“Really?” asked Sherman. “I’ve noticed an increase in brigands lately, but I thought it was because they were after me.”
“After you?” the barmaid looked up at him. “Why—you’re bleeding!”
“Where?” asked Sherman, examining his hands and arms.
“Your neck.” The barmaid rose. “I’ll get some ointment.” She ran off into the kitchen.
“You’re lucky that’s all the damage you received,” said Harran, righting an overturned chair nearby, “considering the odds.”
“I’ve had practice,” said Sherman dryly.
After helping to straighten up the common room, Sherman bent to continue scrubbing the floor where he had left off.
“Never mind that,” said the barmaid, returning with the ointment. “I’ll get that later. Sit down and I’ll fix you up. I’ll never stop scrubbing if you keep bleeding like that, anyway.”
“Never disobey the command of a lady,” said Kazin with a twinkle in his eye.
The barmaid glared at him for a moment before going to work on the big warrior.
Kazin sat across from the dwarf. “Well, Harran. Suppose you tell me what you’re doing so far away from Arral? I thought you were looking for work there.”
Harran leaned forward. “It just so happened I ran into a friend of my uncle’s who runs an herb and ointment shop there. He informed me there was an opening in his cousin’s business in the town of St. Frances. Apparently, this cousin makes weapons for the army stationed at the Tower of Hope. Ordinarily, there isn’t much going on there, but with the impending war in the east, orders for dwarven weaponry have increased tenfold. He’s producing them as fast as he can and the troops being moved to the east are taking everything he can manufacture.
“I know I’m not much of a weapon maker,” admitted Harran. “Maps are my specialty, and I have dabbled in masonry from time to time under the direction of my uncle. But work is work, so I’ll just have to learn along the way. This cousin in St. Frances needs the help anyway.”
“So here you are,” said Kazin.
“Yes,” said Harran. “I left the following afternoon aboard the Farrow and set sail for Warral. There was a slight delay while we waited for the captain, though. It seems he’d gotten drunk in a local bar and a scrubby looking man in a wizard’s cloak had to half drag him to the ship.”
“Andron,” murmured Kazin with a grin.
“What’s that?” asked the dwarf.
“Oh, nothing,” said Kazin.
By now the wound on Sherman’s neck was healed and Harran ordered a round of drinks.
“Are you staying at this inn?” asked Harran.
“We might as well,” said Sherman. “This is as good a place as any.”
“That’s true,” agreed Kazin, “considering the circumstances.”
Harran gave him a questioning look.
“Maybe I should fill you in,” said Kazin. He briefly described the events as they occurred since entering his hometown, including Sherman’s troubles of late.
As he finished, Harran nodded knowingly. “I see what you mean about this being as good a place as any. I know what it’s like to be looking over my shoulder all the time.”
Sherman yawned. “I think it’s time to turn in. It’ll be an early start tomorrow.”
Kazin agreed. A thought occurred to him. “Harran, would you like to travel with us for a few days? We’re going in the same direction anyway.”
“I’d be honoured,” said Harran.
Sherman gave Kazin a sidelong glance. “We’re in a bit of a hurry—.”
“No problem,” said Harran. “The horse I purchased in Warral is a sturdy one. It’ll keep up. The stable hand told me it once belonged to a general.”
“That’s settled then,” said Kazin. “See you in the morning.”
As Kazin and Sherman went to check in at the front desk, Sherman nudged Kazin with his elbow. “I didn’t want him to get involved with my troubles.”
“Don’t worry,” said Kazin. “Harran can handle himself.”
“I hope so,” murmured Sherman doubtfully.
Kazin slept fitfully that night, images of the dead ruffian nagging his thoughts. Aside from the dragon, he had never killed before. He wondered how Sherman could do it so matter-of-factly. Perhaps he would get used to it in time. He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out.
Chapter 23
Early the next morning the trio departed after a light breakfast and rode briskly out of the city. The dwarf wasn’t kidding about his horse, which was even bigger than Sherman’s. It somehow seemed uncanny for such a small dwarf to ride such a big horse, and that only made Sherman, riding his slightly smaller horse, seem even more ridiculous. The dwarf and warrior exchanged glances more than once that morning, causing Kazin to choke back his laughter each time.
Sherman eyed Harran’s powerful horse again. “You wouldn’t want to sell that horse by any chance, would you, Harran?”
Harran grinned and spurred the great beast forward. “Nope.”
Sherman sighed and spurred his horse after the dwarf. Kazin laughed aloud and followed.
Around noon that day they heard thunder beyond a rise in the road ahead of them. The thundering became louder and soon a regiment of mounted soldiers appeared, galloping in a disciplined formation toward them.
Kazin and his group stopped at the side of the road to let them pass unobstructed. When the army group came abreast of them, their leader, wearing the insignia of a general, raised his hand and called a halt to his regiment.
“Greetings,” he began, addressing the trio. “I am General Larsen. We are presently headed east to assist our brothers with the impending war against the minotaurs. How far is it to the next town?”
