Azerick turned to his captain. “I would appreciate any advice you could offer on just what we do from here.”
Zeb gave him a half smile and a soft grunt. “I’m not much of a land lubber, but I know everything ends up in the ocean eventually. I say we find the nearest river or stream and follow the flow. We’ll either find a settlement of some kind or the sea. I’ve been up and down Valeria’s coast a thousand times since I was a cabin boy, and I reckon I’d be able to tell ya pretty much where we are from the look of the coastline. Assuming we’re in Valeria that is.”
Azerick nodded in agreement. “I have a good knowledge of geography, but without a reference point it’s useless. I imagine we will find a town along the river. I guess our first step is to find a waterway, follow it down, and see where it leads us.”
“That’s the way I figure it,” Zeb nodded in agreement.
Shortly after the sun cleared the top of the distant hills, the group headed west in hopes of finding civilization. Game was scarce and skittish, but they managed to bring down enough rabbits and squirrels to keep the group fed. A few wild roots and spices also made for a palatable stew. On the third day, two of the sailors brought down a small doe drinking at the edge of a river.
The river was narrow, but fast and deep. They followed it downstream for the first three days, and it never expanded to more than a hundred yards wide. Frothing whitewater rapids and waterfalls were common. Most of the falls were only a few feet in height, but one cascaded over a cliff and crashed into a deep pool a hundred feet below. The roar of thousands of gallons of water continuously striking the pool sounded like the charging of a thousand warhorses.
The majestic cascade began its plunge at the top of a rocky cliff. The group was forced to follow a steep ridgeline for nearly half a day before the slope gentled enough for them to make their way back down to the river. After two more exhausting days of travel, they found the landscape slowly transforming from rough mountains to rolling hills.
The hills eventually flattened out until the river opened up into a large valley. As the land smoothed out, the river grew wider and wider until a fired crossbow bolt would fall well short of reaching the distant bank.
Almost immediately upon entering the valley, tilled fields and small farmhouses began dotting the countryside. Azerick let Zeb talk to the farmers, as he did not consider himself a very sociable person. The farmers stared warily at Toron and gripped flails, hoes, or pitchforks in a white-knuckled grip, but they were polite enough.
The farmers told Zeb they had a small town of maybe two thousand souls counting all the folks from the outlying farms and woodsmen called Riverdale. Riverdale was perhaps another three days on foot, but there were several farms that might allow them to take shelter in their barns and purchase food if they had something to trade for it.
Most of the farmers treated them much like the first ones had. They were initially cautious of such a large number of strangers, especially the intimidating minotaur, but they were polite and allowed them all to rest in their barns to get out of the elements. After weeks of sleeping on the hard ground of the mountains and even harder stone of the caverns, the soft hay in the barn’s loft felt like a bed fit for royalty.
Many of the gnomes had carried small lumps of raw gold and uncut gems that the humans were able to trade for milk, cheese, bread, and cooked oats. Such common fair tasted like a banquet after eating nothing but game meat and wild roots.
Only one farmer gave them any trouble. A surly old codger who tilled a small patch of ground by himself was ready to fight the entire group of humans single-handedly if they did not clear out immediately. Even Toron was unable to impress the truculent farmer.
They group slept outside that night, but they still had the food they had purchased along the way to keep them fed. The party spied a quaint community in the distance just past noon the next day. A wooden wall and palisade jutted up at least ten feet from ten-foot-high earthworks encircling the town. Wide, wooden gates were propped open to admit those entering or leaving the town.
Two men, town militia from the looks of them, stood a relaxed guard at the gates. One man leaned on a spear just in front of the gates while the other stood watch from the catwalk attached near the top of the inside of the wall.
Azerick noted that the man on the ground had a crossbow slung over his back while the guard on the catwalk kept his resting between the pointed tips of the wall. The men did not seem overly surprised at their appearance. Azerick knew they had probably been watching them approach the town for the last hour.
As they drew nearer, he also noticed over a score of armed men gathered just inside the gates. These were probably a group of militiamen hastily assembled in case the strangers proved to be troublesome.
When Azerick and his band of refugees approached to within fifty feet of the gates, the guardsman on the ground called out to them. “Stop right there if you please.”
Zeb and his party complied with the man’s request. “Hail, guardsman. My name’s Zeb, ship’s captain and trader. My friends and I would like entrance to your fair town.”
“Unless you brought a river barge upstream, you’re a long way from any boats, Captain. What is it you want in Riverdale?” the guard asked.
“We are poor travelers trying to get home. We would like some lodging and to trade for some food and traveling supplies. I assure you, none of us wish your town or people any harm. We will abide by your laws and cause no trouble while we’re here,” Zeb assured the guard.
“Mayor Remkin has been told of your approach and will be here shortly. He’s the one to decide whether you come in or go around and be on your way. Normally, we don’t bother travelers, but you’re a big bunch and more than bit haggard-looking, no offense. Moreover, we don’t get many of your big friend’s type around here. Never in fact.” The guard looked back toward the town beyond the open gates. “Here comes the mayor now. He’ll get it all straightened out.”
