The Grim Wanderer

by James Wolf

  Forgrun looked to the Aborle in surprise, and Taem did not like the sound of this.

  Baek smiled. ‘Only if you can guide me,’ he said to Forgrun, ‘to explain the splendour of the engineering.’

  ‘Aye!’ Forgrun said grandly. ‘I suppose yhee will need someone with knowledge accompanyin’ yhee ter full appreciate ye marvel.’

  Taem and Baek both laughed at the Rhungar’s self-importance, and even Bodran was hiding his laughter behind a massive fist.

  ‘And I will show you the beauty of the forest realm,’ Baek said, ‘where no Rhungar has walked amongst the trees in living memory.’

  ‘Aye!’ Forgrun beamed. ‘Yhee know what, these mushrooms do nay be half bad!’ Forgrun held up a mushroom on his wooden spoon, causing the other three to laugh.

  ‘Well guess what,’ Baek said, ‘I quite fancy a Rhungari feast of red meat and beer.’

  ‘Oh aye,’ Forgrun patted Baek on the back, ‘and yhee shall have it one day, as me guest o’ honour. Now yhee get ye tea o’er fire Taem, an let me do tell thee o’ me mountain home, and ye famed hospital’ty o’ ye Rhungars!’

  ‘But first,’ Taem said, ‘why did Bodran become a Brother of Gromm?’

  Bodran shifted uncomfortably, glanced at Forgrun, and shook his head.

  ‘I nay know,’ Forgrun murmured. ‘An’ he will nay speak o’ it. The pain ter lose all Kaladim be too great fer him.’

  ‘So he has forsaken his old life?’ Taem said with compassion. ‘And joined the Brotherhood of Gromm?’

  ‘Aye,’ Forgrun said, as Bodran stared into the distance, lost in his memories.

  ‘Brothers o’ Gromm,’ Forgrun put a giant hand on Bodran’s shoulder, ‘search fer glory an’ death in battle.’

  ‘I’m sorry Bodran,’ Taem said.

  Bodran looked at the man in bewilderment. That was the first time anyone had ever been sympathetic to his situation. Other Rhungars thought of Brothers of Gromm as dead Rhungars walking. Bodran nodded his thanks to the young swordsman.

  ‘Do the tattoos mean anything?’ Baek gestured to the top of Bodran’s head.

  ‘Fer every month a Rhungar do be sworn ter Gromm,’ Forgrun said, ‘his Brothers do tattoo on another black ring.’

  ‘But why do they take the oath of Gromm?’ Taem asked quietly, and Bodran stared into the ground.

  ‘We can nay speak it,’ Forgrun said softly. ‘The tragic death of a loved one,’ Forgrun glanced mournfully at Bodran, and paused, ‘or do could be bankruptcy an’ ruin, being abandoned by love, or somethin’ else so shameful that all Kaladim be lost.’

  Bodran turned away from the fire, lied down, and pulled a blanket over his head. If it was anyone one else but a tough Rhungar, Taem would have thought he was crying.

  ‘Bet let us do talk on happier thing,’ Forgrun said. ‘Tell me abou’ thy families?’

  And Taem entertained his new friends about tales of his ferocious sister, his stubborn brother Macen, and Edar’s pranks. They all laughed long into the night, as they sat by the warmth of the fireside.

  Chapter 10 – Gulren

  The four companions got up late, tided the camp and breakfasted on some hard Rhungari bread. Taem and Baek eyed the grey bread suspiciously, but took some out of politeness as Forgrun assured them it never went off.

  ‘We Rhungars can do survive indef’nitely on this bread,’ Forgrun said proudly. ‘It be baked from yeast that do grew in deep mountain caves – very useful when ye strongholds be under siege.’

  ‘What else is it made from though?’ Baek grimaced, as he hurt his teeth biting into the bread.

  ‘It be made with bits o’ rock an’ crushed stone,’ Forgrun said casually.

  Baek’s jaw dropped mid-chew.

  ‘Only jokin’,’ Forgrun grinned. ‘Rhungars are ’ard, but nay that stupid!’

  Forgrun laughed out long and loud, as did Bodran. Taem chuckled along, and even Baek grinned. Taem could see the Aborle was not enjoying the rock-hard bread, but he himself found it harmless enough – tasteless, but not offensive to the senses either.

