by RG Long
18: Mountain Gate
Lote was still in a bad mood. Nothing the Red Guard could tell her about why they closed the gate when the troll was chasing them down could calm her anger. Ealrin could see her seething everytime Fray, the leader of the guard at the Mountain Gate, approached her.
They made many claims.
Some of them said that the gate malfunctioned and closed on its own. Others said that they closed the gate out of fear for the townspeople inside the gate. Still others claimed that they misheard the elf's instructions to them.
None of these words from Fray or any of the Red Guard, the defenders of The Mountain Gate and the military of Beaton, could convince Lote that they hadn't shut them out on purpose.
"Cowardice," she would mutter under her breath every so often.
Ealrin felt like she was right on some levels. On the other hand, as he looked around the city that was contained within the walls of the gate, he understood what might drive them to shut out a fully-grown and monstrous troll.
The Mountain Gate was much more than the wall and iron gate Ealrin had thought it would be. In fact, it was an entire city, nestled between two mountains and protected on either side by formidable walls. True to its name, two massive iron gates closed in the city on the east and west sides. To the north and south were impassable cliffs. Inside these natural and manmade barriers, a city flourished. Women, children, families old and young lived here.
No wonder they didn't want a troll destroying the lives safely protected by the gates. This was a city of safety.
A street ran through the city's center, from one gate to the other. On the southern side of the street, businesses and shops lined the road. Metal workers, bakers, craftsmen and farmers sold their goods. On the other side of the road, and taking up a much larger space, were the houses of those who inhabited the city.
Ealrin was relieved to see diversity here. Dwarves and elves lived among men as they did in Thoran.
Good, he thought as he walked the streets during their second day there. Androlion's hate hasn't spread here yet.
In the very center of Mountain Gate were two buildings that faced each other. One was the barracks and offices of the Red Guard. It was a two-story building made of stone. Ornate columns decorated the front and a red flag flew over the entrance. A black castle encased in a shield emblazoned the banner.
On the opposite side of the street, a one story stone building. This building was raised higher than the other single story structures around it. Ten steps led to the large wooden double doors. On either side of these flew a flag identical to the one on the Red Guard building, but without the shield.
Ealrin stood directly in between these two. The only reason they had yet to pass through Mountain Gate and into Beaton was because of the differences between the two who were in charge of the buildings.
Fray, the leader of the Red Guard, had seen the group’s fighting prowess and was very impressed. But he would rather send them back to Thoran instead of inviting diplomatic missions to the capital.
"We are tasked with ensuring the safety of Beaton," he had said at their first meeting in the Red Guard's offices. The room held his unusually large wooden desk and several bookshelves crammed with old volumes. Ealrin doubted whether the old man had read every book there or just kept them for show. Fray's mustache and beard were graying much faster than the black hair on his head. It gave the impression of a slow decay that only half of the parties involved knew about. "It sounds as if you want to drag us into this war you southerners have begun."
Lote had sprung from the musty smelling room without another word, leaving Ealrin, Gorplin, and Tory to follow out with a few awkward glances and half hearted apologies to the captain.
Susan, the leader of the people of Mountain Gate, was sympathetic to their calls and wanted to grant them passage.
"I think it is very noble of you to desire to find help for your friends," she told them in her own office that was much different than old Fray's.
Her quarters were a simple small room with a writing desk and one chest of drawers.
Unlike Fray, Susan had a large following of different city council members. Many of them were willing to do her bidding, or offer her advice on one matter or another, or simply trying to learn from her wisdom.
She would often gesture to one of them and tell them to take a note to remind her of a future task. "I must speak with the baker in the morning," she said. "Oh, and we need to put in a request for more food for the farm workers, they've been famished with the harvest."
Their conversation was very disjointed due to this.
"Unfortunately," she said as she turned back to the company that had gathered at her office. "I am unable to grant you passage without the Red Guard’s signature."
She let out a deep sigh and rubbed her temples. Many of her advisers exchanged knowing glances at one another and shook their heads.
"We've tried to develop a system of checks and balances on one another so that the military does not have more power than the civic branch of government. I fear, however, that all we have really accomplished is preventing one another from getting anything of significance done. "
Susan turned to an adviser and asked them to schedule an appointment with the head of the farmers’ union sometime next week to discuss the soldiers’ rations again.
"You'll have to convince Fray to let you pass, or I fear your journey is bound to end here."
They mumbled thanks and walked out of her office and into the afternoon light.
"Bah," Gorplin said as he stretched his arms out wide with a deep groan. "This is not how the dwarves rule over their kingdoms. What nonsense. Why not just make a decision and get things done?"
Ealrin was frustrated with the process himself. It seemed like far too much politics and trying to ensure that no one party has too much power. But like Susan pointed out, instead of making things equal for everyone, it seems that no one was able to accomplish anything. Least of all letting a small group pass from one country to another.
"Should we just sneak out under the cover of darkness?" Tory suggested as they walked back to the small inn where they had purchased three rooms for themselves. "I think that would skip all the paperwork."
Gorplin snickered.