A short, overweight man with a jovial face and wearing a well-made suit, which was at least ten years out of fashion, waddled quickly through the press of militia and gawking citizens to present himself to the travelers waiting outside his beloved town. Zeb stood slightly forward of the group, so the mayor addressed him as the spokesman for them all.
“Good day, travelers! I am Mayor Remkin. Please allow me to welcome you to our fair town.”
“Oh, so we are welcome after all. I was getting worried we weren’t wanted here,” Zeb said sourly.
The mayor’s plump face reddened at Zeb’s bitter comment and replied in a conciliatory voice. “Please forgive us of our cautious greeting. We are far from any major city and must rely on our own for most of our defense. It is rare to have so many travelers approach our gates at once, particularly with such a formidable looking, er, gentleman in their midst. What brings you all to Riverdale if I may inquire?”
Zeb gave a shortened version of their capture, escape, and travails through the caverns. “We only wish to rest, get some good, warm food, and purchase or trade for some traveling supplies.”
Mayor Remkin remained silent throughout Zeb’s tale of woe, and the guard nearly fell over as he leaned onto his spear trying to eavesdrop. The mayor’s face went from flushed to pale then flush again as he listened to the party’s travails.
“By the good gods above what an incredible ordeal you all went through! On behalf of the people of Riverdale, I bid you welcome. Follow me to our inn where you will drink and dine on my town’s hospitality. Perhaps if you are willing, you can regale the evening crowd with your story. We get so few tales of adventure or news of the kingdom out here, and we are all eager to hear of happenings outside our valley.”
“I suppose that would be more than fair compensation for your generosity,” Zeb replied, brightening at the prospect of some proper food.
“Follow me then and I’ll see that you poor folks are taken care of properly,” the mayor invited, turned, and preceded them down the packed dirt avenu
e.
Zeb led the group through the throng of citizens who stood around talking in hushed tones about the strangers, especially the big minotaur. Azerick noticed the gate guard run off to spread their tale as soon as they passed. It took only a few minutes to reach the inn located near the center of town.
At three stories, it was the tallest building around with the exception of two tall grain silos. The first two stories were rough stone, mortared in place. The third story was made of wood and had likely been built some time after the original two floors. The rest of the town was built primarily of wood logged from the abundance of trees growing in the nearby hills and mountains. Most buildings were single-storied, but a few rose as high as two.
The owner kept up the inside of the inn even better than the immaculate outside. Wagon wheels suspended from the rafters supported six oil lamps, each providing warm light to the interior of the common room. Two dozen tables, each surrounded by four chairs, and four long tables with benches provided seating for a large number of patrons.
A long, well-polished bar ran nearly the entire length of the back of the inn. Through a swinging door wafted the scents of the entrees being prepared in preparation for the evening’s meals. A wide staircase with an ornately carved banister rose up to the second floor where several doors were visible behind an open balcony protected by a rail carved in the same fashion as the banister stretched out over the bar to look down on the common room below.
The man standing behind the bar bore a striking resemblance to the mayor, albeit considerably thinner, which still put him just over the line of heavy. He looked up as they all strode in and Mayor Remkin hailed him.
“Belkin, these are visitors to the town and my personal guests. Let’s get them washed up, fed, and bunked down for a couple nights until I can figure out what else we can do for them.”
The innkeeper did a double take when he watched Toron duck his head to keep his horns from striking the wagon wheel chandelier then gave the mayor his attention.
“I can put the ladies in one room and divide the gentlemen up between a few others. It’ll be a bit cramped, but I can get some extra mattresses stuffed with straw and laid out for them.” Belkin called back to the kitchen where a plump woman with graying black hair promptly burst through the swinging door. “Sarah, we’ll be putting these folks up for a couple days. Rustle up some help and get washtubs taken up to rooms two, three, five, six, and eight. We’ll also need mattresses stuffed and brought up for each of them.”
Sarah made a quick count and disappeared back into the kitchen where they could hear her issuing orders to more of the staff.
“You folks look like you could use a drink. Food will be ready in about two hours if you can hold off a bit longer and make yourselves comfortable.”
Belkin began poured mugs of ale for the men and watered wine for the women. The innkeeper set the cups on the bar as soon as he poured them and were promptly passed around with many words of thanks. When the last glass was poured and served, he waved the mayor over to him while his guests took up seats around several of the tables.
As Azerick, Zeb, and the rest of their motley band sat sipping what to them was the finest drinks they had ever tasted, several men, women, and boys carted washtubs, buckets of water, and mattresses up the stairs. The mayor and the innkeeper were having a hushed discussion at the end of the long bar.
“Now, brother, maybe you can tell me what is going on. Who are these people, and where did they come from, and what in the world is that massive bloke with the horns on his head?” Belkin asked his brother the mayor.
“They say most of them were sailors who were captured by some foul creatures and made slaves somewhere far off. They escaped, though they didn’t really say how, crawled days through tunnels under the Witch Crag Mountains from the sound of it, and found their way here,” Mayor Remkin told his younger brother. “I figured to put them up for a time. Their stories alone will have your inn packed for several nights and will more than make up for the cost of housing them.”
