by James Wolf
Once the companions reached the eastern side, Taem sensed how the tone of the city changed. Everything here was ordered and polished. The pace was slower, the streets were tidy, and the buildings were smarter. Taem inhaled, smelling perfume, flowers and cleanliness – a contrast to the toil and grime of the Industrial sector. He also saw how Defenders of the Gate were present in force, unlike in the rest of the city.
‘It’s so quiet and peaceful here,’ Taem said, ‘compared to the noise and bustle just across the river.’
‘This is the grandeur of the Old Quarter,’ Hirandar spread her arms wide. ‘This is the rich area of Dolam, so have a care. We may not be so welcome here.’
Taem saw that the few people that walked through the Old Quarter wore fine clothes, as they strolled down the wide, stone-paved streets. Taem gaped at the elegant buildings. Many were set back from the roads by park-like gardens, and concealed by screens of trees.
The companions soon reached the Scholastic Quarter, with its libraries, museums and university. Taem was conscious that he and his companions were drawing glares from some haughty nobles they passed. Although the Rhungar seemed exempt from those critical stares, it was the old woman in the faded red travelling dress, the woodsman and the young farmboy those disdainful eyes followed. It was their clothes, Taem realised, and their weapons. Their clothes had been cleaned, but had seen weeks on the road, and countless nights sleeping under the stars. Hirandar was not bothered though, so Taem tried not to be either.
The Wizard took the companions to the edge of the Ecclesial Quarter – a cluster of churches, temples and a cathedral – which was nestled up against the city walls in the east. She led the warriors to a clubhouse of sweeping marble archways and galleried walkways. They climbed three levels of stairs, up into a glasshouse that led out onto a roof terrace. Taem thought the doorman was not going to let them in. But the doorman’s eyes shot wide at the amount of coin Hirandar passed him, before he bowed low and beckoned them to enter.
Taem was captivated by the tranquillity of this balconied terrace. There were miniature trees, planted in soil beds cut into the stone paved floor, and small mountain-stone tables sculpted with sweeping curves. There were seed pots inset into these tables – to attract birds to land in the roof-top garden. Luxurious Dolami sofa-chairs were shaded from the summer sun by parasols, and large potted plants with broad leaves. The only downside were the looks the companions were getting, from snooty nobles at the other tables.
Taem had to shield his eyes from the sun to look over the terrace’s stonewall, and take in the elevated view of the whole city. It was an extraordinary sight. The cityscape was dominated by the imposing six-sided keep of The Rock, with its flags fluttering in the breeze. Behind that pillar of strength, Taem could see the River Bodium flowing westward, out of the city and yonder, through the country and on to the western horizon.
‘That is some view,’ Baek whispered.
‘This is the Birdsong Terrace,’ Hirandar said, ‘a place for the high society of Dolam to come and while away their lazy afternoons. Despite some of the pompous clientele,’ Hirandar said loudly, as she looked around at the lords and ladies at the other tables, ‘it is my favourite place in Dolam. One can come and relax here, with a view over the entire city.’
Gazing out over Dolam, Taem still found it strange to see so many people in one place. Thousands were crammed inside a few square miles, when the world was so vast.
A young waiter bade the companions to take some seats, and they lowered themselves into the feather-padded chairs, set around a marble table that was etched with sparkling mineral veins.
Hirandar whistled a tune and, to the delight of the other warriors, a blue finch came down from one of the trees to rest on her outstretched hand.
‘A pot of Dolami tea,’ Hirandar said to the waiter, ‘if you please.’
‘How did you do that?’ The waiter pointed at the bird sitting on Hirandar’s hand.
‘I find,’ Hirandar winked at the waiter, ‘if you’re nice to people and creatures, then they’re usually pleasant back to you.’
The waiter laughed, as he went to go and get the tea. He brought over a ceramic teapot, and left four small handle-less cups on the table.
Hirandar poured some tea in each of their cups.
‘No milk?’ Taem asked.
‘Not in this tea,’ Hirandar said. ‘Try it.’
Taem sipped the tea and its invigorating aroma swirled into his nose, as a waft of fresh air drifts in off the spring meadows.
