Inside, Arutha
and the others faced the commander of the patrol. Blutark, who had
continued to run at Baru’s side, lay at the Hadati’s
feet, his large tongue lolling out as he panted.
“That dog,
is a rare breed, of particular importance to our people,” said
the commander of the patrol. “How do you come to have him?”
Arutha nodded to
Baru. “We found his master killed by trolls,” said the
Hadati. “We killed the trolls and the dog chose to come with
us.”
The man
considered. “Had you harmed his master, that dog would have
killed you or died in the attempt. So I must believe you. But that
breed is trained to obey only a few. How do you command?”
The hillman
spoke a word and the dog sat up, ears perked. He spoke another and
the dog lay down, at rest. “My village had dogs of similar
breed, though not so large as this.”
The commander’s
eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“I am
Baru, called the Serpentslayer, of Ordwinson’s family of the
Iron Hills Clan. I am Hadati.” He spoke in the Hadati patois as
he loosened his long bedroll and removed his tartan and swords.
The commander
nodded. He answered in a language similar enough to Baru’s that
the others could understand. The differences between the two
languages seemed mainly to be pronunciation and otherwise trivial.
“It has been many years since one of our Hadati kin has come
over the mountains, Baru Serpentslayer, nearly a generation. This
explains much. But men of the Kingdom usually come here to cause
mischief and of late we’ve had more than our share of such men.
I think you other than renegades, but this is a matter for the
Protector’s wisdom.” He rose. “We shall rest here
tonight, then tomorrow we shall depart. Food will be brought. There
is a bucket for night soil in the corner. Do not leave this hut.
Should you attempt it, you will be bound, should you resist, killed.”
As he reached
the door, Arutha asked, “Where are you taking us?”
The man looked
back. “Armengar.”
At first light
they rode out, heading downward out of the highlands into a heavy
forest, Blutark loping along easily beside Baru’s horse. Their
captors again instructed them not to speak, but their weapons had
been returned. To Arutha it seemed their captors assumed they would
act as comrades on the road should trouble start. As the only likely
encounters would be with Murmandamus’s servants, Arutha thought
it a safe assumption. It was clear the forest had been logged in
places, and the path seemed one used regularly. Coming out of a stand
of woods, they passed a meadow where a small herd of cattle grazed,
with three men standing watch. One was the Beasthunter, who had left
the village the night before. The others were herdsmen, but each was
armed with a spear, sword, and shield.
Twice more that
day, they passed herds, one of cattle, one of sheep. All were tended
by warriors, several of whom were women. They came at sundown to
another village and were given a place to stay, again with
instructions not to leave the building.
The morning of
the next day, the fourth of their captivity, they entered a shallow
canyon, following a river out of the mountains. They paralleled its
course until past noon, then came to a long rise. The road circled
around a large hill rather than follow the river, which cut its way
through the rock, so their view of all below them was blocked for
nearly an hour. When they cleared the hill, Arutha and his friends
all exchanged glances in silent wonder.
The leader of
the party, who they had learned was called Dwyne, turned and said,
“Armengar.”
The city could
not be seen in detail, but what could be seen was staggering. The
outer wall was a full fifty or sixty feet high. Bartizans atop the
wall were placed every fifty feet or so, allowing overlapping fields
of fire for archers placed in them. As they closed upon the wall,
more details emerged. The barbican was immense, fully a hundred feet
across. The gates seemed more like movable sections of the wall than
gates. The river they had followed out of the mountains became a moat
that flowed along the wall, not giving more than a foot of ground
between its bank and the base of the wall.
As they
approached the city, the gates opened with surprising swiftness given
their ponderous appearance, and a company of riders appeared from
within. They rode at good pace toward Arutha’s escorts. As the
two companies passed, the riders of each raised right hands in
salute. Arutha saw they were attired in identical fashion. Men and
women both wore leather coifs over their heads. Their armour was
leather or chain, with no plate in view. Each wore a sword and
carried a shield, and spears and bows appeared in equal proportion.
