by I K Spencer
After a breakfast of bacon, mush, and weak tea he mounted up and continued west in the gray before dawn. The streets were empty save for a few other early-risers. He stared up the street to the inn where Urvena slept as he passed, picturing her in a white gown, slumbering peacefully in a big, soft, canopied bed. He smiled at the thought and regretfully turned away as the inn passed from his view.
The eastern wall of Verilia, facing Dolonar, was much sturdier and more heavily manned than the western ramparts through which he had passed to enter the city. During the last war, Verilia had faced the real possibility of siege, though the worst Dolonarian invasions did not reach quite this far west. There were double walls that Anthen guessed to be easily fifteen feet tall and the gate was heavy oak reinforced with iron. The guards paid no attention to the young guardsman as he rode past them and out of the city.
Once outside the walls, the scenery quickly changed to farmlands. Anthen rode steadily east on a good road through the flat country. Throughout the day, intermittent showers pelted him and he saw no sign of the sun. The farms he passed were large and abutted one another, with few breaks in between. The towns he rode through, composed typically of a lone tavern and a few ramshackle shops, were just small breaks in the endless farmland. Trees were sparse; the farmers seemed content to allow just enough forest to remain for their firewood and building needs.
He was generally alone on the muddy road but would pass or overtake a traveler every few miles. The lonely guardsman thought often of the beautiful maiden, picturing her at tea and shopping with friends and relatives. In truth, the world of an upper class maiden was a complete mystery to him. It did not occur to him that she might have suitors or be seeing other men.
Late in the afternoon, Anthen stopped in front of a small farm bordering a creek. He hadn't seen an inn since mid-morning and thought the creek would be a good place to camp for the night. He saw an old man working in the yard and urged his mount forward into the yard.
"Hail!" called Anthen as he dismounted.
The white-haired settler nodded but did not smile. Anthen imagined that few strangers stopped there and the few that did weren't all that welcome.
"Sir, I am traveling east and seek shelter for the night. Is there an inn near or other place I might lodge?"
"Nay. 'Tis a full day's ride to the only inn 'tween 'ere and the Dolonhold," the man said, shaking his head. "Few travel east o' Verilia these days." He looked placidly at Anthen, a long-stemmed pipe in the corner of his mouth.
"Sir, for a few coins would you allow me to camp over there near the creek and sell me a bit of firewood and feed for the horse?"
"Aye. There's a sweet spot just t'other side o' those oaks. Plenty o' fallen branches for yer fire. Watch the rain. That creek'll rise fast and before ye know it yer bedclothes and yer arse be soaked, hee hee." The old man wheezed with laughter.
They agreed on a price for the feed and the farmer motioned for Anthen to follow him into the stable with his empty feed sack. While the man filled the sack, Anthen queried of any news from the border region. The old man echoed some of the same ominous tales the guardsman had heard before and added his opinion that the "Dolonary Pigs" were up to no good. As Anthen departed, the man repeated his warning about the creek rising, laughing just as hard the second time.
Anthen mounted and rode toward the spot on the creek the man had pointed out, skirting the freshly planted fields. He followed a path through the budding oak trees to a grassy area that sloped to the water's edge. Heeding the old farmer's warning, he made his camp far from the water along the edge of the oaks where the ground was driest.
The guardsman pulled the saddle and bridle from Rorc and led the big bay down to the water to drink. He quenched his own thirst from the cold, clear water, then went back up to the camp. Unlike most horses, guardsman mounts were trained not to stray far from their masters and did not have to be tethered or hobbled.
He found plenty of fallen firewood and soon had a good blaze started with the driest pieces. The rest he piled near the fire to dry. He fixed a pot of creek water over the fire to heat and doled out some feed for Rorc. He then saw to his own meal, throwing some dried meat and vegetables into the pot to simmer and mixing up some batter to fry into little cakes.