  The four companions finished their breakfast and were soon packed up and on the move. The day passed in glorious sunshine as they made their way through the low hills, treading the winding road, leading the horses on foot.

  Forgrun told the others about Rhungari culture as they walked through the blooming countryside, ‘We Rhungars do put value in might, in ye form o’ physical strength; wisdom, always be associated with age; and status, to be with wealth an’ ye fulfilling of oaths. But, above all else, we do value Kaladim.’

  Taem was still trying to get his head round Kaladim. He thought it stood for honour, but at the same time it was courage, and it also meant rank and prestige. Kaladim was about fulfilling oaths and about saving face, not bringing shame on yourself or your family. For a Rhungar, disgracing himself was a fate worse than death. Taem remembered how Logan had told him that Rhungari warriors could be relied upon to follow orders without question. Even, as history had shown in the Nondis Pass, to march unflinching towards certain death.

  ‘Heredit’ry ties be most important ter Rhungars,’ Forgrun said, ‘respect thy ancestors, thy fam’ly an’ thy elders. Each fam’ly do belong ter Clan. There do be seven Clans, an’ many fam’lies be belongin’ within each Clan.’

  ‘Do you Rhungars ever fight amongst yourselves?’ Baek said.

  ‘All ye time!’ Forgrun grinned.

  ‘Does anyone ever get killed?’ Taem said.

  ‘Nay.’ Forgrun shook his head, as the companions strolled through the lush countryside and the birds twittered away. ‘Nay Rhungar may ever cross axes with ’nother Rhungar – that be law. We Rhungars do settle our quarrel in ye Gaunt Ruck games.’

  ‘Gaunt Ruck?’ Taem said.

  ‘Aye,’ Forgrun said happily. ‘They be hard games, bloody games, tough games – but they be fun games! Me brother Fucral an’ I be ye bestest Ruckers ’n all o’ Dundean.’

  Taem saw Forgrun’s eyes gleam with pride as he spoke of his brother, and Taem could certainly empathise with those sentiments.

  ‘It be a great honour ter walk into ye coliseum,’ Forgrun said wistfully. ‘Aye, great Kaladim be found in Gaunt Ruck – win or lose.’

  Taem and Baek shot each other bewildered glances, this was something that had to be seen to be understood!

  Throughout the day Bodran trudged loyally behind Forgrun, carrying an enormous backpack. Sometimes Bodran smiled or laughed along at what was being said, but never ventured a word.

  The red sky had darkened into dusk, and the companions could perceive the yellow glow of many lanterns in the distance. They walked on past tilled fields and grazing cattle as the night closed in. By the time they reached the lights of Gulren it was fully dark.

  Gulren had a few older stone houses with thatched roofs, but most of the buildings were recent builds – of painted brick, timber frame and tiled roofs. Given the presence of all the modern houses, Taem thought that Gulren must have been prosperous in its recent past; however, he felt this town just did not have the same bustle as Stheeman’s Hill. And, he was startled by the townspeople that walked past with their eyes down and heads held low – too afraid to meet his gaze. Taem felt the weight of oppression bearing down on the townspeople, and he wondered, what has happened here?

  There were all the shops one would expect to see in a large town: tailors, butchers, smiths, carpenters, and many more besides, but Taem saw no merchants. He had a strange feeling about this place, a sense of unease. He glanced into the dark corners. He pricked his ears, listening to the subdued town with a heightened awareness. He even sniffed the air as they walked down the empty street. Why was Gulren so quiet compared to the busy lanes of Stheeman’s Hill? Something was amiss. Taem glanced to his friends, and he could see they too were wary.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Taem said to an elderly lady.

  The old townswoman just gaped at Taem with frightened eyes, before hurrying on round the four companions.

&nbs
p; ‘These people have no spirit,’ Baek looked around at the few other townspeople, saw how they were hunched and subdued, and watched the outsiders with wary eyes.

  ‘Aye,’ Forgrun said angrily, ‘it be driven from ’em.’

  Bodran shook his head, with a menacing look on his face.

  On the fourth attempt of approaching a local, the companions got a panicked response from a skinny young townsman.

  ‘The inn’s on the main square, that way,’ the townsman pointed down a street. ‘Just follow the street-lamps. Now, please, let me go! It’s not safe to be out doors after dark.’

  ‘Why?’ Taem tried to ask the townsman, but he had already run off.

  ‘Fear rules the lives of these people,’ Taem said to his friends, and that made him angry and sad.