‘It’s not the match of our Aritian tea,’ Hirandar murmured, ‘but it certainly is different.’ The Wizard took a sip. ‘Aaaah, that’s nice. You know, nations have been built on this fine drink, and wars have been resolved over a cup of tea.’ Hirandar grinned.
‘Yhee would say that,’ Forgrun grimaced as he swallowed the herbal tea. ‘But beer be better.’
‘I quite like it anyway,’ Baek raised his cup to the Rhungar.
‘Yhee would too,’ Forgrun grunted, ‘thy people prob’ly do make thine tea from berries an’ bit o’ grass.’
‘Better than making it from rocks and dirt!’ Baek quipped, causing everyone to laugh, even Forgrun.
They spent an hour relaxing and laughing on the Birdsong Terrace. They each told stories about their homes and their families, and Hirandar pointed out different parts of the city worth visiting.
‘Sitting in this luxury,’ Taem said quietly, ‘it is hard to imagine we’ll soon be travelling the wilderness once more.’
‘Savour it while you can, my boy,’ Hirandar placed a hand on Taem’s shoulder, as she caught the eye of the waiter, and asked him for the bill.
‘That’ll be four gold pieces,’ the waiter said.
‘Yhee be pulling me leg!’ Forgrun roared. ‘That be outrageous!’
‘I’m sorry,’ the man said, ‘I only work here–’
‘Please ignore him,’ Hirandar gestured to the Rhungar. ‘We are more than happy to pay to drink tea in as fine a place as this,’ Hirandar dipped her head to the waiter.
The waiter smiled at the old woman, and Taem was reminded how the pull of Hirandar’s charisma seemed to influence everyone she met.
‘This one’s on me,’ Taem said confidently, and reached for his coin pouch. ‘I’m not as cheap as our Rhungar.’ Taem smirked at Forgrun.
Forgrun scowled.
But as Taem rifled through his pouch, a nervous frown spread across his face. Three times he checked his coins – there was only three gold, one silver and three coppers. How could that be? He was a single coin short. He was sure he had enough money! Did he not? This was going to be humiliating.
‘Can… anyone lend me… a coin?’ Taem said sheepishly.
Forgrun had been watching with glee, as the anxiety spread over Taem’s face. The Rhungar had a gold coin ready in his hand, which he flipped in Taem’s direction. Taem snatched the coin out of the air, as Forgrun and Baek exchanged amused glances.
Taem smiled bashfully, as he handed the coins over to the waiter, who laughed as he collected up their cups.
‘You must all remind me,’ Hirandar said seriously, ‘to bring money with me, whenever Taem offers to take us all out for drinks.’
‘Hah Hah Hah!’ Forgrun bellowed. ‘Yhee be right Hirandar! Hah Hah Hah!’
Taem slunk very small as the others laughed. He did not think he would ever live that one down.
Logan waited in the Sceptre Room for a half hour, alone. He would allow his four companions to get well away from the Jester before he set out for The Rock.
As Logan started toward the castle, he prepared himself for the barrage of questions he would face. It had been a long time since he had mixed in courtly circles, and he hoped he was not too out of practice. Once, long ago, in the court of King Aswan in Arilon, Logan remembered a just and open court where people were free to speak as they wished. But Logan knew that dream had faded long ago.
Logan was wary of the city folk and adventurers
that he passed. The Sodan assessed every person, saw their strengths and weaknesses, saw how he could beat them if they attacked him. Logan knew to never let his guard down.
After a few minutes, Logan could see the regal walls of the castle in the distance, rising up over the rooftops. Logan found it hard to believe in destiny, as he thought that each person had to make their own way in life. But yet, how else had he come to be where he was today? What else could have led a blacksmith’s son to stray from his village, into the forbidden forest? Logan remembered that day so well. No one ever went into Borleon Forest because it was haunted. But it was just before his fifteenth birthday, when Logan had been driven by a great curiosity to enter the forest. He went deep into the trees, until he found that house hidden amongst the boughs. It was spring, and the trees in that part of the forest were decked with cherry blossom.
‘Do not be afraid, boy.’ Said a small man who moved with such grace that Logan had thought he was a forest spirit. ‘You have come here to learn the way of this,’ the man drew his sword with such speed that Logan had never seen. ‘Do you want to learn The Way of the Sword?’