Later on, Anthen sat with his back to a large oak near the warm blaze and ate the nearly tasteless, thin stew. The only sound was the fire, hissing from the ceaseless drops falling off the bare branches in the intermittent rain. He mopped the last of the stew with the fried cakes and drained his coffee mug. After cleaning up and seeing to Rorc, he bedded down next to the fire, warm and dry beneath his protective cloak. He thought briefly of both Urvena and Cidrl, experiencing the accompanying range of emotions, then dropped off to sleep. He stirred at the first signs of light before dawn and had already finished his morning routine and was packing up to leave when he heard the farmer's rooster announce dawn. The morning was cold and gray but the rain held off as he left the camp.
The young guardsman continued east throughout the day. He pushed Rorc's pace a bit, hoping to reach the inn mentioned by the old timer before dark. The flatlands gradually gave way to gentle hills and more often there were tracts of forest along both sides of the road between farms. The road itself, Anthen noted, looked less traveled as well, narrower with weed growth between the wheel ruts.
He reached the roadhouse just after sunset. It was small and looked to be in poor repair, more like a peasant farmhouse than an inn. He could not picture Urvena setting foot in the place. He stabled Rorc and entered the single-story dwelling. The door opened to a dimly lit tavern with a dirt floor and a few mismatched tables and chairs. The air was smoky and the room smelled as though it recently housed livestock.
The murky room was empty save a lone figure sitting bent over a bowl of food at a table near the fireplace. As the guardsman's eyes adjusted to the poor light, a dark, bearded face took shape behind the bowl. The man's eyes watched Anthen but gave no reaction to the nod he offered. Anthen turned to the only other doorway and watched as a small, grimy-looking man emerged. The man saw him and shuffled forward, scrutinizing the warrior from head to toe. He saw the man's gaze light on his sword, then shift nervously back and forth between the newcomer and the man seated by the fire. Taking a step back from the little man, Anthen guessed he had learned the source of the room's stench.
"Welcome young pilgrim. Welcome to the Savior Inn, gateway to the mountains! Room and board for the young squire?" The little man talked fast and his speech was too wordy for a commoner.
"Room, board, and stable for my mount," Anthen nodded as he answered. "How many?"
"Aye. Take good care of your steed. All the supper you can eat. Ale. Pallet off the cold, hard ground. Only inn left on the road." The reeking little man ticked off the inn's alleged comforts, then reached to help Anthen with his gear.
"How many?" Anthen repeated in a more commanding tone and the smile disappeared from the innkeeper's dirty face.
"Ten p-p-pieces, sir," the innkeeper answered quietly.
Anthen chuckled without smiling. "I have paid only two for lodging with a stable more agreeable than this pit."
The comment drew a low growl of laughter from the man in the corner. Anthen and the innkeeper both turned to briefly look at the seated figure, the little man seemingly as surprised as Anthen to get a reaction from the bearded man. Anthen waited a moment for the innkeeper to respond but the man said nothing and he turned to leave.
"Ah, sir. I did not notice that you are a representative of the crown," the innkeeper quickly called after Anthen, wiping his hands on a filthy apron. "Of course, two pieces is the amount for someone like yourself in the King’s service. In advance."
Anthen was neither surprised nor concerned that the innkeeper assumed he was a soldier, though the man might have made the statement only to save face after lowering his price. Guardsmen were commonly assumed to be cavalry officers given their fine mounts, typically large stature, dress, sp
eech and weaponry.
"First, let us see what you call a room," Anthen answered in a guarded tone.
The filthy innkeeper scurried towards the door through which he had entered and Anthen followed, none too closely. They went through the door, which led to a small kitchen. Straight back through the kitchen the pair entered a dim hallway with a few doorways on either side. The little man turned into the second room on the left. Anthen looked in at the doorway; the narrow cell had no window and a filthy blanket for a door. Anthen passed that room and stopped at the next. This room, though just as small, possessed a window and a wooden door. He entered the room and deposited his gear on the floor.
The innkeeper hurried in after him. "Squire, this room fetches more—"
"This room will suffice," Anthen interrupted and tossed two coins to the surprised innkeeper. "Bring me hot water and wash basin. Wait, strike that. Have someone familiar with such articles do the errand."