There were no tabards or devices upon shields. Soon they were past,
and Arutha’s attention returned to the city. They were crossing
a bridge, which appeared to be permanent, over the moat.
As they entered
the city gate, Arutha caught a glimpse of a banner flying from an
outer corner of the barbican. He could discern only its colours, gold
and black, not its markings, but something about that banner caused
him to feel an instant’s disquiet. Then the outer gates were
closing. They seemed to swing shut of their own accord, and Martin
said, “There must be some mechanism that moves them from within
the walls.” Arutha only watched silently. “You could have
a full hundred, hundred fifty horsemen sally forth without opening
the inner gates,” said Martin as he regarded the size of the
killing ground in the barbican. Arutha nodded. It was the largest he
had ever seen. The walls seemed an impossible thirty feet thick. Then
the inner gates swung open and they entered Armengar.
The city was
separated from the walls by a bailey a hundred yards wide. Then began
a tightly packed array of buildings, shot through with narrow
streets. There was nothing like the broad boulevards of Krondor in
sight, and no signs upon any building betraying its purpose. They
followed their escort and noticed that few people loitered about the
doorways. If there were businesses here, they were not apparent to
Arutha’s companions.
Everywhere they
looked, the people walked in armour and wore weapons. Only once did
they see an exception to the armour, a woman obviously in the late
stages of pregnancy, yet her belt sash held a dagger. Even children
who looked above the age of seven or eight were under arms.
The streets
twisted and turned, intercepting others at random intervals. “This
city seems without plan,” said Locklear.
Arutha shook his
head. “It is a city with great plan, a clear purpose. Straight
streets benefit merchants and are easy to build, if the terrain is
flat or easily worked. You see twisting streets only where it is too
difficult to cut straight ones, such as in Rillanon, which is
situated upon rocky hills, or near the palace in Krondor. This city
is built upon a plateau, which means these meandering streets are
intentional. Martin, what do you think?”
“I think
that should the walls be breached, you could place an ambush every
fifty feet from here to the other end of the city.” He pointed
upward. “Notice every building is of equal height. I warrant
the roofs are flat and accessible from within. A perfect place for
archers. Look at the lower floor.”
Jimmy and
Locklear looked and saw what the Duke of Crydee meant. Each building
had only a single door on the ground floor, heavy wood with iron
bands, and there were no windows. Martin said, “This is a city
designed for defence.”
Dwyne turned and
said, “You are perceptive.” He then returned his
attention to their passage through the city. Citizens watched for a
moment while the strangers rode by, then went back to their business.
They emerged
from the press of buildings into a market. Everywhere they looked,
booths were placed and people moved about them, buying and selling.
Arutha said, “Look,” as he pointed toward a citadel. It
seemed to grow from the very face of a gigantic cliff, against which
the city was nestled. It rose up a full thirty stories high. Another
wall, thirty feet in height, circled the citadel, and around the wall
another moat. Jimmy looked and said, “They must expect some bad
company.”
“Their
neighbours tend to be an irksome lot,” commented Roald.
At that a few of
the guards who understood the Kingdom language laughed openly,
nodding agreement. Arutha said, “If the booths come down, we
ride across another bailey, giving those on the walls an open field
of fire. Taking this city would cost a fortune in lives.”
Dwyne said, “As
it was meant to.”
They entered the
citadel and were ordered to dismount, and their horses were led away.
They followed Dwyne down to a dungeon, though it seemed clean and
fairly spacious. They were shown to a large common cell, illuminated
by a brass lantern. Dwyne motioned they should enter. He said, “You
shall wait here. If you hear an alarm, come to the common court above
and you will be told what to do. Otherwise, wait here until the
Protector sends for you. I will have food sent down.” With that
he left.
Jimmy looked
about and said, “They don’t lock the door or take our
weapons?”
Baru sat down.
“Why bother?”
Laurie heaved
himself across an old blanket placed upon straw. “We certainly
can’t go anywhere. We can’t pretend to be native to this
city, and we couldn’t hide. And I’m not about to fight my
way out of here.”
Jimmy sat down
next to Laurie. “You’re right. So what do we do now?”