Logan had nodded.
‘Good,’ the little man had smiled. ‘Then you will call me Master, and we will begin.’
Logan smiled at the memory. He strode down a street lined with shops until he came to a magnificent bridge that crossed the Treymar. Towering on the other side of the waterway, Logan was confronted by the majestic walls of The Rock. Logan saw how the stone of the far half of the bridge flowed into the castle. This drawbridge could be raised in times of emergency, to seal entry to the curtain wall.
Logan’s heart grew heavier for every step he took towards the castle. And Logan knew it was not just his own feelings that made him uneasy, it was his Sodan senses telling him that something was not right.
Unlike the heaving street where Logan stood, there were no other walkers on the bridge. It was a minor entry point to the castle, a much quieter way in than the main gate, and that was why Logan had chosen it. The great castle was overbearing up close. Some might tremble under the imposing shadow of that fortress, but there were few things in Hathlore that could shake Logan Fornor.
Two Defenders, in their blue and yellow tunics, and polished breastplates and helms, stood posted at the street-side end of the bridge. As Logan strode up to them, the Defenders crossed their halberds to bar his passing. Logan stared at them impassively. These Defenders were little older than Taem, and would have been at school the last time the Grim Wanderer was in Dolam.
‘You may not enter here, my lord,’ said one of the Defenders.
Logan gave the Defenders Balthus’s letter. As they read the letter, the two soldiers gaped at Logan in astonishment. They jumped to attention and saluted, and Logan walked on past them across the bridge. But one of the Defenders came sprinting after Logan.
The Sodan did not like to hear someone running at him, especially when his back was turned. Logan’s hand went to his sword. Logan’s eyes remained forward. He listened and he felt. He heard the clatter of a halberd. The Sodan sensed the threat approach. This Defender was fortunate. Logan heard the Defender’s lumbering footsteps giving him a wide berth, as he went hurtling past him over the bridge, to alert the castle to the imminent arrival of an honoured guest.
As Logan passed underneath the yards thick outer walls, he glanced up at the raised portcullis. A dozen Defenders came rushing out of a guardhouse to catch a glimpse of Logan. They watched with amazement in their eyes, as Logan walked on into the castle grounds.
Logan’s sharp gaze scythed through the gardens. He heard the twitter of birds in the quiet garden, and could hear the faint rumble of where the two rivers became one, beyond the castle walls. Logan saw colourful flower beds, ornamental shrubs, cut lawns and not a single weed in sight. The land was sculpted so the paths rolled on to areas of stone-paved patios – adorned with benches, and statues from legend – islands of stone amongst a sea of plant life.
Logan saw no one in the landscaped gardens, and he thought that was unusual, until he realised that all the nobles must have be in audience with their king. Logan cut across the gardens, to avoid the crowds and enter The Rock through the back door. A young officer came marching down the path toward Logan, and gave one of the lowest bows Logan had ever seen. Logan observed this Defender’s spotless uniform had a green edge, marking the young man as a lieutenant. He was barely in his twenties and must have been talented to have been promoted so early. Or, he had an important family. By his balanced poise, natural athleticism and straightened bearing, Logan assumed this young lieutenant was a fair swordsman.
‘Your humble servant, my Lord,’ the lieutenant rose up from his bow. Logan saw the reverence in the lieutenant’s eyes. No doubt the young man had grown up on the tales of the Grim Wanderer.
‘Please, follow me,’ the lieutenant said, ‘I am to escort you to King Balthus.’
Logan nodded, remaining silent. Not because he wished to be impolite, but because he knew his silence added to the awe.
The lieutenant took Logan through a gate in the inner wall, with its six gargantuan towers that ringed the keep, and into the courtyard. Logan glimpsed archers in those towers, and he felt vulnerable. Should they wish to shoot him, he was in the open, as a hunted deer in the meadow. The Sodan spread his senses, as his Master had taught him to, and his awareness heightened. Logan was ready to dive and roll aside if he heard the twang of one of those bows, or sensed the movement of an archer’s arm. Perhaps such caution was needless, but vigilance had kept him alive for years.