The guardsman took the odorous man's lamp, pushed him out and closed the door. The bed was just a frame with crisscrossed rope but minus ticking or bedclothes, which he was thankful for. Given the filth of the place, bedbugs would be a certainty. A small table and stool comprised the room's remaining furniture. He laid a blanket over the bed frame and laid down to rest while waiting for the hot water.
There was a soft knock at the door. Anthen rose from the bed and warned the visitor, whom he assumed to be the innkeeper, that the water had better be both clean and hot. Instead, the door opened to a frightened, dour woman carrying the water and basin. The thin woman wore a large bonnet that covered most of her face and he could not tell if she might be the innkeeper's unfortunate wife or perhaps a daughter. The woman stood cowering in the doorway, afraid to enter or look at him.
"Madam, please set that on the table. Thank you," Anthen said in a far gentler voice.
The woman hurried in, did as he asked, and hurried back to the door. She stopped instantly when he held up a shiny gold piece.
"Madam, is supper ready?"
She nodded, eyeing the coin but still not daring to glance at its bearer.
"What have you in the pot?" asked Anthen, twirling the shiny coin in front of her face.
"Cabbage, beans, bit o' rabbit," said the woman slowly, pausing after each item to remember what else might have been thrown in there recently.
"Well, you fetch me a bowl, a good hunk of bread, and mug of ale; and this piece is yours. Mind you, put some meat in that bowl."
"Aye!" the woman said excitedly and hurried out.
Anthen stripped off his clothes and bathed quickly, afraid the woman would rush back in her excitement to possess the gold. Even so, he was just lying down to rest again when there was another knock, less timid this time. He opened the door and this time the woman smiled quickly and came forward to set the tray on the table. He handed her the promised coin and pledged a second if she delivered more hot water to him at dawn's first light. She nodded profusely and literally skipped from the room with glee, looking younger by a decade.
Anthen scrutinized the contents of the bowl. True to her word, the guardsman did find a few hunks of meat and there was a fair-sized portion of beans and cabbage in the watery broth. She even had picked the surface mold from the hunk of hard bread. He softened the stale bread by dunking it in the soup and quickly wolfed down the filling but tasteless meal.
After the meal, Anthen went out to feed and water Rorc. The woman was in the kitchen as he passed through and she turned bright red when the young warrior smiled at her. The barroom was empty, the fire burning low.
He stepped out into the brisk spring night, carrying the lamp from his room. He crossed the mud to the hovel that served as a stable and greeted his friend. He cleaned out the squalid stall and refilled it with the least-filthy hay he could find. He gave the horse fresh water and more feed from the supply he had purchased the previous day. Finally, he brushed out the bay's rich chestnut coat.
When Anthen walked into the tavern he noticed the bearded man was back, this time hunched over a mug of ale instead of a bowl. The man rose and walked slowly toward the little innkeeper, who stood nervously by the kitchen door. Standing, the bearded man was as tall as the guardsman and heavier by at least two score pounds. The dark figure's eyes never left Anthen as he walked but his expression was neutral. Anthen approached the pair and halted.
"Kilthy 'ere says ye robbed 'im," the bearded man said slowly, swallowing nervously.
The words were slightly slurred and Anthen figured the stranger had bolstered his courage with ale. The greasy innkeeper's eyes darted back and forth between the two with a slight smile on his face. Anthen shifted his gaze to the little man, who flinched slightly under his stare.
"Stand down stranger," warned the guardsman, ignoring the accusation and turning to face the bearded man. "I've no quarrel with you and you know well that this man is a liar."
Anthen stared blankly at the bearded man, giving him the chance to back away. The man swallowed again but did not move out of the way. Instead, he reached behind him and pulled out a dagger. Anthen could see fear in his dark eyes and rivulets of sweat running down his dirty face.
Anthen shook his head with resignation and slowly put the lamp down on the nearest table. The innkeeper, Kilthy, thinking the movement was an act of submission, smiled and stepped forward. Instead, Anthen suddenly whirled and delivered a kick to the outside of the bearded man's knee. Shrieking in pain, the man dropped the knife and flopped to the ground, no longer a threat. Kilthy started to scream but before he could utter a sound, the guardsman had him by the throat, pinned against the wall off the ground with his feet kicking wildly. Anthen drew his dagger and rested it against the wretched man's face, his bulging eyes very white against the dirty face, darkening further as he struggled for air.
