Authors: James Wolf
‘One week,’ Hirandar said.
‘Number in group?’
‘Five.’
‘Where have you come from?’
‘Aritas.’
‘And where does the bowman come from?’ The young Defender looked at Baek strangely. ‘I see people from the four corners of Hathlore pass through this gate, but I’ve not seen his kind before?’
‘My friend is a man of Borleon Forest,’ Hirandar gestured to Baek. ‘One of the Aborle. His people are not often seen abroad. I will personally vouch for this man.’
‘Fine.’ The young Defender said, even though the old veteran scowled at Baek. ‘So, we have a man of Borleon, two Aritians, one Rhungar, and…?’ The young Defender directed the question at Logan, whose face was hidden by his pulled up cloak.
‘Show your face,’ the veteran Defender growled.
Logan took a step towards the veteran and Taem saw Logan’s hand was on his sword hilt.
‘Lower your hood!’ The veteran glared, and brought his halberd forward.
Logan pulled his hood down to reveal his stony face and piercing eyes. The veteran Defender gasped.
‘
Logan Fornor
?’ The veteran’s jaw dropped.
‘The Grim Wanderer!’ The young Defender said in amazement.
A dozen people turned to stare, their eyes full of wonder.
Logan stood motionless. Hirandar crossed her arms, with a thunderous scowl.
‘You are alive?’ The veteran Defender asked.
‘The greatest warrior of our time!’ The young Defender whispered.
Taem and Baek shot each other puzzled glances.
‘The Grim Wanderer?’ People in the crowd murmured in astonishment. ‘He is dead?’ They said to each other. ‘How can this be? He was slain in the Shadowlands,
was he not
?’
Taem watched incredulously as scores of people strained to get a glimpse of Logan.
‘Who is the Grim Wanderer, father?’ A young boy in the crowd asked.
‘A mighty hero, son,’ a warm smile spread across the father’s face. ‘He has not been seen in ten years. All tales told of a noble death, fighting Dark enemies in the North...’
‘The Grim Wanderer has returned!’ Yelled a warrior carrying a shield and an axe, as he looked at Logan with nothing short of veneration, and the call was passed on back down the queue.
Forgrun looked at Logan in awe.
‘I told you,’ said the well-fed merchant sat up on his horse, to the noblewoman in the red dress by his side. ‘He is a man who
cannot
be killed.’
‘This is an honour,’ the veteran Defender bowed low, and went down on one knee.
Taem heard the respect in the old soldier’s voice. It was a respect that could not be bought by money or titles, a respect that could only be earned by courageous deeds.
The young Defender copied his senior, bowing and kneeling down. All the travellers, both in the queue and leaving the city, had stopped in amazement to witness the spectacle. Half a dozen other Defenders came pouring out of the gatehouse, and they all dropped onto one knee in front of Logan. Taem could see the admiration in their eyes.
‘I saw your actions at The Gate fifteen winters ago.’ The veteran Defender said reverently. ‘Please enter, the city of Dolam welcomes your return.’ The Defender stood up as he swept his arm wide, gesturing through the gates.
Logan nodded to the Defenders before striding on into Dolam, with Hirandar close behind. Taem looked at Baek with bewilderment, but the Aborle held his hands wide and shrugged his shoulders. The hundred people at the gate to the city watched in silence as Logan walked away.
‘We must keep up,’ Baek pulled his mount on through the city gate, after Logan and Hirandar. ‘Or we will lose them completely.’
‘I still can nay scarcely believe it,’ Forgrun said softly. ‘I travel with ye
Grim Wanderer
…’
‘What do you know about this Grim Wanderer?’ Taem asked the Rhungar as they walked behind Logan.
‘He be man with nay fear,’ Forgrun murmured. ‘Ye greatest warrior o’ all Hathlore, ye champion o’ a dozen battle. A protector o’ ye weak. Some say, ye Narg-beasts even know that name, an’ be too afraid ter face ‘im.’
‘I always knew Logan had been a famous warrior,’ Taem whispered, ‘but the way all those people stared?’