“A few hours,” answered Sherman. “The town of Castor. If you are considering stopping for a few hours, ‘The Castor Cupful’ is a pleasant place to stay.”
The general nodded. “I will consider it. We have ridden through the night and we and our horses are weary. Thank you and good day.” He raised his hand in preparation for moving on but stopped abruptly, looking Sherman up and down. “We could use men like you.”
“Thank you,” said Sherman. “However, some of us have to keep things under control while you’re gone.”
The general smiled. “Well said. If you ever change your mind, though, there’s always room.”
Sherman nodded.
The general lowered his hand and the troops moved forward.
Kazin spotted some mages and clerics among the troops and pointed them out to Sherman. “It’s good to see everyone working together for a common cause,” he commented.
Sherman simply nodded.
It was a good five minutes before the last of the soldiers rode by, leaving the road vacant before them once again. The rest of the journey that day proved to be uneventful.
Other than the army, they saw only a few caravans moving in either direction. They arrived in Billing well before sundown and found a suitable inn for the night.
As they led their horses to the stables nearby, a lone rider came galloping up to them. Sherman had his hand on the hilt of his sword and would have drawn it if the rider hadn’t swerved around him and continued to the stable’s entrance. The horse he rode was lathered in sweat and its nostrils flared wildly as the result of some long, hard galloping. The man dismounted and ran to the side of the stable, calling for the stable master. The stable master, an elderly man, appeared and asked what the man wanted. The rider pulled out a sack of coins and handed it to the stable master. “I need your best horse. I’ll trade my horse plus some gold in exchange.”
The stable master examined the man’s horse and nodded. It was a black stallion, an excellent warhorse. “Wait,” he said and entered his stables.
B
y now Kazin and his group arrived on the scene, leading their horses to the stables for the night.
“What’s the hurry?” Sherman asked the stranger.
The man turned. “Did you just get into town?” He asked.
“Yes,” said Sherman.
“From the east?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see an army go by? General Larsen’s regiment?”
“Yes,” repeated Sherman again, “about a half day’s ride ago. The general appeared in favour of staying at Castor for a rest. I suggested an inn by the name of ‘the Castor Cupful’.”
“Good,” said the stranger. “I’m gaining on him.” He looked around nervously. “I’m not supposed to say anything,” he whispered softly, “but the Tower of Hope is under attack.”
Kazin was dumbfounded. “The tower is under attack?” he whispered incredulously.
“Yes,” answered the stranger. “I’ve been sent to catch up to General Larsen to get his troops back to the tower to help. He left the tower the day before and doesn’t know yet.”
The companions looked at each other. “Who is—” began Sherman.
“Shhh!” interrupted the stranger as the stable master exited the stables drawing a grey mare behind him. The stranger quickly examined the horse and announced, “I’ll take it.”
The saddle was quickly transferred and the messenger galloped off without another word.
After settling their horses in the stable, the three companions entered the inn’s common room and sat down. This evening it was warmer but the fire in the hearth was still welcome. There were more people here than in Castor’s inn but it was not crowded by any means. The latest news had them all thinking. Conversation was minimal until after dinner, when a round of ale began to have its effect of relaxing the mind and loosening the tongue.
They spoke in hushed tones so as not to be overheard. Neither of them could believe the tower was under attack. By whom? From where? It was known that orcs and goblins sometimes came out of the mountains and raided crops, but that was rare and soldiers usually drove them back again. How depleted was the army in the tower? Were the clerics almost defenceless? Where were the army’s mages?
These questions and more were debated as Kazin and the others sat uneasily at their table. Harran even changed his plans to stop at St. Frances and announced that after a battle, the tower would need stone masons to repair the damages. As such his skill would be better utilized. Until then he would do what he could to help the tower prevail. If it was not already too late.
Gradually the conversation turned to the minotaurs and Harran launched into one of his tales about his minotaur friend. Kazin heard this all before and let Sherman do the listening. He sat back and enjoyed the pleasant buzz he was experiencing from the ale. Sherman was right. The ale did have a warming effect. Only his hands still felt cold. He slipped them quietly into his robe. His right hand felt paper. Pulling it out, Kazin recognized it as the page from the Book of Prophesy. He read it again.
The mighty staff
The sword of dead
The frozen axe
The horned head
The healing hand
The dagger throw
The eight heroes
This you must know!
The flying fire
The arrow straight
The swift of hoof
Don’t be too late!
Kazin reread it. The mighty staff referred to a cleric or mage. The sword of dead must be a warrior of some kind. Probably a big one like Sherman, no doubt. Kazin looked at his friend. Yes. Sherman was certainly the image of a hero. Let’s see. The frozen axe probably referred to an axe wielder. Kazin looked at Harran’s axe. Most dwarven warriors wielded axes. The frozen axe probably referred to a dwarf; perhaps a dwarf like Harran. Despite the large size of the axe Harran carried, Kazin was willing to bet the dwarf could wield it efficiently.
