Although Karth would already have paid the fishermen, Singe gave them an extra silver sovereign each. “What’s a good inn?” he asked. “And where can I find guides to take us into the interior?”
The answer to both questions was a place called the Barrel, though Singe doled out a few crowns more as they passed through the town to confirm it. He was exceedingly careful about showing his money, though. Vralkek was that kind of town. He could feel it as soon as they climbed up from the beach and stepped into the muddy streets.
It wasn’t just an air of desperation and crime that gave Vralkek a sense of danger. Singe could feel eyes on him. Eyes appraising him as prey—financially and literally.
Dandra took a step closer to him as they walked. He felt her mind brush against his in the kesh. Her thoughts carried echoes of unease. Singe … she said.
I know, he responded.
There was a reason Droaam was called the nation of monsters and that reason walked the streets of Vralkek. Orcs and half-orcs stood on corners, laughing coarsely. Goblins skulked in the shadows. Gnolls—rangy creatures with the bodies of lean humans and heads like hyenas—strutted along as though they carried the authority of town guards. In a smithy, a muscular minotaur pounded red-hot iron. Along a roofline, a trio of harpies cackled, flapped ragged wings, and watched the world below. A band of hobgoblins stood clustered around the door of one building as if to repel anyone who might try to enter. A series of loud thumps and a low moan drifted out as Singe and the others passed.
The hobgoblins watched them go by. Furry, wolf-like ears twitched and turned, tracking them. Singe’s hand dropped to the hilt of his rapier. He did see humans as they walked, but they were few and generally looked either half-feral or broken and hollow. The broken ones had the marks of slaves. Singe wouldn’t have trusted the feral ones to bury a corpse.
“I don’t like this place,” he murmured so that the others besides Dandra could hear him. Geth gave him a sharp-toothed grin.
“Bothers you, does it?” the shifter asked. “Being in a place where humans are the ones who stand out?” He swaggered like the gnolls, seemingly at home among the monsters, though Singe noticed his eyes roamed the streetscape with the alertness of an animal in strange territory.
“Well, it bothers me,” said Natrac. “This is why I’ve always avoided Droaam before.”
Singe glanced at the half-orc. He walked with his knife-hand visible and stayed close to the others, but the grimness that had vanished with their return to Zarash’ak had reappeared. The persona of the blustering merchant seemed stretched over it, like a dwarf wearing a mask and calling himself an elf.
He’s protesting too much, said Dandra through the kesh. Remember what Bava said.
I agree, Singe said. What’s he hiding?
Even Orshok, who probably could have blended in with the other orcs in the town, looked uncomfortable. Only Ashi seemed completely at ease, maybe even energized by the atmosphere in Vralkek. She moved with a confident stride, her back straight, her eyes bright, a hunter among hunters.
She was also drawing as much attention as all of them put together. “Ashi—” he started to say in soft warning.
He didn’t have a chance to finish. From among a cluster of gnolls beside the street, a massive figure rose up out of a crouch. Its limbs were thick with muscle, its arms nearly as long as its legs. Its head was heavy and hideous, with matted, greasy hair. Its lower jaw was thrust forward, exposing misshapen teeth as big as Singe’s thumbs. From where he stood, the wizard caught a whiff of the foul stench of its unwashed hide. An ogre. A male.
Upright, the creature was easily half again as tall as Ashi. He stepped directly into her path and leered down at her. “Human girl acts tough.” The ogre pinched his lower lip with two filthy fingers in imitation of Ashi’s piercings. “Gots little tusks. Tough and pretty.”
For one anxious moment, Singe was afraid Ashi was going to draw her sword. That was the last thing they needed. A naked blade could provoke a street fight. He could see that Geth was thinking the same thing—the shifter stiffened and turned sharply toward Ashi.
But the Bonetree hunter just stood and looked up at the ogre, her face and eyes hard. She said nothing. The laughter that had risen among the gnolls died out and after a moment, the grin on the ogre’s face sagged and faltered. A sneer replaced it. The ogre beat his hands against his chest. “You wants?” it growled. “Thinks you can beat?”
