of the way.
“Good morning, honorable sir. Why the delay?” the ashen-haired elfess asked with a smile.
The guardsman immediately lowered his voice and even tried to straighten his uniform tunic. Like all the rest of us he knew—because his mother had told him when he was a little baby—that you always had to be polite to elves; light or dark, it makes no difference. If, that is, you don’t want to end up with a dagger under your ribs when some denizen of the forest decides that you just happen to have insulted him—or her.
“What’s so good about it, milady? Just look at what’s going on. We have to check and recheck everyone. And all because the Nameless One’s been up to his tricks again. They say a few weeks ago he attacked the king’s palace!”
“You don’t say! The Nameless One?” Uncle chortled incredulously into his thick gray beard.
“The Nameless One, as large as life! And five thousand of his followers. If it wasn’t for the guard and Alistan Markauz, they’d have killed His Majesty!”
“Five thousand, you say?” Uncle chortled incredulously again and scratched his bald head.
“Folks is saying as it was five,” the talkative soldier said, slightly embarrassed—apparently he’d only just realized that five thousand was quite a large number.
“My, my,” chuckled Uncle. Like all the rest of us, he had been in the palace on that memorable night when the Nameless One’s supporters decided to test the resolve of the Royal Guard.
“But what’s that got to do with the queue at the gates? The attack was in Avendoom, but the gates are in Ranneng!” Hallas exclaimed in exasperation.
“The king, may he reign for a hundred years, has given orders to increase our vigilance. So we’re doing our best.”
“If an army of orcs went tramping past them, they wouldn’t even notice,” Kli-Kli whispered quietly in my ear.
The goblin was right, because it was highly doubtful that your average guardsman would be able to recognize a supporter of the Nameless One even if he walked right under his nose. As yet, the traitors who sympathized with Valiostr’s main enemy didn’t actually look any different from perfectly peaceable citizens.
The crowd at our backs started murmuring more loudly.
“What is all this?”
A dour-looking soldier wearing a corporal’s stripes came toward us from the gates. He was obviously not in the mood for pleasant conversation.
“Hang on there, Mis,” the talkative guardsman said, ignoring the corporal’s rank. “Can’t you see the lady elfess is inquiring after the news?”
The corporal almost fell over when he got a good look at our motley group. A green goblin with blue eyes; three dark elves; a dour knight; nine warriors, one of whom appeared to be an angry gnome; and a dwarf in an absurd bowler hat. Plus a skinny rogue. Not the kind of company you meet in the city every day of the week.
“A-ah…,” the corporal drawled, trying to choose the right words. “Well, if that’s how it is…”
“We don’t wish to detain you,” said Miralissa, with another smile. “May we pass?”
An elf’s smile can put a man who isn’t prepared for it into a prolonged stupor, especially if it’s the first time he has seen those two sharp white blades protruding from over the lower lip.
“Of c-course you can p-pass,” said the corporal, gesturing toward the gates so the guards would let us through. “But remember, only the municipal guard and elves have the right to carry weapons within city limits.”
“But what about nobles and soldiers?” asked Eel, raising his eyebrows in surprise as he broke his silence for the first time.
“Daggers and knives of an acceptable size—that’s the only exception.”
“But we are in the king’s service! We’re not a detachment of mercenaries.”
“I’m sorry, but the law’s the same for everyone,” the corporal responded.
I’d heard about this law. It had appeared about three hundred years earlier, when brawls used to flare up in Ranneng with the speed of forest fires. Those were troubled times, with three noble houses squabbling over power; when the king set aside his important affairs to intervene in the fracas, there were more bodies in the streets than on the Field of Sorna after the battle between the gnomes and the dwarves.
Half of the counts, barons, marquises, and other riffraff with royal blood running in their veins expired right there in the streets. Unfortunately the other half were left alive, and the houses known as the Boars, Oburs, Nightingales, and their supporters still nursed their grudges against each other to this very day.
And so anyone who walks round town carrying a blade the length of a man’s palm or, Sagot forbid, a crossbow, risks a large fine and a couple of days’ rest in an uncomfortable prison cell. This has had quite a remarkably sobering effect on noble gentlemen. After spending a little time in places that were damp and unbearably bleak, their lordships became as meek and mild as lambs … for a while.
“But that can’t be right,” Lamplighter exclaimed: His very heart and soul protested against the idea of such a law.
Mumr, our beloved Lamplighter, was never parted from his immense bidenhander, and now it seemed that in Ranneng the master of the long sword would have to hide his fearsome weapon and make do with a short-bladed knife.
“I’m not asking what business has brought you to our city and which house you intend to serve here,” the guardsman said, giving us a suggestive look.
“We have no intention of entering service with the noble houses,” Milord Alistan snapped.
“It’s all the same to me, milord knight,” said the corporal, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “If you choose not to serve, then don’t. That’s your right. It’s just that the first thought that comes into my head when I see a band of people bearing arms in the city is that one of the houses has hired itself a few more cutthroats.”
“Is there unrest in Ranneng again?” Miralissa asked, tossing her thick ash-gray braid behind her shoulder.
“Just a bit,” the soldier said with a nod. “The Nightingales and the Wild Boars had a set-to just recently in the Upper City. There were two barons slit open from neck to navel. Mmmm … I beg your pardon if I have affronted you, lady elfess.”
“No, indeed, and thank you for answering my questions, kind sir. So, may we pass?”
“Yes, milady. Here’s a paper for you, it will help you to avoid questioning by the patrols.” The corporal took a rolled-up document out of a wooden case hanging at his hip and handed it to the elfess. “It says that you are newly arrived in our glorious city. Welcome!”
“This is for you. For services rendered,” said Egrassa, leaning down from his horse and putting a coin in the corporal’s hand.
“Why, thank you, kind—,” the guardsman began, but when he saw what coin the elf had given him, he broke off and froze, like a statue in the royal park.
It’s not every day that a corporal got to hold a full gold piece in his hand. I had a feeling there would be a party in the guardhouse that evening, and not a single guardsman would be left standing at midnight.
We left the delighted guards and rode in through the gates … with our weapons, though we would have to be careful about carrying them around.
From the lane that began at the city gates, we turned onto a broad street leading into the very heart of the city. The inn to which Miralissa was taking us was located on one of the hills, and as we made our way there I turned my head this way and that, studying the surroundings.
On a small street that began with a monument to the defenders of Ranneng who fell in the Spring War, we were stopped by a patrol of guards, but they left us in peace when they saw the paper that the corporal had given us.
“All right,” said Loudmouth. “I have to go and see how my relatives are getting on. See you at the inn!”
“Greetings to the girlfriend!” Arnkh shouted, not believing his story about relatives, but Loudmouth had already melted into the crowd, leaving his horse in the care of Lamplighter, who was rather annoyed to be given this gift.
The people were as thick on the ground as gkhols in an abandoned graveyard.
“Is this some kind of holiday?” Lamplighter muttered, surveying the crowd with a not entirely friendly glance.