Logan walked past servants wearing yellow tunics with blue sleeves, grooms in brown shirts and more Defenders, but no nobles. The lieutenant headed across the courtyard, towards a high arched doorway that led into the imposing six-sided keep. Even Logan had to wonder at how those solid walls could soar so high up into the sky. The monumental keep was the tallest thing in the whole of Dolam. Logan had seen every great fortress in Hathlore, and this was one of the most impressive.
On the lieutenant strode, taking the Grim Wanderer into the fortress, past two Defenders on guard. Logan shivered as the air chilled the instant he stepped from the sunlight into the gloom of the castle. Logan was Sodan, and he could sense it was more than a dip in temperature that was sending a shudder down his spine. There was some dark force at work here. Logan no longer walked but prowled along, wary, ready to draw his blade in an instant.
The lieutenant led Logan through a zigzag of stone passageways, until they crossed a grand entry hall, with suits of armour and giant tapestries lining its walls. Logan saw enormous golden chandeliers, hanging down on long chains from the vaulted ceiling. The decoration here was lavish and bright, but the shadow Logan felt in his heart remained.
Logan and his guide walked down an extravagant red carpet through into a regal antechamber, and up to double doors bound in fine red leather. Six Defenders stood armed and on guard, three on each side of the doors. No doubt there were ten times their number waiting close by, who could be summoned in an instant. The six Defenders all gawked as Logan approached them. Two of the Defenders held open the doors, so Logan could enter the throne room.
Logan’s keen gaze took in the entire throne room in one sweep. Long silk drapes, in the colours of Dolam, hung from the high ceiling, and tapestries and pictures decked the stone walls. Light filtered in through stained glass windows, bathing the chamber in varying shades of light. Groups of nobles gathered around the regal chamber, standing on the stone floor and, at the far end, King Balthus sat on a gilded throne. Logan noted that the throne was the only chair in the room. On the King’s right hand side was the Chalice of Grantle, held in a jewel-encrusted silver stand. Six Defenders stood on guard surrounding the heirloom. The Chalice itself was magnificent. Even from across the throne room, Logan could see how it was made of gleaming gold, inset with three sapphires and three yellow diamonds.
The hum of numerous conversations continued, as the nobles turned to cast a
critical frown over the new arrival. Logan read the nobles’ thoughts by their eyes. Few knew who he was. Those that recognised him scarcely believed what they were seeing. Most assumed he must be a lord from a faraway land. The Defender lieutenant walked over to a herald, who was garbed in a long blue tabard with the golden chalice on its front.
‘Logan Fornor,’ the herald announced. There was no reaction from the court. ‘The Grim Wanderer,’ the herald added, after being prompted by the lieutenant.
Everyone in the throne room turned wide-eyed to stare at Logan. It was what Logan expected, the same reaction that name had always got. Men respected, even venerated, him. The women admired him, and some of the women even desired him. Logan remembered how people had thought the Grim Wanderer had everything. But he had had nothing. For he had been the loneliest sole in Hathlore, trudging on in misery and sorrow. Revenge his only companion, vengeance his only purpose.
With the nobles whispering amongst themselves, and not taking their eyes off Logan, they parted to clear a path for him to walk to the throne. Logan’s sword drew some wary glances. Logan remembered the ridiculous rumours that said he would kill in a heartbeat, slay anyone that dishonoured him. But – he reminded himself – those tall tales had their uses, especially in a place like this. Logan made sure to prowl, walking in the stances from Lion Stands Proud, as he made his way through the nobles, and bowed to King Balthus.
‘I thought he’d be taller,’ a nobleman murmured to the man next to him.
‘He’s the greatest swordsman in the world,’ another hissed.
‘He’s so handsome,’ one lady whispered to another.
Balthus Dalonvega was a tall muscular man, much bigger than Logan, with short grey hair and green eyes. Logan saw how those eyes were dimmer than they had once been. Not in colour, but they had lost their vigour. Balthus’s face held kingly wisdom now, but Logan saw the turmoil etched into his old friend’s brow. Balthus was only one year younger than Logan, but the years had weighed heavily on him. Balthus had once had a beaming smile that made all the girls swoon, but Logan doubted if he ever smiled anymore.