“I know I could,” Ashi said. Her voice was low and confident. The fingers of her sword hand clenched and spread. “You think you can beat me?”
The street around them had grown quiet as the mingled creatures on it turned their attention to the confrontation. The gnolls who were with the ogre muttered among themselves, but stayed back. Geth threw a glance to Singe and twitched his head toward Ashi. Singe knew what he was asking—should he step in? The wizard shook his head. Ashi had started this. She needed to resolve it on her own or the creatures of Vralkek would be on them like leeches on a wound.
The silence between the hunter and the ogre stretched out. Big greasy drops of sweat formed on the monster’s forehead. Ashi’s brow dropped. Her face grew dark—
The ogre broke. “Girl is pretty,” he said finally. “Just sayings girl is pretty. Don’t sees human girls so pretty and tough.” He raised his heavy head and glared around the street. “Just sayings!”
He stepped back out of Ashi’s way and the hunter nodded her head. Singe noticed, however, that she remained alert as she moved past the monster and rejoined him and the others. Noise returned to the street. His heart racing, Singe hustled them all onward.
“That was impressive, Ashi!” said Dandra under her breath.
Ashi grunted. “Are all ogres such cowards?”
“No,” said Singe with a wince. “Usually they’re just angry.” He glanced at Ashi. “Please don’t do that again.”
“I could have beaten him.”
“Yes, but he had a lot of friends—and just because Droaam is country of monsters doesn’t mean they don’t have laws. I don’t think we want to get in trouble here.”
The taproom of the Barrel was a very different place from the gaeth’ad house where they had met Chain. Both house and taproom were dark, but that was where any resemblance ended.
The Barrel was alive with sound, the crowd of its patrons talking, shouting, and laughing, filling the air with the sound of strange languages—Singe picked out Orc and Goblin immediately, but could only guess that the booming tongue that occasionally rolled above other speech was Giant. The place was a rush of smells: musky and pungent bodies, stale ale, sizzling meat, even an undertone of blood. Dandra flinched at the odor.
“Not the Zarash’ak herb market, is it?” Singe asked her as they made their way toward the bar. She shook her head.
Somewhat to his surprise, no one had taken much notice when their group opened the outer door—the Barrel had separate entrances to the taproom and to the upstairs inn where they had taken rooms for what would hopefully be a short stay in Vralkek. Maybe, Singe thought, human-dominated groups weren’t such an unusual sight in the town after all. Maybe the patrons of the Barrel just didn’t care that much. Either way, so long as no undue attention came their way, he was happy.
“Ashi,” said Natrac, “I think you have some admirers.” He nodded toward a knot of goblins who were muttering among themselves and glancing frequently at the hunter. Ashi crinkled her nose and ignored them.
“It’s a good thing we don’t need to keep a low profile,” Singe muttered. He looked at Ashi. “Don’t worry. A reputation for strength probably isn’t a bad thing to have around here.”
He moved up to the bar. A female gnoll with one eye stood behind it. “Six,” said Singe, slapping down a handful of copper coins. He caught the gnoll’s eye. “We’re looking for a guide. The innkeeper upstairs said you could help us.”
The gnoll’s voice was high and barking. “He said you’d be coming down.” She gestured to an empt
y table, then turned to draw their ale. “Space to talk. Settle yourselves. I’ll send people over. Where do you need to go?”
“Tzaryan Keep.”
Thin lips around the gnoll’s dog-like muzzle pulled back. “Dangerous.”
“I know.”
“Sit,” she said, handing him the first two mugs. “I’ll bring the rest.”
Three chairs had been provided around the table. Geth moved to sit down in one, but Singe nudged him with an elbow. “Stand,” he said. “A chair for me, a chair for Dandra, a chair for the guide.”
“What?” asked the shifter.
“You’re a guard. You stand behind me and watch my back.”
Geth glowered at him. “It makes a tempting target.”
“Just watch it—don’t stick anything in it.” He gave one of the mugs to Geth then clacked the other against it. “Here’s to better luck than we had with Chain.”
When the gnoll barkeep brought the rest of their ale, she brought something else as well—a half-orc in worn and travel stained clothes. “Ryl,” she said by way of introduction, then departed.