Arutha removed
his sword. “We wait.”
For hours they
waited. Food was brought and they ate. When the meal was finished,
Dwyne returned. “The Protector approaches. I would know your
names and your purpose.”
All eyes turned
to Arutha, who said, “I think we gain nothing by hiding the
truth, and may gain something if we are forthright.” He said to
Dwyne, “I am Arutha, Prince of Krondor.”
Dwyne said,
“That is a title?”
“Yes,”
Arutha said.
“We
remember little of the Kingdom, we of Armengar, nor do we have such
titles. It is important?”
Roald nearly
burst. “Damn it, man, he’s brother to the King, as is
Duke Martin here. He’s the second most powerful lord in the
Kingdom.”
Dwyne seemed
unimpressed. He was given the others’ names, then he asked,
“Your purpose?”
Arutha said, “I
think we shall wait to speak of this with your Protector.”
Dwyne seemed not in the least offended by the answer and left.
Another hour
went by, and then the door flew open. Dwyne entered, a blond man a
step behind. Arutha looked up expectantly, for perhaps this was the
Protector. This was the first man they had seen not attired in brown
armour. He was dressed in a long coat of chain over a red,
knee-length gambeson. A chain coif had been thrown back, leaving his
head uncovered. He wore his hair cut short and was clean-shaven. His
face was one that would have been counted open and friendly by most,
but there was a hardness around the eyes as he regarded the captives.
He said nothing, simply looking from face to face. He studied Martin,
as if noting something familiar in him. Then he looked at Arutha. For
a long minute he stared at the Prince, his eyes betraying no
reaction. With a single nod to Dwyne he turned and left.
Martin said,
“There’s something about that one.”
Arutha said,
“What?”
“I don’t
know how, but I could swear I’ve seen him before. And he wore a
blazon upon his breast, though I couldn’t make it out through
the chain.”
A short time
later the door opened again. Whoever stood before it remained
outside, only his silhouette visible. Then a familiar, ear-shattering
bellow of a laugh erupted and the man stepped forward. “I’ll
be the son of a saint! It is true,” he said, a broad grin
splitting his grey-shot beard.
Arutha, Martin,
and Jimmy all sat staring up in disbelief. Arutha rose slowly, not
able to trust his senses. Before him stood the last man he had
expected to see entering this cell. Jimmy jumped up and said, “Amos!”
Amos Trask,
onetime pirate, and companion to Arutha and Martin during the
Riftwar, stepped into the cell. The burly sea captain engulfed Arutha
in a bear hug, then did the same for Martin and Jimmy. He was quickly
introduced to the others. Arutha said, “How did you get here?”
“That’s
a tale, son, one with great sagas, but not for now. The Protector is
expecting the pleasure of your company, and he’s not given to
be kept waiting gracefully. We can exchange histories after. For the
moment you and Martin must come with me. The others are to wait
here.”
Martin and
Arutha followed Amos down the hall and up the stairs to the
courtyard. He quickly crossed into the citadel’s main building
and began to hurry. “I can’t tell you much, except we
must hurry,” he said as he reached an odd platform in some sort
of tower. He motioned them to stand beside him. He pulled on a rope
and suddenly the platform was rising.
“What’s
this?” inquired Martin.
“A
hoisting platform, a lift. We need to carry heavy missiles to the
catapults on the roof. It’s powered by some horses on a winch
below. It also keeps a fat former sea captain from having to dash up
twenty-seven courses of stairs. My wind’s not what it once was,
lads.” His tone turned serious. “Now, listen. I know
you’ve a hundred questions, but they must go begging for the
moment. I’ll explain everything after you speak to One-eye.”
“The
Protector?” asked Arutha.
“That’s
him. Now, I don’t know how to tell you, but you’re in for
a shock. I want you to keep your temper in check until you and I can
sit and talk. Martin, keep a close line on the lad.” He put his
hand upon Arutha’s shoulder and leaned close. “Shipmate,
remember, here you are not a prince. You’re a stranger, and
with these people that usually means crowbait. Strangers are rare and
seldom welcomed in Armengar.”