Now, the horned head. What could that possibly be? Kazin blinked as the lamplight in the room glinted off Harran’s helmet. Harran was deep into his story and Sherman sat still, listening intently.
The helmet glinted again and the words came to him. The horned head. Harran’s helmet had horns! Most dwarven warriors wore horned helmets. Maybe that was what the horned head meant!
Wait a minute. Why would the dwarf have two references made to him while the others had only one? Were there two dwarves? Kazin sighed. No wonder most people were frustrated with the Book of Prophesy. It was awfully vague.
He quickly reread the rest again but didn’t know anyone with the given characteristics. What was he thinking? Most likely none of this related to him anyway. He crammed the page back into his pocket and joined Sherman on the receiving end of Harran’s story.
Chapter 24
Graf did what?!”
Nimbar shifted his weight, rattling slightly. “He has proceeded with his attack on the Tower of Hope, milord.”
“The fool!” shrieked Grakath. “That could upset my entire plan! I told him to wait for my orders!”
“He was very impatient, milord,” said Nimbar.
“He was very foolish,” said Grakath. “Tell him to withdraw his forces at once!”
“Yes, milord.”
“Has the Guardian been located and killed?” asked Grakath, preferring to change the subject at this point.
“Not yet, milord,” said Nimbar. “The assassination squad is on his trail and by their account he is headed for the Tower of Hope. Word is he travels in the company of a mage as well.”
Grakath swore. “How many mages are in the attack party?”
“Just one, milord.”
Grakath shook his head. “That will have to do. The power in the ring should be sufficient. Have them keep a low profile until the subject leaves the tower. With all the soldiers and clerics around, it’s too dangerous to act at this time.”
“Yes, milord,” answered Nimbar.
“And what of the south? Have my mages succeeded in arousing the forces there?”
“Yes, milord. They are gathering in great numbers.”
“Good,” said Grakath, allowing a trace of a smile to cross his lips. “The grey mages won’t know what hit them. Most of their forces will have gone north when word of the impending battle reaches them. By then it will be too late.”
“I hope so, milord,” said Nimbar.
“Hope is a useless commodity,” said Grakath. “To make something work you must be prepared for all eventualities.”
“Yes, milord.”
“Are the nobles still supporting this endeavour?”
“There is some tension but it appears they will follow your lead,” said Nimbar.
Grakath chuckled. “They do it for their queen. So long as I control the queen, I control them. They cannot speak against me.”
“Yes, milord.”
“If you say ‘yes, milord’ one more time, I will send you back where you came from, Nimbar. You are dismissed.”
“Yes, mi—” Nimbar caught himself. “Certainly, milord,” he amended. He turned and left the room quietly, with just his bony feet clacking on the stone floor.
Kazin gradually began to drift off to sleep as Sherman played his wooden flute softly by their campfire. Harran was already asleep, snoring softly nearby. The horses were tied up not far away, their smoky breath visible in the firelight. Sherman’s black stallion, formerly belonging to the army’s messenger, looked blacker than the blackness settling in behind it.
When questioned on the trade, Sherman insisted his horse was beginning to labour under his weight. The new horse was stronger and faster. Kazin wasn’t fooled, however. He knew the real reason for the trade. Harran’s horse was still larger, but not by much. But as long as everyone was happy, Kazin didn’t mind.
Their journey to the Tower of Hope was nearly over. By evening of the following day they would arrive at the scene. The reports of the few peasants they had passed on the road late that day indicated that the battle was now over. The enemy had simply retreated back into the mountains for no apparent reason. Many crops were ruined in the battle and the tower suffered its own damage.
Kazin was barely asleep when he heard the thunder of many hooves. He sat bolt upright and saw Sherman on the other side of the campfire with his sword drawn. Harran was also awakened and was rummaging through his gear for his axe.
The three companions pulled closer together as the sound neared. Some shiny armour reflecting from their fire could be seen through the trees and finally a voice called for a halt. The thundering stopped and a lone horseman moved slowly into their clearing. It was General Larsen.
“Greetings,” he called. “My apologies for interrupting your camp. We were on our way to the tower to assist in the battle when we saw your fire. Naturally, we must examine everything to be sure there are no enemy stragglers in this area.”
“We understand,” said Kazin, “but by all accounts, the fighting is over.”
General Larsen nodded. “I have received similar reports. Our aim, however, is to make that a certainty. Good evening.” He turned and left the clearing, urging his horse toward the tower. With a thunder of hoof beats, General Larsen and his troops were gone.
Sherman yawned. “Time to get some rest, fellas.”
“You get some sleep,” said Kazin. “I’ll take your watch for tonight. I can’t sleep right now anyway.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Sherman. “It’s been a long day.” He and Harran retired to their blankets and soon all was quiet.
Kazin sighed and began his rounds. The truth was, he couldn’t sleep, but not because he wasn’t tired. It was his stomach. It seemed as if he had eaten something hot and it refused to cool off. He reached for his wineskin but it was empty. It was time to locate some water for a refill.
Kazin's Quest: Book I of The Dragon Mage Trilogy Page 21