by Damien Lake
Hilliard’s reward was a glare from a rough cart driver, as well as a smothered laugh from the toll collector, who probably dealt with several such highhanded remonstrators every candlemark. The laugh darkened the carter’s face further. This prompted the mercenaries to hasten their charge away, especially after Marik’s mount tried to bite off the carter’s horse’s ear.
“Please don’t do that again,” Landon requested after they rode a significant distance from the carter.
“It is the plain truth! I only wished to explain it to him.”
“I know, but caravan masters and porter services hate everything that cuts into their profits. They must complain about every expense they incur. As the road exists due to prisoner labor, they don’t feel the tolls are justified.”
“That is the wrong point of view.” He glanced back, apparently ready to return and further educate the cart driver.
“At any rate,” Marik announced, drawing Hilliard’s attention. “Let’s get a move on. The world is full of stupid people. No point in worrying about them.”
With so many strangers surrounding them, Marik’s unease heightened at first. It gradually ebbed when the days progressed with no trouble directed at them. He settled into his normal travel routine by participating in the conversations around him. Hilliard enjoyed talking though rarely spoke of himself. Other than dissecting the specifics of each mercenary’s peculiar combat style, he usually orated on Duke Tilus.
That he was Hilliard’s role model had been apparent since they set out from the duke’s residence. With each new story learned, Marik judged the young noble could have done far worse. Even taking into account that everything Hilliard said about the man would be biased in a favorable slant, enough honor and steel ran in Tilus to impress Marik. Why weren’t the other nobles like the duke of Spirratta?
Seventeen days after leaving, they came to Thoenar, the largest city in Galemar. Marik expected an expanded version of Spirratta. His assumptions proved entirely false.
Between two rivers that joined several miles southwest of the capitol, Thoenar sprawled in an untidy mess at first glance. They followed the descending road down a hill to the lower plain. The hills southeast of the city all hosted farms. None were of the type familiar to Marik. His idea of a farm was a few decent sized fields, on which would be a small cottage housing a family with a chicken flock scratching in the yard.
These farms were anything but. All the trees close to Thoenar had been felled for lumber or firewood long ago, leaving plenty of open space. Crop fields, most wider than he could see across from the road, covered the low hillsides. Row upon row of vegetables or fruit trees extended to the horizon, in the center of which would be the farmhouse. The main buildings always looked larger than the council hall in Tattersfield and each supported additional wings. Laborers by the dozen ignored the travelers as they worked the land. A few near the roadside fences caught his eye from time to time. Marik could tell they were as kin to each other as Hilliard and Kerwin. Paths to the farmhouses would lead from the road, usually framed by poles suspending a plank signboard over the entrance. Each bore such names as ‘Cityview’, or simply, ‘Toft’s Farmstead’. It seemed alien to Marik.
Hilliard pointed to the city. “It is nearly nine miles across if you draw the line east to west through the central palace. Basill Cerella chose this site for his capitol city because it allowed him to respond quickly to almost every area in his kingdom. He could travel overland east, west and north, he could quickly take the Pinedock River to the Varmeese to head southwest, or he could ride for the Spine and take that southeast. He could reach nearly any part of Galemar within two to three eightdays.”
“And yet the palace,” Landon countered, “was not begun until after his death.”
“No,” Hilliard agreed, pleased to find Landon shared a common interest in historical matters. “It was not. Basill was far too busy keeping the kingdom he had forged from falling apart. His son began the palatial construction. There, you can see it. It is located on the only rise between the Pinedock and the Starshine rivers.”
Marik peered into the sprawling civilization. If he had the correct buildings then he would take Hilliard’s word that they were in fact located atop a rise. It was invisible from the hillside, especially when surrounded by the city.
Hilliard continued. “As the power of the Cerellas solidified, increasing numbers of people came to live in Thoenar.”
“I’m surprised there’s no wall,” Marik commented, wanting to add to the conversation. “Since it was right after the Unification, I would have thought that would be a high priority.”
“Oh, there are walls, to be certain. Look closely and you will see three separate rings within the city structure. As the population grew, they expanded beyond the original walls. About ninety years after the founding of Thoenar, the fourth Cerella was forced to build a second wall to enclose the city again. One-hundred-and-fifty years after that, the third was needed.”
Landon continued while Marik identified the walls in question. “When space within the walls grew scarce, newcomers and the children of the original residents were forced to build outside their protection. Since no significant force has threatened the capitol in the last three hundred years, there has been no need to construct a fourth barrier.”
“And in the event of a crisis,” Hilliard concluded, “the citizens can withdraw inside the walls to safety.”
Kerwin asked, “So does that mean the city is sectionalized? Which ring will house the architects?”
“Only the centermost circle is truly different from the others. It houses the palace grounds, and most of the nobles and wealthy families reside within the original city. The two rings and the outer districts are open to all businesses. You’ll have to ask once we arrive, but you might need to travel all over the city to visit different building planners.”
“Look there,” Landon pointed. He gestured to Thoenar’s northern edge where the buildings thinned. “I’d hazard that is where the tournament will be held.”
