won’t be a deadly destination in Lyrian without my footprints.”
By sunrise, Corinne was able to walk. Raz kept them moving at a brisk pace. To amuse himself, Jason invented a game called Will Nia Eat It? The answer to the question was typically yes. She generally said no only to stone and metal. Mud, bugs, rags, leaves, rope, leather, dead mice, pinecones, hair, and thorny stems were all proven edible.
The Last Inn came into sight just after sundown, situated by a crossroads outside the palisade of a modest village. Portions of the sprawling inn reached five stories tall. Built of wood and stone, the huge structure featured endless gables and turrets, united by swooping sections of roof that came together at unusual angles. Plentiful balconies and rooftop terraces added layers to the rambling inn, and a variety of chimney pots, cupolas, and weather vanes provided character. Large stables adjoined one side of the building, next to a working smithy.
“Looks like you could fit more people in the inn than the village,” Corinne said in wonder.
“Once, you certainly could,” Farfalee said. “Now much of the inn is permanently vacant. The Last Inn has been owned by the same family for generations. During the good years, they put much of their income toward adding to it.”
They entered the common room through a great set of double doors. The cavernous space was three stories high, with thick rafters and an assortment of magnificent trophy heads on the walls. Fires blazed in multiple hearths. Dozens of patrons sat at long tables, dining on a variety of fragrant foods, yet the room was barely filled to a quarter of its capacity. A long marble bar against one wall blocked access to the two largest mirrors Jason had ever seen, set inside elaborate frames. A thin man in the corner sawed at his fiddle, to the approval of those seated nearby.
Jason smiled. Despite the exaggerated size, the room felt warm and lively, and the prospect of hot food boosted his spirits. Several curious heads turned as the delegation entered, and a stout woman in a frilly white cap approached hurriedly, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Welcome, travelers,” she gushed. “I’m Angela; call me Angie. I don’t believe I’ve seen many of these faces before! Welcome, leave your cares at the door, and come inside for food and drink! Do you have horses?”
“No horses,” Nedwin said. “We were told to ask for Clayton.”
Her face fell. “Clayton, the owner, of course. I’m sorry you missed him. He rarely ventures abroad, but he is gone for the next several days. Many apologies if you are friends of his.”
“You have rooms?” Farfalee asked.
“Rooms? We have more rooms than we know what to do with!”
“We’d like to stay together,” Nedwin said.
“Easily arranged,” she replied cheerily.
“Has anyone asked after a group from the north,” Farfalee wondered. “Perhaps a blind traveler?”
Angie scowled and placed her hands on her hips. “Travelers we still get, but no blind ones of late. From the north, you say? I’ll keep vigilant.”
Jason let his attention wander from the conversation as Farfalee and Nedwin discussed the arrangements. They had brought plenty of money from the Seven Vales, so cost would not be an issue. They had planned to be ready to completely outfit themselves here if necessary before heading into the jungle.
“Big inn,” Rachel commented beside Jason.
“Congratulations,” he replied. “You just won the understatement award.”
“Think about it from the outside,” Rachel said. “It covers more ground than a city block.”
He leaned close to her. “I hope they use a lot of chlorine in the pool. Have you looked around? Some of these other customers don’t look very sanitary.”
She swatted him with the back of her hand. “It’s just nice to see people. Normal people having a good time.”
“You’ll take that over dead people trying to eat us?”
“Just this once.”
The delegation sat together along opposing benches at a long table. A parade of toasty, wholesome food kept them busy. Nothing seemed particularly fancy, but everything tasted hearty and good. Tark saluted Jason with a dark hunk of bread slathered with melting butter. Even Corinne managed to eat with enthusiasm.
The weight of the meal magnified Jason’s weariness exponentially. He could hardly drag himself up the stairs with the others when the time came. He ended up sharing a room with Nedwin and Ferrin, and hastily claimed one of the three cots by flopping down unceremoniously.
The room was a bit cramped, but clean and solid, with a single window looking out at a slanted section of roof. The simple cot felt heavenly after days of sleeping on the ground or huddled on the creaking boards of a longboat. Stomach full, muscles weary, he contentedly settled in for a delicious slumber. He felt truly happy and comfortable for the first time in weeks.
In retrospect, he probably should have guessed it was a trap.
The soldiers burst into his room at dawn. Jason barely had time to awaken before he was flung to the floor beside Ferrin. He felt cheated of any opportunity to react as the sole of a boot pressed his head against the floorboards and a heavy knee weighed on his back. Within moments, biting cords bound his wrists together.
As Jason staggered to his feet with help from a conscriptor, he noticed that Nedwin was gone. The cot beside the window had no bedding on it. He deliberately avoided staring at the inexplicably empty cot. While other soldiers continued to bind Ferrin, the conscriptor brusquely steered Jason out into the hallway, where other soldiers awaited.