Neutral Parties

by Christopher J Taylor

  “Do sieges happen inside cities too?” he asked.

  “A siege can set a city ablaze,” said Cazmeran. “But I would guess that on this side, it has more to do with centuries of cook fires.”

  The gateway led directly to a wide main street that led deeper into the city. The buildings on either side of the street were packed tightly together and reached as far up as four floors. The street was as wide as the gateway and while not overly crowded, Taelyn was certain he saw more people than lived in Byrkhill just out in the street. The chatter of a dozen conversations mingled into a sound Taelyn could only compare to a flock of geese or ducks. The scent of meals cooking mixed with the odor of old manure and wood smoke. It was overwhelming.

  “This way,” Cazmeran called. “The guard here says the street leads to a market square and we can choose from a handful of inns there.”

  Taelyn looked to make sure Kovol had heard and saw him moving quickly to join Cazmeran. The orc had wrapped his cloak tightly around himself as if trying to shelter from the city itself. Taelyn almost wanted to join him, but the wonder of so much new experience stirred a thrill inside.

  Cazmeran led them along the street for almost half an hour before they suddenly stepped out into the market square. Each fall, Byrkhill would hold a harvest festival. Farmers from around the village would come to buy and sell extra produce or other goods. A few merchants would time their visit to coincide with the event and set up canvas awnings to offer shade while they tried to sell pots, pans or a bolt of cloth. Before him, Taelyn saw a thousand merchants under a thousand awnings and tents. The murmur of human chatter was nearly overwhelming. Only the occasional shout of a merchant hawking his particular wares and the unmistakable ring of a blacksmith’s hammers made the noise bearable. Taelyn found it comforting to see that most of the people wore clothing in familiar shades of brown, gray or tan. Faded blues and greens and reds blended in here and there, but the wealthiest, those who did not have to worry about brightly colored clothing being dulled by work or wear, stood out like sunlit spring flowers in a field.

  Hundreds of scents, some familiar but most mysterious, blended into something Taelyn would forever remember as the smell of a city. There was the scent of cooking food,, the smell of all kinds of livestock, the tang of tanning leather, perfumes, spices, and the reek of people.

  “Hurry up, boy!” Cazmeran shouted, breaking the spell the city had cast upon Taelyn. He quickly found where Cazmeran and Kovol waited and hurried to catch up.

  “Here, have some of these nuts,” said Cazmeran, holding out a small bag as Taelyn got close enough for normal conversation.

  “He stole them,” said Kovol, scowling with disapproval.

  “I didn’t,” Cazmeran protested. “The seller was wandering up and down the street with his wares and he dropped some. I helped and this was my payment.”

  “He was not looking where he walked and ran into the merchant,” Kovol said. “That is when the bags of nuts were dropped. He helped the man and pocketed one of the bags. There was no agreement of payment.”

  “Why?” Taelyn asked. “I thought we had money left?”

  “We do, but it’s been too uneventful and I needed a little bit of excitement,” Cazmeran said with a shrug. “Seeing a city for the first time might be fine for an orc barbarian or a shepherd boy, but I’ve seen cities before. Don’t worry, he won’t miss them.”

  Taelyn looked around to see if he could see anyone selling bags of nuts. “We should find the merchant and pay him. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Bah!” said Cazmeran, tossing a nut into the air over his head and catching it in his mouth with a crunch. “He’s long gone. Here, they taste better with a dash of larceny. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Cazmeran tossed a large walnut to Taelyn, who wasn’t expecting it. The nut hit him squarely in the eye and bounced off into the crowd.

  “Ow,” shouted Taelyn as he stumbled back a step and into the path of a passing horseman. The horse, startled by the sudden appearance of a shouting obstacle, wheeled and reared. The rider lost his grip and fell out of the saddle and crashed down on a table covered in tin plates and cups. The racket scared the horse even more and it bolted forward. For the horse, ‘forward’ meant directly through the shop opposite the demolished tinker’s table.