The ground became a rain-arch of colors. Pavilions, tents and structures of every type were being erected. From this distance distinguishing the specific purpose of any one area was futile. A swarm of workers flowed throughout the site. The tournament area was easily two miles wide.
They reached the calm and placid waters of the Starshine River. A hundred-yard bridge spanned it. The bridge had been built as a series of arches constructed from giant stone blocks, across which had been laid a flat top to form the roadway. Water flowed musically thirty feet below. Cool breezes blew off the river’s surface.
Thoenar gradually began across the bridge. Buildings peppered the Capitol Highway, packed closer together the further toward the city they traveled. Most were inns or shops, all generating healthy business with so many visitors entering town.
Thousands of people were in motion, many clothed in garish colors. A festive air saturated the environment. Marik felt offended. Refugees are pouring into Galemar every day, killing themselves to flee strife and warfare! How can they completely ignore that?
He concluded, after studying the people, that they were actually working very hard to ignore the outside world. What could they do to change anything? May as well forget about it and hope the troubles stayed far away.
The noise increased the further into Thoenar they penetrated. Crowds shouted for no apparent reason other than to make noise. What conversation the group could understand centered around the tournament for the Arm, which would commence in eleven days.
Most roads were stone paved. Alleys and spaces between buildings were hard dirt. As in Spirratta, the buildings grew taller while also closer together. Though the buildings lining Capitol Highway were shops to attract travelers, Marik had yet to see any establishments he could not have found in Duke Tilus’ city. Only size was the telling difference. One building, a tavern for certain, stretched so wide that three separate doors were spaced at intervals along the roadside wall.
/> After two miles, the buildings were interrupted by an open space within which settled a spacious earthen yard. Beyond the yard rose what could only be a stable. It put the main stable in Kingshome to shame. Hilliard directed his mount to the entrance.
“Where are you going?” Marik kicked his mount into a trot to come beside the young man.
“We must stable our horses here. We don’t have licenses for them to enter the inner city.”
“Say that again?”
“You must have a license for each horse you own if you wish to use them within the inner city. This is partly a measure to keep the city clean. If you have a horse within the walls, you must clean its mess whenever it leaves one. If a horse is found doing so without being cleaned up, the horse’s registry is tracked and the owner is fined accordingly.”
“Are you serious?”
The comment surprised Hilliard. “Of course I am. Citizens may deposit the horse leavings in any of the sewer accesses, so it is no great hardship. Everyone should make an effort to keep the city clean. After all, they all live here together.”
Marik pulled free the instructions from Locke and found the line on the day of entry into Thoenar. It mentioned stabling the mounts, which he had assumed they could do at the inn. He surrendered. “All right then.”
They were immediately set upon in the yard by a short man in leathers and a sweat-stained vest. He quickly introduced himself as Paddy, the owner, who nodded when Hilliard returned his own name.
“Ah, yes! I received the reservation request last month! I have it in my office. I’ll be back in a whisker.”
During his hasty dash into the main building, the five riders collected their belongings. In addition to Hilliard’s travel pack the young man had also brought two large bags he needed help with. Dietrik carried one, commenting on its weight.
“It is mostly clothing for official functions I must attend during the tournament. I’m sorry you are stuck with it. Oh no, I insist!” he directed to Landon when the older man lifted the second bag. “You were hired as a bodyguard, not a servant. I understand you have to put your duty first.”
Paddy returned. He bore a sheet of quality parchment. Duke Tilus’ seal flashed from the bottom beside Seneschal Locke’s signature. “Lucky this arrived when it did! I’ve been taking more reservations than I know what to do with. Five horses, was it? Ah, yes!”
Once they finished unloading their gear, Paddy bit his lower lip. He elicited a piercing whistle clearly heard within the stables over the noise from several hundred people cavorting in the street. Young men emerged to take the mounts. The one reaching for Marik’s nearly lost a finger.
“Watch him!” Marik warned belatedly. “He’s got a nasty attitude.”
“We know how to handle his likes,” Paddy assured him. “So then, it’ll be a silver-and-half per mount if I’m to hold onto them ‘till the Arm is declared.”
Marik handed over three silvers, the rest to be paid when they retrieved their mounts. He made an entry in the small notebook and asked Paddy to sign his name beside the expense so Janus would have nothing to gripe about.
A woman emerged from the stables with a mare on an extremely long tether while he wiped off the small feather quill. She coaxed the horse to a trot in the yard’s center and pivoted as the animal ran in a circle around her.
Paddy noted his interest and pointed out, “We may be smack in the middle of the city, but we see to it your mounts get their exercise everyday!”
“I see. You run a good stable. It’s small wonder Duke Tilus’ seneschal picked you.”
As he thought would happen, the comment swelled the little man with pride. Hopefully it would also ensure that their mounts were cared for with extra attention, though it might not have been necessary. Paddy bid his customers farewell and left to see to other matters.
Marik, scanning the instructions, asked Hilliard, “So where is ‘Swan’s Down Inn’?”
“It is over in the Second Ring.”
