“Thank you, Qyxal.” The icy tingle that was the elf's healing magic entered Justan’s leg and he gritted his teeth against the sensation. It was like an intense itch inside his bone. “And how did you get Gwyrtha to sit still through that healing?”
“Oh, she has been healed magically before. Her first master was a wizard, remember?”
“I see.” Justan gestured back to Huck’s remains. “Can you explain this?”
“This is beyond me,” Qyxal said. “Zambon has been telling me what he learned in Sampo on the way up here. I think you will find that the information he has gathered will give us a better picture of what is going on.”
“Good,” Justan said. “But first let’s get out of this clearing and be on our way. The two men that escaped may come back with reinforcements.”
The three companions led their mounts away from the clearing and through the forest to a trail Qyxal had found that paralleled the main road. It was there that Zambon told them what he had found in Sampo.
“Evidently the Sampo merchants have been having a horrible time with orcs and bandits on the road from Dremald. The main caravans being attacked have been the arms merchants. As a result, the armor and weapons trades in the town are suffering heavily, and in a place where it is against the law to leave one’s home without a weapon, the whole city is in an uproar.”
“But the BattleAcademy should be patrolling that road,” Qyxal said.
“That was exactly my reaction,” The guard replied. “From what I was able to learn, the BattleAcademy's resources have been sorely taxed as goblin and orc raids along Dremaldria’s border have increased recently. For some reason, King Andre has refused to send any more soldiers to assist them. He says that he needs to send his soldiers elsewhere.”
“Why?” Justan asked.
“I heard something about the new duke losing a whole regiment of king’s guards fighting goblins on his own border. I don't know. It wasn't too clear. The point is that the academy can't spare the men to patrol the road now and the king refuses to do even that.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Justan said, concern darkening his features. “As long as I can remember, the academy has been able to handle all of the patrols without a problem. Even the year they had that troll infestation in the upper marshlands, the academy made sure that all the other patrols were filled.”
“Something strange is brewing in the world,” Qyxal said. “I can practically feel it in the very earth.”
Zambon nodded. “In the marketplace, I heard whispers of ogres and trolls and giants fighting alongside the goblinoids.” Zambon said. “One man claimed that the Dark prophet was returning! The Dark Prophet!”
“Army's of goblins in the mountains, the academy hard pressed . . .” Justan thought about the remains of Huck on the ground. “Mutated orcs attacking caravans alongside humans . . .” He shivered. “Qyxal is right. Something bad is going on, but there's nothing we can do about it. We have our own quest to work out. This just means that we need to be extra careful in our journey.
“Zambon, we need you to scout ahead. You know the lay of the land on the way to Dremald better than us. Qyxal, you keep a sharp eye out for danger as well. Use your magic if you have to. I don't want to have to fight another orc like that if we can avoid it.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
They had to stay off the main road and even though it was deep into the fall, the undergrowth in the area was so thick that they couldn’t ride. They had to lead the horses through the trees, sometimes hacking their way through, while being careful to scout ahead so that they could avoid being seen by anyone. The journey from Sampo to Dremald would normally have taken four days on horseback, but it took them twice as long.
They had to go out of their way to avoid bandit ambushes three times in the first two days alone. Zambon said that these groups were mixed of orcs and men, but he saw no orcs looking anything like Huck.
It also didn’t help that the air grew colder as they traveled closer to Dremald. The companions couldn’t build a fire at night because of the bandits and soon, they were all quite miserable. Out of all of them, Gwyrtha was the only one who kept her cheer. Her mood was starting to grate on Justan’s nerves.
Justan spent the journey upset about his broken sword. He had no idea how he would replace the perfectly balanced weapon. It wasn’t until they were only a day away from Dremald that it occurred to him.
“Hah! I am so stupid, I can’t believe that I didn’t think of it before!”
“And what is that, oh Loud One?” Qyxal grumbled.
“I don’t need to worry about my broken sword. I have a friend in Dremald that would be happy to fix it for me.”
“Who?”
“Lenny!” he said.
“The dwarf?” Zambon asked, having just come back from scouting the rocky ground ahead.
“A dwarf,” Qyxal spat in distaste.
“Yes,” Justan said. “He is a master blacksmith and he promised me that if I ever saw him again, he would make me a weapon that sings.” The elf didn’t look too impressed
“Look, Qyxal, he gave me this dagger.” Justan drew the double-bladed weapon from its sheath and handed it to him. “Look at the craftsmanship!”
Qyxal’s eyes opened wide when he saw it.
“Justan, you can’t show this to anyone,” he said. Zambon came over to see what the elf was talking about. “This is a rune-marked weapon. With two runes nonetheless. This would give you away just as easily as the runes that you hide under those gloves.”
