The Broken Key (02) - Hunter of the Horde (44 page)

“There’s no way for us to know for sure,” Riyan told him. “His words could just be those of an angry man forced to abandon his home with no truth to them.”

“True enough,” agreed Soth.

“But whether it is or not,” Riyan told him, “it isn’t going to do you any good to ruminate on it. We still have a long road ahead of us and it’s about time we were to bed.” The others voiced their agreement and those who weren’t staying in the room they were in began to file out.

Riyan, Chyfe, and Bart remained behind as this was the room they were to share.

Once everyone was out, Chyfe turned to Riyan with a solemn look on his face. “Do you really believe they would have killed me?” he asked. “Just because I’m an honorable man?”

“If they are in fact dishonorable, another act of dishonor would hardly faze them, I’m sure,” Riyan said. “But you’re not down there so don’t worry about it.”

“I suppose so,” he said. In his eyes, Riyan could see that he was still haunted by the possibility of dishonor among the swordsmen. The Codes of the Guild were quite clear on the subject. If you found a Guildsman acting in a dishonorable fashion, action must be taken to preserve the honor of the Guild. When Chyfe finally managed to fall asleep, he was plagued with dreams of swordsmen performing acts of dishonor that he was powerless to stop. When morning came, he didn’t feel as if he had slept at all.

The next day, they continued following the road eastward to Catha. According to Chyfe’s recollection, Catha was still a little over a day away. A couple hours out from Forest’s Edge, the road left the forest and began passing through farmland.

“When we reach Inan’s Crossing we’ll be less than a day away,” he explained. Inan’s Crossing was the next major town. It sat at the junction where a road coming from the south intersected theirs. “From there the road turns to follow a more northerly direction until finally coming to Catha.”

“What about the island with the ruins you told us about?” asked Riyan.

“You’ll see it before we reach Catha,” replied Chyfe. “It’s pretty big.”

“Is it necessary for us to go all the way to Catha first?” Bart asked.

“No, I suppose not,” he said.

Bart was itching to get to this island. There was still no way of telling if Durik took the bait other than using one of Kevik’s two remaining flasks of mixtures. And he would just as soon save those for a more immediate need. He vowed to himself that should he and Durik’s paths cross yet again, he’d make certain of Durik’s death before they again parted ways.

“However, it will be easier to find someone able to transport us out to the island from Catha, than at one of the smaller villages,” added Chyfe.

“Alright,” Bart said reluctantly. “Though if an opportunity presents itself, we’ll take it.”

“Agreed,” Chyfe replied.

The weather was agreeable as they rode through farmland that still bore signs of fall’s harvest. This time of year, most of the fields still lay fallow as they waited for the spring planting. Here and there the remnants of this year’s crops had yet to be plowed under. For Riyan it felt good to be out among nature again. The farms they passed through brought back memories of Quillim and home.

Thoughts of the impending marriage between Freya and Rupert weighed heavily on his mind as well. The very thought of her in Rupert’s arms filled him with such emotion, he wasn’t sure if it was hate or sorrow. Perhaps it was a combination of the two. High emotional turmoil was compounded by the fact that he knew Rupert cared nothing for her, that he was simply doing this because his father had pressured him into getting married. The words Rupert had told Bart and Chad shortly after their engagement had become finalized, ‘One’s as good as another if you know what I mean’, only fueled his anger more. Riyan would like nothing better than to run his sword through that swine’s guts.

“You okay?” Chad asked. Riding next to Riyan as he was, he had taken notice of the dark mood that had come over his friend.

Riyan came back to the here and now. Turning to his friend he said, “Just thinking about home.”

“You mean Rupert and Freya don’t you?” Chad asked.

Riyan nodded his head and scowled.

“Don’t dwell on it,” his friend told him. “There’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“I know,” Riyan said. With nothing but repetitive scenery going by to distract him, his mind continued churning over his dilemma.

Mile after mile went by while Bart dreamt of Durik’s death, and Riyan continued to eat himself up with a situation he could do nothing about. When the sun finally went down and they stopped at one of the roadside inns, both were glad for it.