A frown creased Marik’s face. “And where is that?”
“The Inner Circle is the original city, which was walled by the second Cerella. The Second Ring exists between the Inner Circle and the Third Ring, which exists between the Second Ring and the Outer City.”
“Where’s the First Ring?”
“There isn’t one. As the circle came before, it is generally considered the first in line, so to speak.”
“If that’s what they decided to do. Where’s our inn?”
Hilliard’s smile paled slightly, the young man struggling to keep it from faltering altogether. “Truth to tell, I don’t remember.”
Marik’s gaze rolled skyward. Dietrik cut in, “So you have never been there before, lad?”
“I have, but only once. I was seven at the time.”
“Well then, let’s budge on through this crowd and find a guardsman to have a chin with. They can steer us straight.”
When they turned, they found a man with afternoon-shadow darkening his lower face listening to them. He was dressed ordinarily, having refrained from coloring-up for the coming tournament. Marik scowled, about to ask what he wanted, when the stranger spoke first.
“Going to Swan’s Down, are ye’? Why now, I can bring ye’ there meself right proper!”
“No thanks,” Marik stated, beginning to walk past. “We can find our own way.”
The man walked along with them. “For certain, master! I can take ye’ there straight, no worries!”
“We said no! I’m sure the cityguard won’t charge us for the information!”
“Aw, I never said I wanted yer coin! I won’t be taking so much as a single copper from ye’!”
“I doubt you’re the charitable type,” Kerwin declared, placing a hand on his hilt in warning.
“Ye’ have keen eyes, good master! Ye’ just be sure to tell old Barfellow behind the desk I brought ye’. He’ll make sure I get looked after.” He winked in a manner he must believe looked sly before adding, “And I can take ye’ through some good shortcuts ‘tween here and there. In this awful crowd, it’ll take ye’ until the midnight bell to get to Swan’s Down on yer own. Come along! It won’t cost ye’ anything at all!”
Marik faced Landon. The archer was deep in thought. Stepping closer, he whispered, “What do you think?”
“Shills are common types in the cities,” Landon returned as quietly. “Most either charge you a few coppers to find a decent room, or they have arrangements with certain inns. The innkeeper will pay the shill a certain amount for every customer he brings.”
“You think he’s a shill working for the Swan’s Down? Kind of a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“Half the inns in the city must have shills waiting to intercept travelers. He may have overheard us and decided we would be easy coin. Since we are already headed there, he can tell the innkeeper he diligently convinced us.”
“What do you think?”
“He looks clean and well fed. If Swan’s Down is a higher class inn, he might earn enough as a shill for them to make a decent living. Especially if he works for several inns. And he’s smart enough to wait by a sizable stable near the inner city instead of loitering around the roadside inns near the bridge.”
Which means, Marik thought, he might be as trustworthy as they come. I guess it’s the seedy ones you have to watch.
“Very well,” Marik directed at the shill. “Show us the way, and tell me your name.”
“Yes, master! I’m Halsey. Just over this way!”
Halsey glanced over his shoulder every five seconds to confirm they had not wandered off, taking them deeper into Thoenar. No one offered an opinion. They accepted Marik and Landon’s decision. In short time they came to the first wall. Or actually the last one, depending on how a person chose to look at it.
This wall would certainly be a deterrent to invaders. Reminiscent of the wall around the Hollister Bridge, imposing stone rose twenty feet tall. The mortar between the square blocks was invisible so the wal
l struck Marik as all of a piece.
And thick, as well. The opening Halsey led them into was a twenty-foot tunnel passing through the wall. Marik marveled at the sheer volume of stone and effort required to build such a colossal barrier encircling a city. Could it actually be twenty feet of solid stone, or did it merely seem that way?
Halfway through the tunnel, Marik noticed a hole in the wall. In truth a window, it looked out into the tunnel from a small room inside the stone. Two guards flicked their eyes from face to face from within. Tacked to a cork board on the wall behind them, Marik caught a brief glimpse of several dozen papers. Most were covered with writing. Others displayed surprisingly skillful faces drawn in chalk. No one stopped the pedestrians at the wall which meant the guards inside the room only watched the crowd, searching for likely troublemakers. When they left the tunnel, he glance back to see a door set in the stone. It must lead to the guardroom, matched on the wide passageway’s opposite side by a twin.
From Landon’s words on the hillside, he expected the buildings on this side to be as cramped, if not more so. Instead, his initial impression was of greater space. Every inch of the inner city was paved with the flat, irregular sized stones. The buildings, though serving the same functions, also appeared to have been built with increased care. Stonework graced the construction with greater frequency, from a simple set of steps to solid walls.
When he asked Hilliard about the crowding that had forced the newcomers outside, the young noble pointed to the ground when the crowd parted long enough to see. Set into the ground along with the pavers, iron plaques marked exact boundary lines on every property.
“There is no unused land,” he explained. “The difference is that when these buildings were constructed, the architectural preferences of the time did not construct to the very edges of the property, unlike today. You will see most of these buildings occupy the center of their lots, leaving space surrounding on the sides. See there?”