  The old man in the shop had, moments before, been making a fair day of business selling strips of meat roasted over a small brazier of coals. The meat was rat, but with enough seasoning and a soak in cheap rum, no one seemed to notice. Most of the work was in shaving the bark off the small sticks he used as skewers for serving the meat to customers. Now, faced with a frightened, charging horse that threatened to smash the days profit, he did what most penny pinching, greed driven merchants would do. He grabbed for the reins and tried to stop the horse. For a brief moment, he was successful. His hands seized upon the reins and he wrapped them firmly in his grasp. The horse's head was pulled to the right and downward. Then, momentum caught up. To be more accurate, the momentum of the horse's rear end caught up and passed the suddenly stopped front end. The animal began to spin and, with most of its weight on its front hooves, it had nothing to do but lash out with the rear ones.

  The horse spun a complete circle, kicking rearward and smashing or scattering everything those hooves touched. The brazier flew into a neighboring tent selling onions and potatoes. The old tin pot holding rum and marinating meat, now with a new hoof-shaped dent, flew in the opposite direction and was lost in the crowd. The cask of cheap rum was stomped and shattered. Finally, the pole holding up an awning the old man had patched more times than he could remember splintered and brought the canvass down over the head of the horse.

  Meanwhile, the crash of a man landing in a stack of tin dinnerware had caught the attention of the nearby citizens of Blackwall. One of the closest, a curious young lady from a comfortable home who had been distracted from the errand she’d been sent on an hour ago, moved closer to have a better look at the unfolding catastrophe. She didn’t notice the tin cups rolling around the street and stepped on one. She immediately lost her footing and stumbled into an older woman dressed in bright red and yellow silks. The wealthy woman began voicing her protests as soon as the young lady dared touch her. She turned so violently on her supposed attacker that the cut-purse who was in the process of enriching the poor of the city, or at least one of the poor at the expense of one gaudy rich woman, was unable to escape with his prize. In fact, the thief’s hand got tangled somewhere in the folds of red silk and both old woman and hapless thief staggered backwards as if dancing in a fool’s farce. The pair were still ‘dancing’ when they crashed into a stack of clay pots full of olive oil brought in from the capitol that very morning. The oil merchant fainted with the sound of shattering pottery.

  At this point, the horse had had enough. There had been too much noise, a crazy person was trying to yank his nose to the ground, one hoof was stuck in a small broken barrel and now something was wrapped around his head. It was time to leave so that is what he did. The horse fled down the street, still wrapped in tattered awning and dragging a screaming and yelling old man whose hand was still tangled in the reins. Most of the crowd managed to scatter out of the way but a few unlucky souls were knocked to the ground.

  Taelyn looked on in horror. It was as if his entire week before meeting Cazmeran had unfolded before his eyes in a matter of seconds.

  Kovol blinked rum out of his eyes and plucked raw meat from the front of his cloak as he said, “I think this is rat.”

  Along the path cleared by the escaping horse, a man with a satchel stood next to a guard who was helping one of his fellows regain his feet, a large hoof print staining his otherwise clean uniform.

  “That’s the one!” the man with satchel shouted as he pointed toward Cazmeran, Taelyn and Kovol. “Them’s the ones that filched me nuts!”

  Taelyn sighed and whispered to his friends, “Well, that couldn’t have gone any worse.”

&n
bsp; Cazmeran cringed at the words and barely a heartbeat later, the pool of spilled olive oil and cheap rum reached the other side of the street and seeped under a broken table that had once held onions and potatoes. The oil touched the hot coals of the rat-seller’s brazier and burst into flame with a soft, “Whump!”

  Some of the crowd scattered, but others were quickly seeking water to douse the flames. The guard who had been knocked over by the horse bore down on Cazmeran. Behind them, a new voice that clearly lacked patience said, “You three stay right there. You got a lot to answer for here. Ain’t seen the captain that mad in ages.”

  To Taelyn’s ears, it seemed the guard behind them actually did want them to run, if just for an excuse to stab them.

  As the guard with the hoof print on his tabard approached, the one who had been named as captain, Cazmeran held up a small bag and asked, “Nut?”