‘He be a legend,’ Forgrun said, ‘as he do fight fer nay king nor flag, only ter defend ye people o’ Hathlore. An’ in these dark times, ye people need legends an’ stories, ter give ‘em hope, ter tell each other by fireside, when night do come.’
Forgrun and Taem hurried to catch up their three companions, who were disappearing into the bustling street. Taem could barely walk two steps without having to move aside to avoid bumping into someone else, made far harder because he was leading Storm. He had never thought there could be so many people in one place. The whole street was a sea of bodies, bobbing up and down and jostling into each other. Whichever way he went, Taem seemed to be fighting against the tide of the crowd.
Taem knew a Sodan must be aware of his surroundings. And he tried to be heedful, to search for danger, but there were just so many people everywhere that it was impossible to keep track. Many of them were armed, and they were all moving, but Taem watched them as best he could. His ears were bombarded by the rumble of a hundred conversations over-running each other, the trample of countless feet and the snorting of beasts. The sizzle of Dolami cuisine frying on hawker stalls made Taem’s stomach grumble. The hawkers were grilling beef and chicken kebabs over hot coals, and the smell of it was too great for Forgrun to resist. The Rhungar handed Taem his reins, and dived through the crowd. Forgrun passed the hawker some coppers, and returned with two sticks of skewered meat, one each for himself and Taem.
‘That is fantastic!’ Taem wolfed down the succulent meat.
‘Aye!’ Forgrun said happily, as he dribbled meat juices into his russet beard.
Taem saw plenty of Grantlean commoners and nobles – the Dolami men were identifiable by their wide moustaches – but there were also adventurers and mercenaries drawn from every realm of Hathlore. Most, Taem did not have a clue where they came from, but in less than a minute the company had passed some rough corsairs from Marac, a band of Rhungars, a trio of Darnean Reavers, all scarlet and burnished metal, and a messenger atop a powerful stallion. The messenger carried a satchel of dispatches, and wore a blue cloak with the crest of a golden lion, an emissary of Aritas.
The companions passed entertainers performing for loose coins, and plenty of beggars. All were yelling over the top of each other, and over the chirp of ornamental birds in wicker cages.
‘The streets are cleaner than I thought they would be,’ Taem said to Forgrun.
‘Well,’ Forgrun said, ‘ye city do ‘ave an excellent sewer system – ye tunnels be Rhungari designed, yhee see.’ Which caused Taem to smile.
‘Taem,’ Forgrun whispered as they walked, ‘can yhee take ol’ Krun-Smiter’s reins fer me?’
‘Of course,’ Taem smiled as he took the chestnut horse’s reins. He knew Forgrun did not want other Rhungars to see him even
leading
a horse that was not a Dhurran.
‘But could you not call him something different to “Krun-Smiter”?’
‘Ssshh,’ Forgrun whistled through clenched teeth. ‘I don’ know what yhee do mean,’ Forgrun boomed so loud that the other people passing around the Rhungar jumped. ‘He don’ be my ’orse, he do be a friend a mines ’orse…’
Some distance from the gatehouse, Logan turned and waited at the side of the street, for the other companions to weave their steeds through the bustle and hawkers.
‘Follow me and keep close,’ Logan made off again, as soon as all the companions had caught him up.
Logan led them down a wide but less busy street. Taem sensed how the atmosphere seemed to change. This place had more of an edge about it. It seemed more exciting, and more dangerous. It had to be the Entertainment Quarter. Taem saw sly men with sharp eyes, quick-fingered pickpockets, strong men and women carrying weapons, armoured warriors from distant lands, and some unusual people with extravagant clothes who, by the shocked way they regarded Hirandar, were other wizards. Taem knew why these wizards were so astounded, they were close enough to sense Hirandar’s magic strength.
The companions passed alehouses and gambling dens until Logan led them off at a steep angle to their right. Logan strode halfway down this street, and led the company towards an inn on the left. Tying his mount’s reins to a post outside, and gesturing for the others to do likewise, Logan headed inside the tavern.
‘Watch our horses,’ Hirandar passed a coin to the tavern guard.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ the guard patted his club.
