by I K Spencer
He checked the position of the sun again. It was time to leave but he didn't want to go without catching a second trout. The float's movement indicated that a fish was at the hook; he just needed to wait for a strike. He fought the urge to try to hook the trout and in a few minutes his patience paid off. The cork suddenly disappeared beneath the surface and he instinctively yanked the line. Drawing in the catch, he could tell it would outweigh the first by a bit. The pair would make a tasty supper, though it would take several more to fill his considerable appetite.
With a sigh, the stocky figure wearily lifted himself from his seat by the tranquil pool. He led Lance to the creek and let the horse have a long drink while he collected his gear and packed it away. After a final wistful look around, he rode back to the trail and continued up the pass.
Chapter 11
Anthen arrived in sight of Dolonhold shortly before sunset, the trail opening up into a broad valley rimmed with high peaks. Throughout the day, the fourth since leaving Verilia, the narrow pass had risen, fallen, and twisted its way east through the mountains. The rises far outnumbered the falls, however, and though clear and sunny, an icy wind blew down the pass all through the afternoon. Now it felt cold enough to snow and Anthen hoped the elder guardsman following him reached the shelter of the famed garrison for the night.
The large fort was the major occupant of the further half of the circular valley, roughly a mile in diameter. The rest of the flats to this side of the fort were dominated by freshly planted fields and grazing lands for cattle. Evidently the fort was self-sustaining. Peaks rose sharply from sheer cliffs on the northern and southern sides of the garrison. There appeared to be a distance of about a hundred yards between the stone outer walls of the fort and the adjacent cliffs and the ground between was completely bare. Anthen surmised that any force trying to move around to this side of the fort through that gauntlet would be cut to pieces.
The fortress appeared to have been designed with that in mind. The north and south facing walls followed the contour of the cliffs as they sharply narrowed toward the further end of the valley. Thus, the wall facing Anthen was almost a mile in length while the far eastern wall was only about a quarter of a mile long. The far and side walls, closer to the enemy, were also taller than the wall facing him.
As he started the short descent into the valley, the twilight deepened and he noticed torches being lit inside the fort. He could tell that inside the far outer wall, which was probably twenty feet tall and ten feet thick, there stood a completely separate inner wall. The inner wall stood a foot or two taller but not so thick. He could just make out gangplanks spanning the walls, a distance of about ten feet, at regular intervals along the ramparts.
From studying the famed fortress as a cadet, the guardsman knew that the inner wall served double duty. It provided additional archer positions and, in the unlikely event the outer wall were overwhelmed, the soldiers would fall back to the inner wall and take the planks with them. At the outer edge of each wall, the parapets reached upward another three to four feet.
Two bright spots of light were now visible between the north and south facing walls and the neighboring cliffs, illuminating the bare ground between. More and more of the fires, probably barrels of oil, appeared until the entire perimeter beyond the far wall of the fort came dimly to view. Anthen appreciated the caution that kept this practice ongoing more than a decade after the last war ended.
As he reached the flats, the fort appeared as a great dark hulk, offset by the orange haze and smoke from the fires beyond the far wall. He saw no one as he passed along the road that led to the entrance. There were no structures outside the walls; evidently everyone lived inside.
Two listless sentries manned the gate that Anthen entered. One mechanically asked his name, origin, destination and purpose before giving him directions to the inn. He rode straight through the main road, which resembled the main street of any small town. There were various shops and homes and Anthen rode past one tavern that appeared to be doing a booming business. He took a left and shortly came to a large log structure. The inn was converted officer quarters, made available for travelers during quiet periods.
He deposited Rorc at the adjacent stable, instructing the stable boy on how to care for his loyal mount. The weary guardsman took his pack and entered through the heavy door of the two-story inn. He strode into a large open room kept cheerfully warm by two roaring fireplaces in the center of each wall adjacent to the entrance. The space in the big gathering room was broken only at the center, by a wide stairway that most likely led to the bedrooms.
The place was crowded but not too noisy; lone travelers occupied a few of the tables but Anthen guessed that most of the patrons were locals or soldiers. He strode to the bar and ordered whiskey, supper, and a room with hot water. The barkeep seemed friendly despite saying relatively little. He observed the man glancing his way often as he sipped the potent liquor.
Anthen leaned on the bar with his gear stowed at his feet. He sipped his drink and listened to the chatter at the bar while waiting to be shown to his room. The men on his left were men of the mountains. They wore heavy beards and furs and thumped the wooden floor of the inn with thick spears as they talked of trapping and fur prices. They spoke with thick accents and on occasions said phrases in a tongue foreign to guardsman, no doubt some obscure mountain dialect.
