one.
“No one will be in this area until spring,” the young man explained.
The man turned to him and scowled. He said, “We were here. And so were they.”
The young man nodded in acknowledgement. “I best be getting back,” he said.
“Yes,” replied the man. “It wouldn’t do to have your townsfolk seeing us together.” As the young man started to depart, the man said, “Remember, if you hear of anything come and tell me.”
Pausing, the young man glanced back at the other and nodded. “I will,” he replied then returned to the woods and headed home.
Once the young man had gone, the other man walked over to where his man was removing the last of the arrows from the dead men. Off to their right stood the mule the dead men had brought with them. “Better kill the mule too,” he said.
“As you wish.” Wiping the blood off the arrow onto the dead man’s jacket, he stood up. Moving over to the mule, he drew his sword and soon had the beast lying on the ground, kicking in its death throes.
“We were fortunate to have found that boy,” the man said.
The other man nodded. “He’s got some hate in him that’s for sure.” Wiping the horse’s blood from his sword, he replaced it back in its scabbard.
“Being the son of the Magistrate, he’ll know if anyone comes into town looking for the shepherd, and the miller’s son,” the man replied.
“How far do you think we can trust him?” asked his man.
Daniel glanced to his man and said, “Only to a point. If he should grow troublesome, he can easily be disposed of.” Looking around the pasture, he knew the entrance to the Horde didn’t lie there. The shepherd’s pastures had been the first place he and his man had searched after arriving in Quillim.
Turning his attention one more time to the dead men lying on the ground, the thought occurred to him that if the shepherd didn’t return soon, this scene was likely to be repeated many times.
Chapter Seven
When the walls of Kendruck finally came into view, it was met with great relief. The days of traveling through the wintry countryside had taken its toll. After leaving the copse of trees three days ago, the weather had begun to mellow. Sunny days raised the temperature to somewhere just above freezing, and the world began to thaw. At least until darkness came again and froze it solid once more.
The last few miles had been relatively clear of snow. It was due mostly to the warmer weather of the past couple days, and the traffic flowing along it. Some miles back, another road coming from the northeast had joined with theirs, and from that point on they were no longer alone on the road. They even encountered a lone caravan making its way bravely north.
Before them, the wall encircling Kendruck rose dramatically. They were about the largest walls any of them had ever seen. Guard towers were spaced every fifty feet and rose another thirty feet above where guards walked along the top of the wall. Each of the guard towers boasted a catapult positioned upon its roof which the defenders could use in the event an army was foolish enough to besiege the city.
“Kendruck used to be plagued by raids from the Tribes before they built that defensive wall,” Chyfe explained to them. “From what my father once told me, the Tribes made the mistake of trying to take Kendruck after it had been completed.”
“What happened?” asked Chad.
“It was a slaughter,” Chyfe said. “The catapults atop the towers rained stones the size of your head down on them. Between the hail of stones and flights of arrows, the Tribesmen were decimated. Ever since then, it has grown into a massive commerce center from which both sides of the border profit.”
“How far away are the Moran Tribes?” asked Soth.
Chyfe glanced to him and said, “That depends on who you ask. Both sides agree that for four miles south of Kendruck, Byrdlon rules. From what I’ve heard, Byrdlon claims another twenty miles as theirs, while the Tribes say the additional area is theirs.”
“Sort of a no man’s land?” asked Riyan.
“Actually, no,” Chyfe explained. “Many villages inhabit the contested area and both sides claim them for themselves.”
“Must make life hard for those who live there,” Bart observed.
“I would think so,” agreed Chyfe.
Kendruck’s gates stood open allowing an intermittent flow of people to make their way in and out. This close to dusk it wasn’t surprising that most of the people were leaving the city. The surrounding countryside was dotted with small villages and hamlets that owed their safety to the soldiers stationed in Kendruck.
Off to the east a score of cavalrymen appeared, patrolling the countryside. Even though Kendruck itself may be safe from the raids of Tribesmen, those living around it were not so fortunate. Situated outside the walls as they were, they would fall prey to Raiders and bandits from time to time. And so, regular patrols made their way across the countryside to keep the people safe.
At the gate, six guards stood watch over the citizens passing through. Four of them were off to the side near an open fire pit trying to keep warm. The other two stood on either side of the gate keeping an eye on things.
As their party approached the gate, the two guards by the gate focused their attention on them. Since they didn’t appear to pose a threat, they remained in position as Bart led the others through into the city.
Once they passed through the gates, Bart immediately relaxed. This was his environment, he was home. Maybe not Wardean, but a city was a city, and he knew its rhythm. When he turned to look back at the others, he couldn’t help but allow a grin to show.
“A warm bed and a hot meal,” he said.
“You better believe it,” Chad replied. He’d had enough of the cold and snow to last for quite awhile. Each day on the road seemed colder than the last. At least it hadn’t snowed or rained since they left the copse of trees, which would have made the journey even more intolerable.
Bart kept his attention focused on the people around them. Spying one of the children who called the streets their home, he caught the boy’s eye and held up a copper. The lad of twelve winters saw the coin in Bart’s hand and immediately came forward.
“Can you tell me of a good inn hereabouts?” Bart asked.
The boy bobbed his head. “Yes sir.” Pointing down the street in the direction they had been heading he said, “Go down to the statue of Phillip the Vanquished and turn to the left. Another two streets down you’ll find the Blue Osprey.”
“Phillip the Vanquished?” asked Riyan.
“Yes sir,” the boy replied. Then he looked to Bart for the coin.
Flinging it to him, Bart watched as the lad snatched the coin out of the air and then scurried away.
“Why would they erect a statue to someone who was vanquished?” asked Seth. “Doesn’t vanquished mean he lost?”
“Something like that,” replied Soth.
Seth shrugged and they continued down the road. It wasn’t long before they saw the intersection of streets where stood the statue of Phillip the Vanquished. It was of a man in fine attire standing with head slightly drooped. His left hand hung at his side and in it were clutched seven short sticks.
“Oddest statue I’ve ever seen,” observed Riyan. Bart agreed. As far as they could tell, it didn’t have any meaning.
The intersection was full of people and they were forced to slow as they made their way past the statue and entered the street on their left as the lad had directed them. Sure enough, two streets down they found a two story building bearing a sign depicting a winged bird in flight clutching a fish.
Bart dismounted, then he and Riyan went inside to see about rooms. In short order they were back with the others and taking the horses around back to the stable. “I paid for two nights,” he told the others. “That should afford us sufficient time to locate the merchant.”