Outside, the rundown inn had a cross-eyed jester on its signboard. Taem noticed the jester had the symbol of the Watchers worked into his multi-coloured jersey – a square inside a circle. Ever since Hirandar had told him about that sign as a young boy, Taem had been on the lookout for secret Watchers, but this was the first time he had ever seen the symbol.
Inside the rough tavern, Taem felt on edge. This inn was a haunt for some unsavoury characters. There were human and Rhungar adventurers, plus some locals who could have been street brawlers or pickpockets – or both. Taem saw a creepy man sat alone in the corner, in the shadows. Another group of adventurers, all with weapons on their belts, were so drunk that they were shouting at each other as they boasted of their exploits. One miserable man sat staring into the bottom of his tankard. The patrons of The Jester did not give the varied group of companions a second glance.
‘This do be my kind o’ place!’ Forgrun grinned.
Baek looked queasy, and his mouth was shut tight.
Taem saw the walls of the tavern had a layer of once-cream paint that had cracked and chipped to show grey underneath. The bare floorboards were crying out for a lick of varnish. Taem observed the mismatched furniture was a multitude of colours and styles. The chairs had seats with ripped cushions, and their wood had been scratched by numerous brawls over the years. The common room ceiling was open and stretched to the second storey, many feet above, where there was a balconied level, with more occupied tables, encircling and looking down over the common room floor underneath. Taem heard splintering wood upstairs. He turned to see there was a brawl going on up there, and two huge tavern-guards were busy cracking a few heads. Except Taem and his friends, no one else on the ground floor even bothered to raise their eyes to see what was going on.
A lady in her middle years looked up from cleaning tankards behind the bar, and stared at the companions. Taem watched as her face went wide with surprise on seeing Logan and Hirandar. She dropped the tankard she had been cleaning in shock, but caught it before it hit the floor.
With a start, the woman came to attention and hurried over to the companions. Taem thought she was an attractive lady; she had hazel eyes and curly black ringlets of hair that cascaded down her delicate face and neck. She wore a green dress, with ruffled lace at the arms, under the beige apron of an innkeeper.
‘How is a lady like that the innkeep of this drinking hole?’ Taem whispered to Hirandar.
Hirandar chuckled, ‘Woe betide any drunk who would think to take advantage of this woman. Bessie is well known, and well liked, in the Entertainment Quarter. Anyone that offends her will find themselves dragged out into the street, and will be lucky to escape with a good hiding. The locals round here are cutthroats and thieves – scum, or the dregs of the city, some might say – but they look after their own.’
‘It’s been a long time since you last darkened my doorway,’ Bessie looked at Logan. ‘Come quickly and follow me,’ she gestured to them all.
The lady innkeeper led the companions away from the common room, down a long passage with a scruffy red carpet, past battered doors, and windows clouded with grime. She took them right down to the very last door. She glanced back down the corridor before she reached inside her dress to pull out a key on a chain. Bessie quickly unlocked the door and bade them all to enter, shutting and locking the door behind the warriors.
What was this all about, Taem wondered? They were all crammed into a windowless broom cupboard. The cupboard was pitch dark, but soon Hirandar had a small spherical ball of light hovering above her palm, that lit up the six of them as they stood crowded together like sheep in a market pen.
‘Watch carefully,’ Bessie said to Baek, Forgrun and Taem. ‘Only when the door is shut, will the mechanism work.’
The innkeeper pulled down a corner of a small shelf, then twisted a wall-mounted candleholder one quarter of a turn anticlockwise. Taem heard a click, just like when a key is turned inside a lock. And the entire back wall of the cupboard creaked open, away from the companions.
The three junior warriors’ mouths dropped, when they saw the secret room beyond the broom cupboard. In total contrast to the rest of the inn, this room was a luxurious, palatial sitting room. Sunlight beamed in through second storey windows. The walls were decked with paintings of famous wizards and kings, coloured silk drapes, and tapestries of long ago battles. Taem marvelled at these ancient heirlooms of history, as he and his companions stepped inside the secret chamber.