Next through the door came Dragahn and the horse doctor. Pyotr was still giving the chief hell about the mudslide and kept telling him how stupid it was for them to have traveled that particular road. They walked over and sat with the group.
The barmaid was heading their way when the knight and his companion came through the door. The silence was palpable as all eyes turned to the newcomers.
The two approached the bar and stood next to Andrei, one on either side. The barkeep set the drink order down and watched as the knight unstrapped his shield from around his back and laid it against the bar. Next, he took off his helm and placed it on the counter. The albino simply crossed his arms.
“Can I help you, Sir Knight?” the barkeep asked.
“A pint of your best beer,” the knight replied.
The barkeep turned around, found a clean mug, and walked to the keg. Meanwhile, the knight placed an arm around Andrei’s shoulders.
“Evening,” he said. The tone was friendly enough, but the look in the man’s eyes was cold and hard, sending an involuntary shiver through the caravan guard.
Surprised, Andrei stared back wide-eyed, and stammered, “Sir?”
“Are you with that caravan that arrived today? I was hoping to find employment for myself and my friend.”
Andrei didn’t know what to say. He looked back over his shoulder.
Dragahn rose, followed by Viktor and Teodor, and walked to the bar. “I don’t think the boy can help you.”
Grinning wolfishly at the caravan chief, the knight released Andrei and said in a smooth voice, “Forgive me; where are my manners? My name is Marko, and this is my manservant, Kourash. We have just arrived from Vratsa, and, as I was just telling your friend, we are hoping you might need two men-at-arms.” After he spoke, he offered his hand in greeting.
Dragahn ignored the gesture and replied, “We don’t have an opening, but if we run across a team that does, we can point them in your direction.”
The knight’s face turned hard at the insult, almost hostile, and he scrutinized each of the team members carefully.
Abruptly, the smile returned. He retracted his hand and waved it airily as he said, “Never mind. I thought you might be able to help us.”
The knight turned his attention to the mug of beer the barkeep placed in front of him. Andrei and Teodor edged between the two men, retrieved their drinks, and returned to the table. Lucky was full of questions when they returned. Jasper, on the other hand, kept his head down and stayed unusually quiet.
When Grendel and Sachin walked through the door, conversations had just restarted in earnest. Before they could cross the room, the albino stepped in front of Grendel while Marko stepped out and approached Sachin; however, Grendel shifted and stood between them both, effectively stopping his progress. Sachin stared at the insolent knight. Something must have passed between them because Marko backed down and returned to the bar.
Kourash, on the other hand, remained in front of Grendel, the two giants glaring at one another, committing each other’s faces to memory. After a tense moment, Grendel and Sachin walked around Kourash and sat at the table with everyone else.
“What was that all about?” Lucky asked.
Looking up from his plate, Dragahn said, “They were looking for employment, but I’m not sure who would hire them.”
“I thought there was going to be a fight,” Lucky said excitedly, then asked, “What is Kourash? I’ve never seen anyone like him.”
“Stay away from him,” Jasper said quietly.
“You know what he is, don’t you,” Lucky asked conspiratorially.
“No, not really,” Jasper lied. “But I know trouble when I see it.”
Lucky opened his mouth to ask another question but held it.
The team turned its attention back to their meals. All except Lucky, who continued watching the albino and overheard the barkeep tell Marko that, other than the teamsters, no caravans had arrived that day.
Turning, the knight watched the crowd. The barkeep refilled his mug hoping to placate the knight, but instead it made the warrior more belligerent. Patrons and employees tried to avoid the two men and were, for the most part, successful. Word must have spread outside the kruchma because the captain of the militsiya arrived a few minutes later.
Even though there had been no discussion about it, no one left the table. The teamsters who had finished their meal sat quietly, half-listening to the various conversations around the table. Dragahn kept an eye on everyone’s progress, and when everyone was done, he stood and laid enough leva on the table to pay for their meals. The team followed his lead and followed the chief out the door.
It seemed Marko and Kourash were going to ignore the teamsters, at least until Jasper walked past. Kourash quickly moved from his position beside the knight, stepped in front of the portly man, and said with a growl, “You smell funny.”
Jasper glanced up, stared Kourash in the eyes, and said, “Yeah? So do you.”
Kourash seemed to grow larger as he glared at the fat man. Jasper stood his ground. The kruchma grew quiet as the two faced each other.
The captain of the militsiya stood, his chair scraping noisily on the hardwood flooring. “Break it up,” he said with authority.
Marko walked over, laid a hand on Kourash’s arm, and whispered a few words. The servant abruptly faced the knight. After a quick moment, Kourash turned back to look at Jasper and smiled viciously, revealing an upper and lower row of sharp, pointed teeth.
“Another time,” he said and let the cook pass.
* * *
Xandor was in his element—outside with just a sliver of moonlight to guide him through the night. He searched the narrow alley beside the warehouse, making note of the lack of street lamps. That would make things easier.
