The rythmic clopping of the horses hooves sounded loudly on the cobbled road leading through Chetwood. At this time in the evening the birds had long retired for the night leaving only the chirrup of crickets to disturb the silence. The still air had a moist feel to it, promising heavy rainfall by morning and Jenn had no wish to be caught in it. Still, she smiled as she rode home.
She was out far later than she had planned to be and by now had likely missed out on tucking her son into bed for the night, but as much as that thought pained her, she was still in a very good mood. Today had been a very productive day. Who would have thought that the first person she spoke to at the inn would have been the very one able to give her such useful information? Such a stroke of luck!
Daigan had been very forthcoming. Granted, she got the feeling that he knew far more than he was letting on, but given time she would be able to wrest the remainder of his knowledge from him. He had a stroke of chivalry to him, it seemed, enough to make him pliable in the hands of one who knew how to exploit it. She did no even have to put muh effort into it. He looked at her, saw a young recently widowed woman with a young son and instantly offered his aid. A convincing lie had caused him to part with more than enough information to prove highly useful for the present and the rest she would gain at a later date.
For the moment, though, she had a list of names belonging to the few people close to her target. Two she had already met before. The others, Baecere, Blodwynn and Baradar she would seek out in due course. If she played them correctly, they would give her even more to use. The other pair were Davick and Drevorin.
Daigan had been unwilling, or unable, to speak much about either man, but it mattered little. She had seen enough of both to get their measure by now. What information he had supplied about them, however, was most useful indeed. One was the lover, or possibly ex-lover, of the girl and the other was his enemy, yet both were so closely connected to her. That news was most certainly advantageous. The question was precisely how to profit from it.
Her thoughts drifted back to the letter given to her by Ystcild some days before. It had been a ransom note promising the death of the girl - laid forth in a rather amusingly graphic manner - were the demands therein not met. Jenn knew that it had been penned by the one protecting the wench, but thanks to Ystcild's foresight, the next recipient would be unware of that fact, just like he would be unaware of who it was that would cause said missive to fall into his hands.
Given their joint histories and close connections, she assumed that Drevorin would recognise the handwriting of his long-standing adversary. She also thought that he would be highly unlikely to believe that Davick would harm her any more than Jenn herself believed it. It was a good job, then, that Ystcild had copied the note instead of bringing the original and that neither man would be aware of how her handwriting looked.
Of course, during her meeting with the former, he had let slip that he planned to be travelling north for a time on business. That would slow things down, for she would have to find a messenger willing to seek him out there, but patience was the key to success in these games and that was not something that she lacked.