“Not to cast aspersions on your good nature, but I find it hard to believe you would go through this much trouble to accommodate a gang of bedraggled strangers. What is it you are looking to get out of this?” Belkin asked, narrowing his eyes at his rotund brother.
“I have not asked nor demanded anything in return, but I hope I might convince them to stay on awhile and help us out. You know as well as I do we need as many hands as we can get.”
“I’m glad to hear you have some ulterior motive. For a moment there, I thought you had gone completely angelic. What about you know who?”
The smile dropped from the mayor’s face at the reference to the name not mentioned. “I imagine they’ll all be gone by the time he shows up. If for some reason they aren’t, I seriously doubt they will cause any trouble. Who would dare?”
Remkin shook his head. “I don’t know, that big hairy fellow with the horns looks like one not to be pushed about, and have you spoken to the young man with the eyes that seem to look right through you?” he asked with a nod toward Azerick.
“No, he hasn’t said much of anything since I met them at the gate. He’s just a young sailor. What harm could he cause?”
“Belkin, I’ve run inns for a long time, and I’ve met a lot of folks. I may not be as worldly and knowledgeable as some big city gossipmonger, but I can read people with the best of them. Mark my words, that lad is no mere sailor. They ever tell you how they all managed to escape from where they were held, or what happened to the ones who held them?”
“No, they never really gave me any details.”
“I’ll bet my inn the lad played a big part in it, and whoever held them is no longer in any condition to ever try it again,” Remkin replied ominously.
“What makes you say that?”
“Look how he carries himself. You see how everyone is enjoying themselves, talking, and laughing? Everyone but him. He keeps looking around the room, making sure no one surprises them as if he alone is responsible for their safety.”
“Maybe he’s just paranoid. If half of what they say is true, that would be enough to make any man wary,” Remkin replied.
The mayor’s brother shook his head. “Nope, that’s the look of a predator, not prey. Anyone who runs an inn learns how to spot trouble quick if they want to stay in business for long. All the others in that band keep looking at him, not the captain, and not that big fellow. Push comes to shove, he’ll push back; mark my words.”
Zeb, Azerick, Balor, and Toron sat at a table enjoying every sip of the finest ale they ever remembered tasting. Zeb and Balor both spoke freely, trying several times to get Azerick to join in on the conversation. Toron was his usual quiet self, offering little more than a grunt or a shrug of his big, hairy shoulders in answer to any question posed to him. Azerick was too busy staring over his cup, watching the conversation of the innkeeper and the mayor, to follow his friends’ conversation.
“I have to tell you, lad,” Zeb turned to Azerick, trying to involve him in their conversation once more, “I’ve set anchor in many ports and been to many places, but this is by far one of the friendliest. What do you think?”
“They are gracious to be sure, but why? Why are they putting themselves out like this for a bunch of tattered strangers who look like they were pulled straight out of a gutter?” Azerick asked almost rhetorically.
“They’re small town folk, eager to hear of adventures and news beyond their secluded valley. It’s not so much to give a bit of food and a roof over our heads in exchange for some tales.”
“I suppose not. Do me a favor though. Do not say anything about me other than I am an herbalist, and spread the word to the others,” Azerick insisted.
“Sure, lad, I can do that. Do you really think there is something wrong here? Are we in trouble?”
“Something is not right, but I can’t say what. Just something I feel. It may not even be from them, but be careful. Guard yourselves and your tongues around th
em.”
“Sure, lad, I’ll go tell the boys.” Zeb picked up his tankard and made rounds to all the tables occupied by his men.
Mayor Remkin finished his chat with his brother and waddled over to Azerick’s table. He glanced in Toron’s direction and saw that the minotaur was paying him no attention and sat down.
“I hope you men are comfortable. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Remkin asked kindly.
“No, Mr. Mayor, you have been most generous to us all,” Balor replied, giving him a salute with his mug.
The mayor turned to Azerick. “What about you, young sir? You don’t look to be enjoying yourself as much as the others. Is there something I can do to make your stay more enjoyable?”
“Forgive me, Mayor Remkin, I am just lost in thought I guess. You have shown us every kindness; far more than anyone could ask,” Azerick responded flatly.
“That is good to hear, good indeed. Tell me, I’m sorry I did not seem to catch your name.”
“Azerick.”
“Tell me, Azerick, you do not appear to be a sailor like the others. You strike me more as an educated and contemplative sort. What is it you do if I may be so nosy?” the mayor prodded.
“I’m an herbalist.”
“Excellent! I should introduce you to Margaret Thistledown. She is our town healer. She’s getting on in age and is teaching her herb lore to Anna Tanner. You three should have a lot to talk about.”
“Perhaps, if we are here long enough.”
The mayor clapped his hands together one time and stood up. “Well, I believe my brother Belkin has your rooms ready. Several wash tubs have been filled, and there is a large communal bath with warm water through that door,” he told them, indicating a door near the kitchen entrance. “I will leave you all to get settled and relax before dinner is served.”
The Sorcerer's Path Box Set: Book 1-4 Page 52