“He’s right, Justan.” Zambon said. “Not to mention the fact that the handle is made of silver. It cries out for someone to try and steal it. I suggest that you pack it away.”
Justan nodded and put it away. He understood their reasoning, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He was looking forward to seeing his friend.
He nudged Qyxal. “You know, you might actually like this dwarf.”
“Why would I do that? They are noisy, they are rude and they have a disregard for nature.”
“Your people didn’t seem to mind him.”
“That is because my people are polite,” Qyxal mumbled.
“Actually, he seemed to know the proper manners to use around your people. But I think that it was his pepperbean stew that they appreciated.”
A gleam came into Qyxal’s eyes. “Pepperbean stew you say?”
“Yes, he grows them himself. Your people also loved the firewater he gave them.”
“Firewater?” Qyxal grinned. “That would be something. I haven’t had any since entering the MageSchool. I would quite like to have some . . . but it is against the rules and I am still a student, even if the school is far away.” He was silent for a moment. “I would like to have some pepperbean stew, though. Perhaps meeting this dwarf friend of yours wouldn’t be so bad after all.”
Justan laughed.
The next morning Justan left Qyxal with Gwyrtha and the horses, while he and Zambon went down into the city of Dremald. They left behind any items that would draw attention to them, including Justan’s Jharro Bow and his dagger.
The capital city of Dremaldria was enormous. It overwhelmed Sampo, which was the largest city that Justan had ever seen. Dremald sprawled across the land as far as he could see; a conglomeration of people and buildings that was so intricate, it was hard for Justan to comprehend.
Zambon noticed Justan’s wide-eyed look and shook his head.
“Listen, Justan. I think that it would be best if you follow my lead once we get to the city. This is your quest, but you don’t have any experience in a city this large. I stayed here on guard assignment for six months and I know my way around.”
“Sure Zambon, whatever you think is best,” Justan said, half in a trance at the city’s sheer size.
As they came closer, farmhouses appeared along either side of the road and Justan looked forward to being in a city again. He had, after all spent most of his life in the city of Reneul and though he had mostly ke
pt to himself, he found the presence of all the humanity comforting.
They soon saw the formal gates of the city, which were more of a symbolic representation of a gate than anything else. They were meant to be impressive, two huge elaborately chiseled arches and a sign proclaiming welcome to visitors, but the perimeter of the city wasn’t fortified at all and people came and went as they pleased. The true walls of Dremald surrounded the inner section and the king’s castle. The last war to come anywhere close to Dremald was the War of the Dark Prophet and that was two hundred years ago. Since then, the city had grown far too large to be contained and the formal city gates had to be moved outwards every couple of years as the city grew.
As they approached the gates, Zambon drew Justan aside.
“This may take more time than I thought. We need to get our provisions and find Lenny and I don’t want to be in the city after dark.”
“Why don’t we split up then?” Justan asked.
Zambon sighed and reluctantly said, “Fine. Go ahead and ask for the whereabouts of the dwarf’s shop. While I am picking up provisions, I will do the same. Here are some general rules that should help you. Try not to wander too far from the main road. If you get lost, use the city gates as a point of reference. Meet me back here in an hour or so and we’ll go to Lenny’s shop together.”
“Okay.” Justan said, and started forward, his eyes trying to take in everything at once.
“Listen to me!” Zambon said, jolting Justan’s attention back to him.
“I am.”
“I am serious, Justan. I know that you can take care of yourself, but Dremald is crawling with thieves and cutthroats. Don’t look too many people in the eye and please lose that stupid wide-eyed stare! People will see you as easy prey and we don’t need you arrested for killing some thief in self defense!”
“I understand Zambon. Don’t worry.” He steeled himself and walked forward, determined not to look like someone who had never seen a city before.
Zambon laughed. “Justan, you are a tough man when you act like yourself. But when you try to look tough, you just look like a man who is trying to look tough.”
Justan nodded and tried not to look like he was trying too hard. He kept to the main road and tried not to marvel at every sight, but it was hard not to stare when everything he saw was so different. People of every race and color walked the streets. They were mostly human, but Justan saw several dwarves, a couple gnomes and even an elf.
All in all, Justan enjoyed himself. But he didn't have any luck finding Lenny. He asked several people, but no one seemed to be in the mood to talk. After a while, he stopped in a small market area and casually looked over the merchandise some of the merchants were selling.
“Hey, you new in Dremald, lad?” A colorfully dressed merchant asked.
“Yeah.” Justan said, and stared up the street. It was about time for him to be heading back to the city gate.
“Looking for something? I'm your man if you're looking for something in Dremald.”
Justan turned and eyed the man warily. He had been around enough merchants in his life that he knew most of them were cheats. But this man's eyes were bright and he had a kindly smile.