  ***

  Delsaryn had expected many things from his hunt of the humans in their own land. He had expected to see the land tamed by farmers and forests felled to feed the human need to build and burn. He had expected the humans to fill the empty space they created with their own kind. While the land was certainly tamer, quite a bit of this new valley was wooded. None of the trees were more than a foot or so across and most only a few inches, but there were trees. Human farms and villages did dot the land like some sort of rash, but they hardly filled every empty space. As much as he disliked admitting it, most of his expectations had been exaggerated.

  By far the greatest surprise was the reaction people had to his presence. While Delsaryn had planed to hide from the humans as much as possible, he knew it would be impossible to do so while also conducting an effective hunt. He also knew that carving a bloody path through the countryside would only draw the attention of the imperials. With the hood of his cloak up, no one would see his face or ears. He could run and escape without anyone knowing what he was. Delsaryn had expected the humans to raise alarm when they caught sight of their ancient enemy. Instead, they had greeted him. The first human he’d encountered had been a hunter with a kill. The man carried a bow and was struggling to drag a deer through some tangled underbrush.

  When he’d seen Delsaryn, he’d called, “Ho, friend, help me with this and share my fire and some fresh roasted meat for supper!”

  The man had not run to hide or even reached for a weapon. He had, in fact, been friendly. They were far from any large settlement and it was wise to know one’s enemy, so Delsaryn had carefully approached. A stray thorn had caught his cloak and pulled the hood back enough to uncover his face.

  “Oh, an elf,” the hunter said, with surprise. “Don’t see your kind too often in these parts. Come lend a hand.”

  And that was it. No running, no screaming, no foaming at the mouth. Just acceptance.

  “Do you not fear me?” asked Delsaryn.

  “What? Another hunter?” the human asked in reply. “Not too often we meet one another out here. May as well make it an occasion, I say. No need to get territorial. There’s enough life in these woods to feed everyone. You and me can both eat well tonight. We’ll eat faster yet if you lend a hand.”

  And so he did. He helped the hunter get the carcass back to a small camp with a carefully banked fire. He helped gut and skin the beast. He then watched the human carve away some of the meat for a spit which was set over the fire.

  “You are not what I expected from a human,” Delsaryn finally said.

  “Heh, first time out and about?” the human asked. “Your kind like to stay with family till you’re old enough to be on your own, as I hear it.”

  “Yes, we do,” Delsaryn replied. It seemed the man knew of elves. Finding his prey might not be enough to silence knowledge of the forest.

  “Met an elf some years back,” said the hunter. “He was friendly enough and we hunted some larger game together a time or two. Not so proud I can’t admit he taught me more than one trick.”

  “I had noticed you were careful with the construction of your fire,” admitted Delsaryn. He had thought a human would be careless.

  “Not much benefit to me burning down the place,” the hunter said. “No woods, no hunting. No hunting and I go hungry. No point to being careless. You’ve not met a human before, have you.”

  “I have met two,” said Delsaryn.

  “Well, let me tell you, we don’t all bite,” said the hunter. “We’ve got our share of bad apples, but most are just folks trying to get by. Just like you and your family, I’ll wager. Now, have some of this venison before it cools. Always better hot, I say.”

  And so he ate with a human hunter. The man never gave his name, nor did he ask Delsaryn for his. After both had eaten their fill, the hunter offered a place by the fire for the night. Delsaryn had declined. He had delayed pursuit too long already. With barely a farewell, the man had settled in to sleep and Delsaryn left. It had simply been two hunters crossing paths, as the man had said. Delsaryn could not put the meeting out of his mind.

  When Delsaryn reached the first large settlement, a town build on the sides of two hills, he went around it. The settlement appeared to be home to several hundred people, more than Delsaryn had ever seen in one place. He was not yet certain he could escape so many if things went badly. As he skirted the town, he found remains of a small camp. Among the remains he found a leaf that had been used to wrap food for storage. There were trees here, none large, but this leaf was large and green. Delsaryn had collected it himself after some good hunting during the trip with the old man, boy and orc. There was little doubt, the three he hunted had been here. Better yet, the ground was soft enough that the tracks remained. His prey had gone eastward. The trail ended at a road just east of the human town. It seemed unlikely that Cazmeran would lead his group back into the town after taking pains to go around it. Without hesitation, Delsaryn headed east.