"That it would, I agree."
"But there's the problem of raising the gate to let us out," Lote said coldly. "Not to mention the fact that we would want to pass this way again on our return journey. Hopefully the armies of three different nations will accompany us. "
Tory and Gorplin looked down at the dirt, dejected. The one time they had agreed on a solution, the idea was put to rest.
"I say we eat supper and think about it on full bellies," Bertrom offered as they neared their lodging place.
"I wholeheartedly agree with that suggestion," Jurrin said as he saw them returning from his spot on the stairs of the inn. "What are we discussing again?" he asked.
***
DINNER WAS SERVED AT their lodging place and the company ate well. As the party now was eight strong, the innkeeper was quite busy preparing their food.
The owner of the inn was ecstatic that he actually had guests, let alone enough to fill three rooms.
Situated right beside the barracks and the Red Guard's offices, “The Vagabond” was the only inn in Mountain Gate. Like most of the buildings in the city, the inn had seen better times.
The dining hall was big enough to seat at least fifty. Ealrin remembered that The Rusty Hook had only been capable of twenty guests or so at a time. It was a large two-story building. The rooms were situated on a balcony that wrapped around the entire inn. Any patron could, at any time, walk out of their quarters and look down on the dining hall to see who was eating and milling about down below.
Now the only guests in the inn were the eight gathered around two tables pushed together for the purpose of their evening meal.
What once surely was a fine collection of stuffed animals and shields and paint
ings that decorated the walls were now all covered in dust and needing more than a little care and attention. The metal utensils were slightly bent and rusted and the tablecloth was stained from previous lively occasions. An entire staff had once worked the place from top to bottom. Now the old innkeeper only unlocked it when the opportunity arrived.
The first night, they had waited an hour for him to actually find the key.
Marterior Morninside, or Marty as he asked them to call him, was an aging widower. His wife had died ten years previous and the two never had children. He worked the inn when it was needed and tended his small farm the rest of the time.
Marty spent every meal telling them stories of previous patrons, all of which he could recall with uncanny detail.
"It's been a month since the last time I had to open up the inn! A family from Beaton came to visit a long lost relative. All blonde haired and blue eyed folk. Two sons and a daughter, plus their mother and father of course. Come to visit their great-aunt. Course the great-aunt turned out to be dead. Still, they stayed a week and then went back home after settling her affairs. Sad tale that one."
Most of his stories were sad ones.
Not many traveled from Thoran on to Beaton and fewer came from Beaton to the gate. It had once been a well-traveled road. One hundred years ago, armies marched back and forth through the city as they sought to conquer the goblins and trolls that inhabited the forest and mountains of Thoran and the plains of Beaton.
When peace was established and the grey skinned were banished to the Maw, the armies quit their marching and trade between the two nations became laborious.
All that was left to populate Mountain Gate were families of the Red Guard and those who had been sent to man the city's fortifications.
"So like it or not, someone here in the gate is kin to someone else, depending on how far back you go," the innkeeper reminded them for the fifth time.
"Why, Susan is my fifth cousin," he added proudly. "Twice removed, as you say."
"Are you related to old Fray, sir?" Jurrin asked.
The halfling liked the Red Guard leader. He couldn't put it into words, but he was fond of his quirks and all. Ealrin certainly didn't understand it.
And neither did the innkeeper.
"My third cousin," he said dryly. Obviously he was not as proud of this as he was his relation to Susan.
Conversation moved on to how to get past the gate as the innkeeper went to busy himself in the kitchen.
"If we lowered ourselves over the gate..." Gorplin thought out loud.
"They'd make sure we never crossed back through," interrupted Lote. "Or they may just decide to come after us because we broke one of Beaton's law. Would you like to tell Teresa we failed to follow orders because of your ignorance?"
The dwarf glared at Lote and stuffed a biscuit into his mouth, upset and defeated.
Several other options were offered up. Most of them involved some type of scaling the wall, sneaking out of the gate, or trying to fool the Red Guard into allowing them across the border.
"Does anyone have any better suggestions?" Lote asked irritably.
"Safety," Bertrom said as he swallowed his spoon of soup.
"What was that?" Lote said turning her attention to Bertrom, who up until this point had been silent.
Conversation around the dinner table halted and all eyes turn to Bertrom, who cleared his throat and began to look very uncomfortable.
He squirmed in his seat and looked like he didn't know what to do with the spoon in his hand anymore.
"Fray told us that the Red Guard’s responsibility is to keep the country safe, right?"
Bertrom was motioning at different parts of the table with his hand as he talked. Ealrin knew he was trying to get them to follow his train of thought.
"So we either have to convince him that Beaton is not safe or that if an attack came the Red Guard couldn't handle it alone."
Several around the table furrowed their brows or gave the food in their mouths an additional chew while they thought on these words.
Tory spoke first.
"What makes you think we can assume that Beaton is safe even now? You know ole graybeard should be able to see reason on that. Nothing would stop Androlion from coming further north. Especially if Thoran falls."
"Thoran will not fall."