The next morning they set out early, the sun hadn’t even crested the horizon before they were once again on the road. Just before noon, the sparkling waters of Etoch, the lake upon whose shores the city of Catha sat, appeared off to their right. Two hours later they came to a junction where another road, one that Chyfe said would follow the shoreline southward, joined with theirs. A small community had sprung up at the crossroad, though it was barely what one would have called a town. It did have two inns, a chandler’s shop, and several other businesses bordering the road.

“Another hour and we’ll be there,” Chyfe told them. Pointing toward the water of the lake he added, “If you look far enough that way, you’ll be able to see the island.” Riyan peered across the water and could barely see a strip of green. “Is that it?” he asked.

Chyfe nodded. “That’s it.” From this distance they couldn’t make out any of the ruins which Chyfe claimed he had found there.

It wasn’t long after that before the outlying buildings of Catha appeared. As they rode closer, the sheer size of the place became apparent. “This place is huge!” Seth finally exclaimed.

Catha was almost twice the size of Gilbeth, if not larger. It sprawled for over a mile across the horizon. Even Wardean, the Seat of Duke Alric, would be dwarfed by it.

“It’s one of the largest cities in the world,” Chyfe explained, “or so they say.” The closer Bart came to the metropolis, the more at ease he felt. Just as in Wardean, the closeness of the buildings comforted him like the welcoming arms of a lover. In a place such as this, he was home.

A hundred yards this side of the outskirts, Chad noticed a cluster of what could have at one time been stone walls near the lake shore. “Are those some of the ancient ruins of which this place boasts?” he asked.

Chyfe nodded. “Sure enough,” he said. “Many an hour I wasted as a youth playing in that area.” He turned back to the others. “Most of what you see over there is from more recent construction. There are a few remnants of the old ruins, but they bear no markings of any kind. It has been speculated that they were the walls of a home or business.” Riyan couldn’t help casting glances in that direction. It wasn’t until they reached the outskirts of Catha, and the outlying buildings blocked his view, that he finally stopped.

All thoughts of Freya and Rupert were dispelled as once again, thoughts of the key and what the Horde may hold came to the fore.

“We should find an inn closer to the dock area where we can leave the horses,” Chyfe said.

“Maybe we could find the captain of one of the boats moored at the docks and arrange for passage out to the island now?” suggested Seth.

“No,” replied Riyan with a glance to Bart. “It might be best if we made a fresh start in the morning.” Bart met his eyes and nodded. He well remembered what happened in the Ruins of Algoth at night and how they had barely escaped with their lives. Something had been there in the dark. Something unseen that had mutilated their horses almost to a point beyond recognition.

“If the place is haunted as people say,” argued Chad, “it would indeed be prudent to wait until morning. That would give us more time to search before the sun went down.” Chyfe shrugged. “As you wish.”

They passed through the outskirts and began entering an area where the buildings were built closer together. At the first intersection, Chyfe turned them to the right and began following this new street toward the dock area.

“There are plenty of inns down by the docks,” he said. “Once we’re settled in we could go down to the docks and try to find a captain willing to take us in the morning.”

“That’s a good idea,” agreed Bart.

They came to an inn that had a sign displaying a drunken sailor. Deciding this place would suffice, they stopped. The others waited outside while Bart and Riyan entered to arrange for rooms. Called the Captain’s Nest, the inn exhibited a definite fishing motif.

Nets were arranged on the walls as decorations, as well as various other instruments one would associate with fishermen.

“No one’s here,” Bart said shortly after they entered. Indeed, the tables in the common room were empty, and of the people who ran the place there was no sign.

“Maybe it isn’t open any longer?” suggested Riyan.

Bart shrugged. “Hello?” he hollered. A half second later, a crusty looking old seadog stuck his head through the door leading into the kitchen.

“Yeah?” he hollered back at them.

Riyan glanced to Bart, he was somewhat taken aback by the old man’s response.

“Uh,” he said to the man, “we were looking for a room.”