He was just in time to see the teamsters emerge from the kruchma with Dragahn in the lead. Oddly, they huddled together, almost in a defensive posture, and frequently cast anxious looks over their shoulders. Xandor noted Jasper walked near the end of the group without talking to anyone, even though it appeared two or three of the younger ones were actively questioning him. Deciding to remain in the dark alley, he watched the street; he would catch up with Jasper later.
Maybe ten minutes had gone by when two men stepped out of the kruchma. Xandor instinctively backed deeper into the shadows. He watched Marko and Kourash walk down the street toward the inn. Some sixth sense caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise.
Not wanting to give his position away, he made no sudden moves. Instead, he slowly eased back down the alley, keeping his back to the wall.
Stopping in the street, Kourash suddenly turned toward the alley. Xandor listened and distinctly heard the albino sniffing.
Marko stopped and joined his bodyguard. “What’s wrong?”
Kourash did not answer immediately. He kept sniffing the alley.
“I thought I smelled someone, but I don’t see anything.”
Marko smiled and asked, “Are you sure it isn’t two villagers having a tryst?”
“I cannot answer that. I do know that whoever it was has recently been in the presence of a dwarf, and I haven’t seen any dwarves in this town.”
“Curious,” Marko said. His smile faded and was replaced with a frown of concentration. “Do you think the caravan was followed? This will change things if they were.”
Moving into the alley, Kourash’s eyes shined briefly as they adjusted to the darkness. He knelt and sniffed again, tracing his fingers along a shallow footprint. Marko remained at the entrance to the alley and asked, “Anything?”
“Someone was here within the past few minutes. Looks like they stopped here and then walked toward the back of the alley. Do you want me to follow?”
“Do you still smell a dwarf?” Marko asked.
Kourash peered down toward the end of the alley, his body tense, and said, “It is not strong, but yes, I still smell it.”
Listening intently, Xandor stood just aro
und the corner with his eyes closed, a sword in each hand.
Footsteps scraped on the road.
“Evening, Captain,” Xandor heard Marko say.
“Evening. You staying at the Yarosten Nosyat?
“Yes. Heading there now.”
“Where’s your friend?”
“Relieving himself.”
There was a pause, then Xandor heard, “I don’t want any trouble tonight.”
“Captain, I promise my companion and I will be on our best behavior.”
“Good. But in case you get any ideas, I want you to know I’ll be watching you.”
“Not necessary, Captain.”
Xandor heard someone walk off. He tightened the grip on his weapons and waited.
Marko watched the captain leave. When he was gone, he turned back to the alley. “Let it go. But tell me if you smell dwarf again.”
Kourash exhaled derisively and walked back to the entrance. Together, the two crossed the street and entered the inn.
The ranger didn’t breathe until the two men were through the doorway. Once they were gone, two facts registered above all the others—they had spoken Rhodinan, not Trakyan, and if the albino could smell Chert, Xandor couldn’t approach Jasper, especially if the two strangers suspected the caravan was being followed.
Not good. Not good at all.
* * * * *
Jasper (October 19)
Dragahn paced back and forth in his room, the anxiety of the past few days weighing on him. He kept coming back to the albino’s reaction to his cook. He liked Jasper, but he needed to know about last night. He shook his head; this was the last thing he needed. It was pointless trying to go back to sleep, so Dragahn walked down the corridor past Grendel and knocked loudly on Jasper’s door.
Inside, Dragahn heard a shuffling of blankets and then, “Yes?”
“It’s Dragahn. Can I come in?” he asked.
After a few moments, Dragahn heard the bolt slide back, and the door opened. Jasper stood just beyond, wearing his nightgown and cap. In his left hand, he held a lit candle.
“What can I do for you this early in the morning, Chief?”
Dragahn stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Jasper stepped back to give Dragahn some room.
“What happened at the kruchma last night?” Dragahn asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The albino; he knew you, didn’t he?”
Jasper shrugged, but his expression turned serious.
“Come on, cook. I need to know if you are jeopardizing this trip. I need to know right now.”
Jasper took off his nightcap and bunched it up in his hands. He was quiet for a moment while he struggled with what to say. Placing the candle on the nightstand, he sat on the edge of the bed. After reaching his decision, he motioned for the caravan chief to take a seat. Grabbing a wooden chair, Dragahn dragged it in front of the cook and sat backward in it.
When Jasper spoke, his voice sounded distant. “A few years ago, I was working as the cook for a group of mercenaries. We were sent on a mission to the mountains along the western border of Carolingias. It was an area that really wasn’t part of any country, but it was near enough to attract some of the bolder Carolingians. They would go into the mountains to hunt or fish; while most returned, some were never seen again. Not necessarily unusual in the wild country, but it grew worse. It got the attention of the higher-ups when an ambassador’s son went missing on one of these hunting trips. That’s how we got involved.
“Long story short, we discovered the missing folks were not dying from accidents or running afoul of a wild, hostile tribe as initially thought. They were being captured and held in a prison of sorts. One that looked like an abandoned fort from the outside, but underneath, it actually hid a network of caves and mines. Anyway, we found the missing people, who were working as slaves, and rescued the ambassador’s son. That’s where we ran into the Seldaehne. There were eight of them. Each one just as mean and nasty as the one you saw in the bar. We fought, and one was killed during our escape.