Gaflion's voice was loud and clear. Ealrin couldn't tell if the soldier was threatening Tory, or merely stating an irrefutable fact.
Tory looked down at the table sheepishly.
It was Lote's turn to clear her throat.
"None of us want that to happen, Gaflion," she said in what Ealrin was sure was her most comforting voice. Coming from the very commanding elf, however, it still sounded like battle orders.
"We have to assume that it is at least in the realm of possibility. Androlion is continuing to amass soldiers from the Southern Republic and we know that for some reason he has seen fit to use goblins to do his dirty work. If he were to utilize his full force against Thoran today, I'm not sure our country would last the month."
“You must not become so disheartened or so downcast, Lote,” Gaflion said as he went back to his meal.
Ealrin admired him.
Gaflion had fallen hard during the battle with the troll. At least three of his ribs had been broken. He tried to act like it wasn't a bad injury, but Ealrin knew better. He had seen the bruises on him and knew that any off-putting down by Gaflion was all show. He was hurt badly.
“Still,” Tory said, returning to the conversation. “It seems like Fray seems to think Beaton is safer with us on the Thoran side of the border. He doesn't want a part of this war.”
“But he's refusing to believe that he inevitably will be right in the middle of it,” Lote replied.
“So we have to convince him that the Red Guard can't handle the situation on their own. Maybe we could offer him aid?” Tory retorted.
“We were sent to get aid, remember?” Lote argued. “Not give it. And if we can't get past that infernal gate it doesn't seem like we'll even be able to do that.”
A throat cleared behind them.
Marty had been standing at the door to the kitchen for some time apparently. He rested against the frame, a towel draped over his shoulder.
“Sorry for eavesdropping on you, but I may have an answer for your troubles,” he said as he walked to the table with a tray full of bread.
Gorplin snatched some from it greedily.
“Fray may be a fool and a law crazed leader of the Red Guard, but he's superstitious to his core. I once saw him spill a pinch of salt and nearly empty the rest of his container over his shoulder, thinking some ghost might come get him if he didn't.”
He eased himself into a chair he drug over to the table and positioned himself between Ealrin and Bertrom.
“The last person he let through here was a suspicious looking character. It took a small fortune to convince Fray that he was someone worth allowing passage. Big hulk of a man. Important looking person.”
“Well we don't have a small fortune to help us convince Fray to allow us to pass,” Tory said in a mocking tone. “Should we have packed the treasure chests?”
A quick glare from Lote made him hush.
“Tell us more about the man,” Lote said. “What was his purpose?”
“Wouldn't tell anyone. But money does a lot of talking, even here in Mountain Gate. Pay the right guard and get your job done. Even Susan has had to cut her budgets and redirect funds in order to see her projects through.”
“What did he look like?” Ealrin said, now curious about this one who made it through the gate. “You said he was suspicious.”
“Definitely a character,” Marty continued. “He carried a fancy spear with him. Finest looking weapon I've ever laid my old eyes on. Wore green and white. I believe it was a griffin design on his chest.”
Lote, Ealrin, and Tory stood so quickly the table rocked. A few mugs and a candle went flying to the floor. Gorplin st
ood on his chair and waved his ax in fury. Many were talking at once.
“The Southern Republic!”
“A Merc!?”
“How dare he!”
Lote yelled the loudest.
“Androlion’s crest! You let a Merc through because he paid you enough!” she yelled at Marty, pointing a finger at him threateningly.
The poor innkeeper retreated into his chair, regretting that he had entered the conversation.
“Hold on there!” he replied, throwing up his hands. “I didn't let nobody through so don't point fingers at me! And remember, at this point, Beaton isn't on anyone's side in the struggles you all are going through down there.”
Lote sat down, still fuming. The rest followed her example.
“You said he looked like an important person,” Ealrin said, still seething a bit himself but trying to calm. “Do you think he could have been a general? Did you get his name?”
“I remember every name of all my patrons. Unfortunately he only stayed the better part of a day. I didn't get to ask. Fray mentioned it in passing and I overheard, but it was hard to make out. Some funny sounding name. Maybe started with a Z or V?”
“I bet it was Verde,” Tory said, his eyes narrowed.
Ealrin agreed. Ale and anger allowed his words to flow freely.
“So the Red Guard lets a murderer and a general of a madman through with the right amount of gold, but the delegation of a country who is in need of aid is stalled because Beaton doesn’t want to be drug into some war? Pathetic.”
He crossed his arms and sat in his chair.
“What do you suggest we do then, Master Marterior?” Gaflion asked. “We have no treasure, nor apparently, the right motivation to convince Fray we should be allowed access.”
Marty straightened up in his chair. It took him a minute to regain his composure. Ealrin suddenly felt upset at himself for being mad at the innkeeper. He hadn't been the one to let Verde through.
He drank from a mug of ale and began talking calmly again.
“Now that family that came in here a month before said that a part of that dark comet still floating in the sky broke off and landed on the horizon while they were traveling here. Worried them something awful. And ever since that family left, there's been tales of strange things happening on the Beaton side of the gate.”