The half-orc settled into the empty chair. Singe looked him over. Ryl seemed well-traveled and, at least by the standard of the Barrel, not particularly desperate. “So,” he asked him after a moment, “you could take us to Tzaryan Keep?”
“I could,” the half-orc said. “Easy traveling—dangerous passage. I’ve got a question for you, though. Is Tzaryan Rrac expecting you?”
“Not as such,” Singe told him. They’d worked out their plan during the voyage fro Zarash’ak. “But I’m sure he’ll be willing to talk to me. I want his permission to study the Dhakaani ruins near Tzaryan Keep.”
Ryl thrust out his jaw. “I can take you to within sight of the keep. I won’t go any further if Tzaryan’s not expecting you.”
“Fair enough.” There was another gnoll standing nearby, obviously waiting his chance to talk to them. Singe nodded to Ryl. “Stay in the Barrel. We’ll let you know when we’ve made a decision.”
The half-orc rose and made way for the gnoll. “I’m Kagishi,” the hyena-headed creature said. His voice was a whine. “I’ll work cheap.”
His clothing was frayed and heavily patched. The fur that covered his lean body was thin and mangy. An unstrung bow of Brelish make was slung across his back—along with a quiver that was completely empty of arrows. Singe felt Dandra take his hand underneath the table and give it a little squeeze of warning. He gave no reaction, but raised an eyebrow to Kagishi. “You know Tzaryan Keep? The ruins there?”
“Does Tzaryan Rrac know you’re coming?” Kagishi asked like Ryl’s echo.
“No.”
Kagishi flinched. “That will cost you extra.”
“You said you’d work cheap,” said Natrac.
The gnoll looked uncomfortable. “There’s cheap and there’s stupid.”
The reactions of Ryl and Kagishi were echoed by the next two guides to seek them out. A black-haired shifter who Geth took an immediate dislike to and a whip-like human both hesitated as soon as they learned that Singe’s party would be approaching the keep unexpected. The human offered to arrange for a runner to precede them and alert Tzaryan Rrac to their approach—a sensible and tempting offer. The shifter told them the same story of the House Tharashk dragonshard prospectors that they had heard from Bava and suggested that what they needed was more protection. By coincidence, he knew a number of others who would be willing to accompany them.
Geth bared his teeth and growled at him before he could even finish the suggestion. “Boar’s whiskers! Do you think we were born moonstruck?” He stepped around from behind the table, shifting as he moved—his thick body seemed to grow even thicker, his hair denser. “Get out of here!”
Their would-be guide bared sharp teeth as well. His hands flexed and what had been heavy nails grew suddenly into long, sharp claws. The two shifters glared at each other for a moment, the hair on their bodies bristling, then the black-haired shifter stepped back and swiftly vanished among a crowd that had barely even glanced at the confrontation.
Geth growled again, this time in satisfaction, and turned back to their table. He dropped into the third chair and looked at Geth and Dandra. “I assume he’s out of the running,” he said.
Singe nodded. “I think we’ve talked to enough now.” He twisted around so that he could see all of the others. “What do you think of—”
“There’s one more,” said Orshok. He gestured. Singe turned back around.
On the edge of the crowd stood a goblin. The short creature was looking up at them nervously. “Yes?” Singe asked him. “You need guide Tzaryan Keep?”
The goblin’s voice was thin and harshly accented. Singe considered him. He hadn’t thought of a goblin as a guide, especially in Droaam where it seemed that most of the population could and did swallow goblins whole. This goblin, however, carried a multitude of scars. He was clearly a survivor. Singe flicked his fingers at Geth—the shifter vacated his chair with a groan—and waved the goblin forward. “Who are you?”
“Moza.” The goblin hopped up into the empty chair, standing rather than sitting in it. Being at eye level with the larger people around the table seemed to take away some of his nervousness. “You need guide?” he asked again.
Singe nodded. “Yes,” he said, “we need a guide to Tzaryan Keep.” He skipped right to the information the other guides had asked for. “And no, Tzaryan Rrac doesn’t know we’re coming but we’re not trying to sneak into his keep. We’re walking right up to his door.”