"We are not going to have any further disagreements are we?" Anthen said calmly, his blue eyes boring into the vile innkeeper.
Kilthy formed the word "no" and shook his head from side to side as best he could in the guardsman's vice-like grip.
"That is well. For if I am troubled from any quarter, this dagger's first target will be your slimy head. Is that clear?"
Kilthy, near to passing out, nodded weakly. Anthen relaxed his grip and the little man fell to the ground.
"Crippled! 'e crippled me!" the bearded man bellowed, holding his knee.
"Fool! Hold your tongue or I will cripple you." Anthen pried the sobbing man's hands away and examined the twisted knee. "Wrap the knee in rags soaked in cold water and stay off the leg for a few days and it will heal." He drew his sword and rested the tip on the bearded man's chest. "Cross me ever again and you will have stumps for legs."
The man moaned and nodded, his dark eyes wide with fear. The guardsman glared at both men once more and then strode out of the barroom, confident that he would not be disturbed further. Even so, the professional soldier slept with both his sword and bow within arm's length.
Anthen was already up when the serving woman delivered his hot water before dawn. She smiled broadly and greeted him warmly. He was glad to see her so happy, such a change from the wretched figure that first came into his room the day before. Hopefully she’d not boasted of the coins or her master would seize them the instant the guardsman had ridden from view. Along with the water, she brought his breakfast—tea and fresh, warm bread he could tell she had baked especially for him. He thanked her, gave her the pledged coin, and bid her farewell.
After his usual morning routine, Anthen gratefully left the squalid inn and continued east as the sun rose. The day was warm and bright, another taste of spring quite welcome after the last few days of cloudy and wet weather. He could see the white peaks of the Savior Mountains clearly in the distance.
The range was named for its role in protecting Isaencarl from Dolonarian attack throughout the ages. Since the beginning of the seemingly eternal conflict, no organized enemy force had made it past the natural boundary. There was but one pass and in th
e middle of the pass, at its peak, stood a garrison. The fort was heavily armed and had never fallen, thus over the centuries the fortress had aptly come to be known as Dolonhold. In times of peace, part of the garrison served as an inn for travelers crossing the rugged mountains.
All through the day, Anthen climbed and descended the foothills west of the mountains. In general, the road now was surrounded by thick, dark forests, with more and more evergreens but occasionally, Anthen would happen upon a clear hilltop and pause to survey the land with his telescope. In the distance to either side, he sometimes saw wisps of smoke and wondered what kind of hardy people tried to carve out a life in this untamed region. He also often turned the scope to the rear, pondering the whereabouts of his alleged bodyguard.
As dusk neared, the guardsman reached the base of the mountains. He set up camp next to a mountain stream in a small clearing. The remains from several campfires suggested it to be a convenient spot to spend the night and in the shallows of the clear pool, he was able to spear a few brook trout for supper. It was tricky shooting and good practice, compensating for distortion caused by the water. He laid the succulent fish in hot grease to fry and set to mixing batter for fried cakes. The smell made his mouth water.
All at once Anthen set down the mixing bowl and reached for his bow, his special sense warning that he was being approached. He slowly turned, scanning the woods for movement and listening for unusual sounds, or the lack of sound. A flicker to the north caught his eye and he caught sight of a figure advancing through a stand of large spruce.
The shape was darkly clad and barely visible in the gloom beneath the thick spruce. It appeared to Anthen that the form was moving slowly, yet it seemed to be nearing rapidly. Within a few seconds, the guardsman could distinguish a torso and the long, thin limbs of a man. Atop the stranger's head was a round, wide-brimmed hat unfamiliar to Anthen and the traveler walked with a bowed head so he could not see a face. The young guardsman marveled at the speed at which the stranger approached, with long, slow strides that spanned a great distance but made no sound.