  At first, Delsaryn stayed off the road, seeking to avoid everyone. For the first day, it was easy to keep the road in sight while keeping hidden behind the brush that separated the road from the woods it was carved through. The second day, he began to encounter farms with low stone walls that forced him onto the road to avoid suspicion of both the workers on the farms and travelers on the road.

  Delsaryn traveled day and night. An elf could go days without sleep before exhaustion took its toll. When he’d led Cazmeran, Taelyn and Kovol through the forest, he had been surprised that they required sleep each night. At the time, he had wondered how they could have defeated elves with such a lack of endurance. During the day, most of the travelers he encountered either ignored him or offered a brief greeting. None reacted when he ignored them and pressed onward. At night, travelers either camped at the side of the road or stopped at a roadside inn. Delsaryn much preferred encountering a roadside camp. Travelers usually built a fire and gathered around it, even to sleep. Going around them was easy and he could see if his prey were at such a camp without having to reveal himself. The inns were more trouble.

  The first inn Delsaryn encountered was little more than a large stone house. There was a corral for horses and oxen and several wagon were parked outside in a row. A single guard watched both corral and wagons. Several open windows let light and the noise of the patrons out into the night. He might be able to see inside through one of those windows, but the light would illuminate his face for the guard or anyone looking out the window at the time. Delsaryn watched for a time as a few people came and went. None stopped to peek through a window. It seemed he’d have to go in or risk passing those he hunted.

  Delsaryn approached the door with doubts streaming through his mind. Would the patrons be hostile? No one had yet seemed to care about his presence but that could change once inside the building. Escaping from a camp or road where any direction of flight was possible was one thing. Would he be able to fight his way to the door if cornered? The rusty dagger hanging on a chain over the door did not offer any consolation. He reached for the door handle and hesitated. Perhaps he could wait for morning and
see if the men he sought came out on their own. And then the choice was made for him as the door opened from the other side and he was bathed in dull orange light.

  “Let a man pass, would you?” the exiting patron said gruffly. Delsaryn stepped aside and then into the inn when the doorway was clear.

  Inside the inn, a dozen people sat eating, drinking or just talking in a single, large room. A few glanced briefly in his direction, but most ignored him. The scent of cooking food, smoke, and ale filler the air. A woman in a green dress sat on a table at one end of the room signing a song, but most ignored her too. Another woman, this one in a plain brown dress, walked in a door carrying a tray of food and drink. She served the food to a man who sat alone at a table in a corner near the singer. Delsaryn was stunned when the man turned to pay the woman and two long ears poked out of his hair. He was an elf!

  Delsaryn quickly moved to the table. “May I join you?” he asked the elf.

  “Of course you...Oh!” He was clearly as surprised to see Delsaryn. “Sit brother, please. I don’t meet many of us this far west. My name is Nevryl. Good to meet you.”

  “I am Delsaryn,” he whispered as he took a seat opposite Nevryl. “Is your master nearby? I can help you escape.”

  “Master? Escape?” Nevryl asked with confusion. “I freed myself a long time ago. You have a wild look, brother. Are you a runaway?”

  “Me?” replied Delsaryn. “Are not all elves slaves in these lands?”

  “What? No, not at all. Certainly some are, but only by choice.”

  Delsaryn was very confused. “Why would you choose to be a slave?”

  Nevryl smiled. “You’ve been out hiding in the woods a long time, haven’t you brother? The empire has rules about slaves. They have to be paid. It’s not much, but enough to buy your freedom in forty or fifty years. For the humans, it’s not usually worth doing, but for an elf? What’s a few decades? A thief or debtor might sell themselves into slavery. I know a few who’ve done it more than once. No, brother, we may have all been slaves centuries ago, but not anymore.”