“I hear,” Moza said. “What you want with Dhakaani ruins?”
Singe sat back, a little surprised. None of the other prospective guides had even blinked at his mention of the ruins—and certainly none had asked about the ruins before he’d even mentioned them. “How do you know about that?”
The goblin seemed strangely taken aback at the question. His nervousness returned, his eyes darting around the taproom briefly then coming back to Singe. He tugged on his ear. “I hear.”
He sounded barely convinced by his own answer. Singe frowned. “What do you care if I’m interested in the ruins?”
The goblin flinched a second time. He started to look around again.
Ashi bent sharply to whisper in Singe’s ear. “On your left—there’s a hobgoblin woman in the crowd. She’s giving him cues.” The wizard turned his head.
If he hadn’t been looking for her, he probably would have missed the hobgoblin woman completely. She had slipped herself in beside a group of gnolls, their height hiding hers, their brownish fur making her yellowish skin and orange-brown hair stand out a little less. Black leather armor studded with darkened rivets blended into the shadows of the taproom.
Her furry ears stood high and were turned toward their table. She was gesturing to Moza, her mouth shaping exaggerated words.
Between one heartbeat and the next, however, dark eyes met Singe’s gaze. The hobgoblin froze for an instant, then dropped down, vanishing among the crowd.
Singe leaped to his feet, taking a fast step in the hobgoblin’s direction as Ashi lunged across the table to grab for Moza. The goblin squealed and slipped away from her grasping fingers, slithering down out of the chair. Dandra and Natrac flinched. “What are you doing?” Natrac asked in a yelp.
“There was a hobgoblin,” growled Geth. “I saw her.”
“That was a set-up!” spat Singe. “Someone is—”
Before he could say anything more or take another step, the door of the taproom opened—and for the first time, the patrons of the Barrel grew silent and still.
The sun was beginning to set outside and in from the fiery brightness stepped two … four … six ogres. Unlike the ogre that had accosted Ashi in the street, however, these were clean and well-groomed. Singe couldn’t have said that they looked any more intelligent, but they moved with a purpose and discipline that was distinctly unusual in an ogre.
All of them carried massive maces and wore stiff
jerkins of heavy hide. Emblazoned on the jerkins was the insignia of a four-pointed blue star. Tzaryan Rrac’s insignia.
“Twelve bloody moons,” Singe cursed under his breath. “What are they doing here?” He eased back to the table. The others did the same, those who were standing crouching down a bit to make themselves less conspicuous.
Through the open door, Singe could see the silhouettes of at least two more ogres standing guard outside. The ogres inside the Barrel scanned the silent room. The gnoll barkeep hurried up to the largest of the monsters. The ogres that flanked him raised their weapons at her approach but lowered them again at a glance from their leader. He and the gnoll exchanged words.
Her hand rose and pointed straight to Singe and the others. The ogre leader nodded and made his way across the room. The Barrel’s patrons pressed back out of his path.
“Tiger!” hissed Geth. “What do we do?”
Singe swallowed. “Act calm,” he said. He sat up straight in his chair and the ogre leader leaned across the table. Even cleaned up, the monster’s breath reeked of decayed meat.
“Are you Timin Shay? he asked.
Timin Shay had been a childhood friend killed in a cart accident as a young man. Singe had taken to using the name as an alias long ago. He’d given it to the innkeeper of the Barrel. “Yes,” he said. “I am. What’s this about?”
“You’re looking for a guide to Tzaryan Keep?”
The ogre pronounced each of its words with care, as if taught to speak the language properly. Singe nodded. A hint of relief, as if he was pleased that he had found the right human, flickered in the ogre’s eyes. He stood straight. “I serve Tzaryan Rrac. By order of the general, you are invited to travel with us as we return to Tzaryan Keep.”
Singe blinked in surprise, then looked left and right to Dandra and Geth. The kalashtar and the shifter both wore started expressions as well. He looked back to the ogre. The general … Bava and Natrac had said that Tzaryan Rrac had hired a veteran general of the Last War to train his troops. Judging by the utter change in the ogres standing before them, his training was extremely effective. Singe licked his lips, trying to think of what to do.
The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II Page 16