“You were huh?” he said, then the rest of him followed his head through the doorway. He eyed them up and down as he walked across the room toward them with a lurching gait. It was obvious his right leg wasn’t working very well.

“Are you the owner?” Riyan asked.

“Naw,” he replied. “That would be my wife, the black hearted fishwife.” The smell coming from the man indicated he had already been imbibing far too much of the inn’s ale for such a time of day. Coming closer, the man looked around to see if anyone was about, then in a whisper that was anything but, said, “She’s trying to kill me you know.” His eyes began to get a slight wild look to them.

“Really?” asked Bart. “You don’t say.”

The old guy nodded. “She’s a…”

Just then the door to the kitchen opened and the woman who could only be the man’s wife came through the door. Easily the match for the man in age, she had a face worn haggard by many years of hard work. When she saw the old man talking with them, her eyes narrowed and she quickly came to the old man.

Gripped in her hand was one of the wooden spoons a person would use to stir a stew pot. A dark liquid, perhaps gravy or the remnants of something similar, still clung to it.

Coming up to the man, she struck him across the back of the head with the spoon and said, “Don’t you be bothering people you drunken sot.” The old man cringed and to the woman said in a voice tight with emotion, “I weren’t bothering nobody.”

“Get in the back until you sober up,” she said. Then she gave him a look which sent a chill running down Riyan’s spine.

The old guy bobbed his head then turned about and shuffled to the door leading to the kitchen. In a moment he was gone.

“Sorry if he bothered you gentlemen,” she said. When she turned back from watching the departing old man, she wore an expression that spoke more of tiredness than anger.

“Is there anything I can do for you two?”

Bart made to answer which drew her attention to him. He hesitated when he caught sight of Riyan out of the corner of his eye shaking his head. Then he said, “Yes. We were looking for rooms for my friend and I, as well as five others.” Bart almost grinned when Riyan’s face fell, obviously he didn’t want to stay here.

“A room for each or would you like to double up?” she asked.

“How many beds to a room?” Bart asked.

“We have several with two,” she replied.

“We’ll take four of the ones with two,” Bart said.

She nodded and told them how much. Then after an exchange of coins, they headed back out front to the others. “Why did we stay here?” Riyan asked.

Bart grinned. “The place is empty,” he said. “Besides, we’re not going to stay here long anyway.”

Riyan still didn’t like it. Something about the old man and the way the woman reacted to him standing there with him wasn’t right.

They and the others took their horses around back to the stable. There was no stableboy and they had their choice of stalls as all the others were empty. When Riyan led his horse into the stall closest to the door, he found the straw upon the floor filthy. It hadn’t been changed for quite some time.

“Ugh!” he exclaimed. “This place is disgusting.”

From further into the stable Chyfe said, “There’s some down here that are clean.” Relatively clean anyway. The straw was still old, but at least it didn’t look like any horses had spent time within them. Once they had removed the tack from their horses and stored it on shelves located at the rear of the stalls, they hunted for feed. When they found the bin where the feed was stored, they opened the lid only to find a giant rat and a layer of droppings. “Great,” Seth said as he gazed into the barren feed bin.

“Relax,” said Bart. “We still have sufficient feed with us. We have enough to feed them now, and again before we head out in the morning.”

“But what are they going to have while we’re gone?” asked Chyfe.

As Riyan was removing the feed from the packhorse, he mumbled to himself, “No wonder this place doesn’t have any customers.”

“Think the rooms will be any better?” asked Soth.

Riyan glanced at Bart with an unhappy expression. “They better be!” And to his astonishment, they were.

When they went up to their rooms, they found fresh linen on the beds which completely surprised him. True, they bore stains from previous use, but they were clean.

Riyan and Chad took one room, Bart and Kevik the second, the twins settled for the third, and Chyfe was the first to volunteer to be the sole occupant of the fourth room.

Night was fast approaching. Once they were settled into their rooms, Bart took Chyfe and went down to the docks to see about arranging passage to the island. After they left, Riyan laid down on his bed and pulled out the book Stryntner had given him when he said goodbye.

Chad noticed him getting set to read and asked, “Is that the book Stryntner gave you?”