  Baek’s hand rested on his sword pommel, as Forgrun watched the dark lanes off to the side. They did not have to be Sodan to sense there was something dangerous here. Bodran walked behind the other three, leading the two horses by the reins. There was a look of sheer ferocity in his eyes. The Brother of Gromm felt there might be a chance for him to meet a noble death tonight.

  The four companions started on down the main street, which was lined on both sides by wrought iron lampposts, painted Aritian blue. At this time of night Stheeman’s Hill would have been alive with revelry, but Gulren was dead – although Taem caught a few terrified pairs of eyes watching the companions through gaps in curtains.

  The friends came upon the town square, and Taem was surprised at how grand it was – or how grand it once must have been, it had since fallen into a decrepit state. The square was paved with white stone slabs, and the weathered marble statue of a long gone king of Aritas stood in the centre, atop a majestic circular plinth.

  In the square there was a once-splendid town hall, two run-down inns and some imposing residences that must have belonged to the town’s well-to-do families. These houses were many stories tall, with extravagant entrances and a number of sweeping stained-glass windows, many of which were now broken. Taem noticed how some of the brickwork was crumbling. These houses had front gardens that must once have been well-maintained, but were now unkempt.

  An alarm went off in Taem’s mind when he saw the banners of Aritas had been torn down from the town hall’s flagpoles.

  As Taem led the companions across the square towards the Hand and Crown Inn, he thought the statue of the old king must have been where the inn got its name. One of the stone king’s hands held a crown, the other hand was empty, held palm upwards.

  How had such a wealthy town become so rundown? Taem wondered, as he saw the gauntleted fist, painted on a wooden swing-board, hanging above the abandoned Sheriffs’ office. The windows were broken and the door kicked in. The signs and flags had been torn down from the outside. How had this place fallen into lawlessness? Taem swept his wary gaze around the dark square, watching his friends’ backs, as they made for the inn.

  Although The Hand and Crown’s red walls were in need of repainting, and there were tiles and bricks missing from the roofs and walls, Taem thought this inn still looked homely and warm. The companions were bade welcome by burning torches, held on each side of the porch. Glancing up to the beam over the porch, Taem saw a red plaque scribed with faded and chipped gold writing. It said, rather grandly, in flowing italic lettering, The Hand and Crown. Taem could hear the murmur of many voices as the friends came up to the solid oak front door.

  But the common room went silent when the companions stepped inside, as all eyes turned to stare at the new arrivals. Taem well observed the shabbiness of these townspeople’s dress, and the weariness on their brows. Any flicker of happiness had long ago been crushed from these people.

  As Forgrun and Bodran glowered back at the inhospitable locals, and Baek shifted uncomfortably under those questioning stares, Taem took in the surroundings. The common room had high ceilings, exposed beams and hardwood furniture with cushioned chairs. Despite the rundown appearance of the outside of the inn, Taem could see the innkeeper had made an effort to keep the common room smart. The walls were painted a deep red, and the chairs on the stone floor, and the benches against the walls, had red cushions. Opposite the stairway that led upstairs, there was a great fireplace that would have looked even better had it been alive with a roaring blaze. Old paintings of natural landscapes and cities hung from the walls, and Taem knew the inn had once been very prosperous indeed if it could afford the canvassed work of artists.

  The three dozen townspeople remained silent, still just watching the new arrivals. A man with a chiselled goatee swaggered over to the companions from propping up the bar. Whilst this man strutted towards the four companions, Taem saw the rest of the local people watching this brazen man with fear. This man with a goatee wore ostensibly fine clothes, a red silk shirt, brown suede boots and a purple cloak that was trimmed with fur. He was of a thin build and average height, with dark hair and callous eyes.

  ‘Travellers are not welcome here,’ the man with the goatee sneered, as he contemptuously eyed the companions up and down. ‘If you value your necks, you’ll leave and not turn back.’ He said as he walked out the inn’s door.

  ‘How welcoming?’ Baek scowled, as the patrons of the inn reverted their eyes back to their own tables.

  ‘Aye,’ Forgrun laughed off the spiteful man, ‘he do be needin’ someone ter give ’im a mighty slap!’

  ‘Please friends, ignore him,’ said an approaching middle-aged gentleman, with a thick brown beard and wearing the apron of an innkeeper.