“Maybe you can help me. I'm looking for a friend of mine. His name's Lenny. He said that he owns a blacksmith shop here.”
The merchant shook his head but kept smiling. “Can't say as I know a Lenny, but,” the man winked. “For the right price I could find out.”
Justan smiled and shook his head. Friendly or not, the man was still a merchant. “Oh I doubt you could miss him. He's a dwarf. A large one, and he has a big handlebar mustache.”
“Curses a lot?”
Justan nodded.
“Yeah, that'd be Lenui Firegobbler. Does some of the best metalwork around. Hear he's run into a rough patch lately, though.”
“Really? Why?”
The merchant motioned across the street with his chin. “Men like that.”
Justan turned to see two men standing near an alleyway harassing a young woman who was passing by. She was protesting their advances quite loudly, but for some reason, no one else on the street paid attention. Justan made as if to cross the street but the merchant grabbed his arm.
“Let em be, lad. The lady'll be alright. It's best not to mess with their type.” Justan hesitated and the man pulled him back. “Let me tell you how to find Lenui. He's in the blacksmith district across town on the other side of the castle from here.”
“Okay. How do I know when I'm in the right place?” Justan asked, still keeping an eye on the two men. The lady was trying to leave but they kept getting in her way and stopping her.
“Oh, you'll know when you're there. You can hear it,” the man assured him.
Just then, the men grabbed the lady's arms and started dragging her into the alley. She screamed and kicked, but everyone on the street looked the other way and continued about their business.
The merchant saw the look in Justan's eyes. “Don't do it, la-”
Justan jerked out of the merchant's grasp and headed across the busy street.
“Hey!” Justan said as he approached the men. “Why don't you leave the lady alone? She doesn't want to go with you.”
The crowd of people in the streets drew back and watched Justan with disbelief. The men turned around and Justan recognized the shorter of the two as the scruffy man with the whiny voice from the forest, though he was wearing a strange tunic over his armor.
“Hey, I know you.” Justan said to the scruffy man and turned to the lady. “You should leave right away, miss. This man is a bandit.” The men let her go and with a grateful glance towards Justan, she scurried away quickly, melting into the crowd of people.
Now that she was gone, Justan didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to make a scene, but he knew that the man with the whiny voice would have answers to some of the questions that had been burning in his mind ever since the encounter in the forest.
The taller man that Justan didn’t recognize laughed.
“Charles, are you a bandit now?” The whiny voiced man didn’t answer. He was looking at Justan with terror in his eyes. The taller man stepped forward. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you scared away our dessert and I don’t like that. Don’t you know who we are?” he said pointing to an insignia on his chest that Justan didn’t recognize.
Justan didn’t quite know how to answer. “I don’t know you sir, but I recognize this one and he’s a bandit.”
The man with the whiny voice tugged on the other man’s jacket. “I know this guy, Robi. He’s the one that killed Huck.”
“This guy?” Suddenly the taller man lost his bravado.
Charles nodded and the taller man hurriedly pulled a small whistle out of his pocket and blew it. At the harsh sound, four more men converged on the scene from different shops nearby. They all wore tunics with the same unfamiliar insignia. One of them was the man with the leathery voice from the forest.
Justan knew that he was in trouble. He tried to dart away, but another man got in his path and he had a club in his hand. With a sigh, Justan drew his unbroken sword.
“Leave me be. I don’t want to have to kill any of you,” he said.
“You dare draw a sword on Duke Vriil’s men?” one of them exclaimed.
They rushed in on Justan and he had no choice but to fight back. He felt naked with just one sword, but the training Jhonate had put him through was a big help.
He darted towards the one man and made as if to slash at his head. The man raised a cudgel to block the attack, but Justan wasn’t really going after his head. He was going after the hand holding the cudgel. The man howled and clutched his wounded hand, but this wasn’t a one-on-one fight. One of the other men struck Justan in the back with a club. It was a heavy blow that knocked him forward, crashing into the wounded man. Justan didn’t have time to register the pain. He pushed the man out of the way and leapt to the side, avoiding a blow from one of the other men
with an axe.
Justan was unsure how to proceed. He had been outnumbered before, but this wasn’t like fighting goblins or moonrats. He could kill those evil beasts without remorse. These were men. For all he knew, they had wives and children waiting for them.
The six men closed in and Justan knew that in order to win, he would have to kill enough of them to scare the others off. He now understood why the crowd hadn’t tried to help the woman. Since they were employed by Duke Vriil, such an act would not be without grave consequences. The duke had the ear of the king.
“Listen, there is some misunderstanding here,” he said, hoping that they would hear him out.
Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) Page 30
