TWENTY-ONE
While his men stayed offshore, Rudolf rowed a fishing boat he'd borrowed into Uig. Lord Lewis had waxed lyrical about the mead in the Uig tavern, and it seemed like the most logical place to ask for information on Myroy Isle.
No archers arrived to greet him. He'd changed from Viken furs to Isla wool, so no one gave him a second glance as he strode up the beach into the town. The tavern was right where Lewis had said it would be, though nowhere near as full. Only something terrible could keep men from drinking. And Rudolf was here to learn what.
He ordered a jug of mead, and paid with coin he hadn't used since he'd left Isla. For a moment, he wished Lewis was here to share the drink like he'd promised he one day would. One day would come, when the war was over, Rudolf swore.