  It was obvious to Taem that this friendly man had been reluctant to come over to them, until after the man with the goatee had left.

  ‘We may have lost our freedom,’ the innkeeper said, trying to sound upbeat, ‘but you should not lose your welcome. My name is Gomas Lahern, proprietor of this… once-fine establishment. All are still welcome in my inn – so long as it is still mine to call my own.’

  ‘Who was that?’ Taem gestured to the inn’s front door – through which the man with the goatee had left.

  ‘Our mayor,’ the innkeeper sighed.

  ‘How was that man ever chosen to be your mayor?’ Baek’s face was blank with astonishment.

  ‘Alas,’ Gomas shook his head, ‘Mayor Remar was not elected, as once was our way, but put in place by Morben Sleyhan – or the Bandit King, as he is more commonly known.’

  A couple of heads in the common room shot round at mention of that name.

  ‘How do be business for yhee,’ Forgrun said, ‘under shadow of ye Bandit King?’

  ‘Local trade is steady – steadily dire,’ Gomas scowled back at the patrons giving him black looks. ‘Most people have little extra money for leisure these days.’ Gomas frowned. ‘Travellers and merchants, who were once frequent visitors to my house, have learnt to avoid Gulren if they don’t want to pay the taxes demanded by the Bandit King.’

  ‘Them bandits do be cheatin’ scum!’ Forgrun growled.

  ‘Has word not been sent to the rightful king?’ Baek said, unable to comprehend how such a thing could happen.

  ‘Morben rules with an iron fist,’ the innkeeper murmured. ‘His bandits take what they want, and those who oppose them are sent to Graveldeep Mine, and are neither seen nor heard of again. He steals our money, takes our women, and kills our brothers and friends.’

  ‘Why do yhee nay fight?’ Forgrun boomed.

  ‘We are not warriors like you,’ Gomas glanced at the companions’ impressive weapons. ‘The Bandit King has a hundred thugs under his command – mostly foreigners – but some locals who’ve turned their back on their fellows.’ The innkeeper scoffed in disgust. He also controls the handful of smaller villages within two days ride of here. The few of us that had the courage to stand up to him now mostly rot in the Graveldeep. Word was sent westward, but no help has come. It is as if the King of Aritas has forgotten us.’

  ‘Aye,’ Forgrun said, ‘they say he be havin’ enough troubles o’ his own.’

  Go
mas let out another sigh, ‘None dare try sending for help again. Morben has proclaimed that if he finds anyone sending for aid, they’ll be strung up and left to rot. The corpses of those that sent pleas of help before…’ Gomas quaked now as he spoke, ‘now hang from trees on the road to Graveldeep…’

  Taem shook his head, ‘We are truly sorry to hear of your desperate situation.’

  ‘This is so wrong!’ Baek said angrily.

  Bodran ground his fist into his other palm as he scowled.

  ‘That it is,’ Gomas’s shoulders slumped, ‘but there’s not much I or anyone else round here can do about it. Anyhow, what can I do for you travellers? Beds for the night?’

  ‘Yes,’ Taem said. ‘But first, we are looking for two travellers: an older woman named Hirandar, and another man who carries a sword, called Logan.’

  Gomas paused for a bit, scratching his beard, ‘There is none here by those names, and no other travellers beside yourselves.’

  ‘We’ll take beds then anyway, Gomas,’ Taem said. ‘One large room of four beds will suffice,’ – safer to stay together if someone should try and silence them at night, Taem thought – ‘and please inform us of the arrival of my two friends.’

  ‘Very well,’ Gomas said. ‘And your name, young man?’

  ‘Taem Dratana.’

  ‘At your service,’ Gomas bowed. ‘Now, please, hand me your cloaks and make yourselves at home.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Taem dipped his head.

  ‘The Rhungars are always welcome in my house,’ Gomas said to Forgrun and Bodran, as he took their cloaks. ‘And you traveller?’ Gomas turned to take Baek’s cloak. ‘Where do you call home?’

  ‘Borleon Forest,’ Baek said, at which Gomas went pale, and all the patrons stared at the Aborle.

  ‘Borleon Forest?’ Gomas said fearfully, and he dropped Baek’s cloak as if it were poisonous. ‘That forest is haunted…’

  The inn went so quiet that Taem could almost hear his own heartbeat. All the townsmen in the Inn were watching Baek as if he were actually a ghost, and the Aborle was completely lost for words.