“Looking back, I’d say we got extremely lucky. Later, the Carolingian and Gallowen governments made a joint effort to dismantle the place and freed a good number of prisoners. I heard they searched that place from top to bottom, but never found the Seldaehne.”
Jasper turned his head slightly and looked directly at Dragahn.
“That year, I kept my ear to the ground. One of the more persistent rumors I heard claimed they were half-dragons sired by an evil wizard; if that’s true, with all that pale skin, I’d guess they’re part frost dragon.”
Absorbing what Jasper had just told him, Dragahn sat quietly for a moment. “Is he one of the remaining seven?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s possible, I guess.”
“If he is, I’d bet money he recognized you.”
A haunted expression crossed Jasper’s face. “Yeah, me too.”
Dragahn stood and said, “I like you, Jasper. I think you’re a good person, but I can’t have your past history put my team in danger…”
Holding up his hand to interrupt the caravan chief, Jasper said, “Wait a second before you complete that thought. I told you what I know not to give you reason to let me go, but to give you information about something that’s already taken an interest in you. You know full well those two men are here because of this caravan, not because of me. And what about the ambush?”
The caravan chief stared at the cook, weighing him.
Jasper forged ahead and said, “I may not be good in a fight, but you need me. You need as many friends around you as you can get.”
Dragahn sighed. “Everyone is looking forward to your cooking tonight,” Dragahn said, more to himself. Coming to a decision, he said, “Fine, but if you endanger this caravan…”
* * *
Smelling of fresh mud and pine, Xandor leaned against Xerxes with his spyglass propped on the saddle and occasionally made some notes in his journal. Chert finished packing their gear and walked over to the ranger, grumbling about their smell.
“The team has new Percherons. I bet they cost a pretty lev,” Xandor said admiringly to the dwarf.
“You’re just jealous,” Chert said, but then had to dodge to one side as Xerxes tried to step on him.
Xandor ignored the two and readjusted the focus. He could clearly see the horsemen and stable hands, all dressed in heavy wools, hitching up the new horses. He watched Jasper loading some fresh supplies onto the chuck wagon. Adjusting again, Xandor panned across the horizon; there was no sign of the knight and his albino.
The ranger watched through his spyglass as the team finished and left Dobrovnitsa. Chert stood next to the ranger, eating some jerky.
An hour went by and the sun rose higher in the sky, warming the air a little. Temporarily putting away his spyglass and journal, Xandor moved them a little farther back into the woods, but otherwise stayed close to the shelter of a grove of maple trees. Another half hour went by before Xandor finally spotted the knight and the albino.
The knight’s mount was an elegant, black-coated Frisian stallion. It had a long, thick mane and tail with waves, and the silky feather hair on its lower legs was deliberately left untrimmed. The Frisian stood about sixteen hands at the withers and walked with a brisk, high-stepping trot. Atop, the knight rode with a covered shield strapped to his left forearm, and in his right hand, he held the shaft of a long lance. The butt of the lance rested in a hard leather cup near the stirrup; a dark red pennon flew at its tip. Xandor watched the knight maneuver the horse down the street with his knees.
Beside the knight, the albino rode on a tall, gray Shire horse with a long, lean head, large eyes, and a slightly arched neck that was long in proportion to its body. It was hard to tell through the spyglass, but Xandor guessed the horse was more than nineteen hands and built like an ox. It had to be, considering the size of his rider.
The ranger watched them disappear beyond the far lip of the valley but still ma
de no move to leave. Ten minutes went by, then twenty, with the ranger’s only movement being the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his breathing.
“Xandor, what’s going on? The caravan’s getting away.”
“For a dwarf, you sure can be impatient,” Xandor said, not looking up.
An hour or so later, Xandor was still hunched over the spyglass, watching where the road disappeared on the other side of the valley. Even he started to have doubts about waiting any longer. That was when he saw it.
At first, he thought it was a trick of light, but then a white, hairless head appeared twenty yards to the right of the road. There was no sign of the knight, but the albino had definitely doubled back, just as Xandor had expected. He watched the Shire horse trot along the edge of the valley and stop at the road where he met the knight, who had approached from the opposite side of the road. The ranger couldn’t focus on their faces, but by their relaxed body language, it looked as though they had given up the notion the caravan was being followed.
As soon as they disappeared, Xandor mounted up while Chert stretched and prepared for the long jog. Xerxes needed no urging—the black Andalusian was excited to be moving again—and, without stopping, he quickly trotted through town and across the valley as Chert hurried to catch up.
When they approached the far end, Xandor stopped and retrieved his spyglass from his saddlebag. He scanned the road, noting it leveled out for a mile and then disappeared under a canopy of firs and pine trees. Xandor put away his spyglass and pulled out a map.
Bold letters clearly identified the region as Silva Nigra, or black forest. According to the map, the thickly forested foothills ran eastward from their current position. To the north, it was bordered by the Yantra River and the second escarpment, and to the south loomed a range of tall snow-capped mountains. After replacing the map, Xandor directed Xerxes to move cautiously down the road, Chert behind him.
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