The two men to his right, also leaning on the bar, seemed to be talking about a woman. Before he could follow the conversation too long the bartender returned and signaled him to the end of the bar. There he was told to follow a woman not introduced, who would show him to his room.
The sturdy-looking, gray haired woman wore a plain, dark frock of some heavy material. She did not speak except to tell Anthen that he would have to take his meals in the tavern. He followed the woman up the stairs and through a maze of halls ending up in a hall that ran along an outer wall of the structure, bearing only shuttered archer holes on one side and doors along the other. She stopped at the second door and entered. He followed her inside where she set the lantern down on the dresser and left, closing the door behind her.
The room measured about eight feet by ten feet and contained just a small bed and dresser. A small looking glass, tacked into the wall above the dresser, was the only decoration on the windowless walls of unfinished wood. The sounds from the first floor were heard clearly through the thin floorboards.
Anthen bolted the door, then stripped completely. He bathed with the water from a wash basin before shaving the sparse stubble from his chin. He dressed and flipped his cloak over his shoulder, the concealed handbow within easy reach. He paused outside the door to sprinkle some dust from the ample supply on the floor on top of the handle, reminded himself to check it when he returned, then found his way back downstairs.
He surveyed the crowd and chose a table near several others where he could continue to eavesdrop while eating. He caught the barman's eye and signaled for his dinner and a drink, gesturing to where he had chosen to sit. He placed his cloak on the adjacent chair and sat with his back to most of the tables around him.
Anthen sat and shifted his gaze blankly around the room while his ears worked to focus on a conversation. He went from one conversation to another and weeded out the inconsequential. He was interrupted by the arrival of his dinner—salty stew, a loaf of bread, and a couple of slabs of red roast beef, accompanied by his second whiskey. The young guardsman didn't imbibe the potent amber liquid often but the day's ride in the high country, not to mention the strange wayfarer’s tale, had left him chilled.
Anthen continued to scan the voices until from his left, the word "Gates" caught his attention. A quick glance showed two locals who probably traveled to the border town for supplies. Their conversation was about the current troubles on Isaencarl's eastern frontier. The gist of their dialogue seemed to be that the violence and strange occurrences were keeping that area wild but at least the Dolonarian border seemed quiet.
Anth
en's work was interrupted by the approach of a middle-aged woman, obviously a whore from her clothing. She smiled and started to open her mouth but Anthen shook his head and waved her off without speaking. The spurned woman shot him a venomous look but said nothing. Later he might be interested in company but for now he was more intent on eavesdropping. One of the men told a story of a boy who vanished completely and the other responded with a tale about a woman who claimed she was chased by a spirit. The conversation moved on to local topics and Anthen left them to their local politics.
This guardsman task suited the apprentice well, an observer by nature and somewhat of a loner at the academy. He also had the ability to appear completely oblivious to others when he was in fact, intently listening to a conversation. He continued to scan until the tables around began to clear but heard nothing else of consequence.
It was the assignment awaiting him with Cidrl that would be difficult for him. Anthen had always been anxious about the apprentice role because he figured that he would need to be more open and friendly. At the academy his aloofness went unnoticed because there were numerous masters but now he would have only one. And this was no normal apprenticeship, thanks to Garrick. He believed that any spell that could turn a guardsman must require some acceptance on the part of the person being influenced, so his detachment might prove too much of a hindrance for Cidrl’s sorcery, or make his new master more cautious at the least. What would happen if Cidrl decided he was too strong or closed-minded? Most likely he would be eliminated. Being open and sustaining friendliness without genuine affection did not come easily or naturally to Anthen so he would need to make that a focus.
The guardsman's gaze fell on the middle-aged trollop who had interrupted him earlier as she worked a potential customer across the room. He felt inclined to take advantage of her services but hopefully with someone younger. Being reticent didn’t make him impervious to loneliness, though he knew he must learn to live with it. It was rare for any guardsman to marry and impossible for someone in the field. All he could hope for was an ample supply of whores and at best, a brief liaison that would end when an assignment did.
With such musings, his thoughts naturally turned to Urvena. Would she be a brief liaison? He doubted it; she seemed much too sharp to fall into such a trap. Still, the possibility excited him. If the outstanding young guardsman had any weakness, herein it lay. Anthen was fascinated by women. Next to his training, and especially the bow, thoughts of women occupied his mind. As was the case for the majority of young men of his years, most of his thoughts were lustful, but he desperately wanted also to know and understand a woman. Women other than whores and servants had been beyond his reach thus far, so his curiosity was considerable.
Appropriately, his thoughts were interrupted by the approach of a woman. She was of medium height with long, dark hair cascading down past her shoulders. The guardsman smiled but the woman did not reciprocate and he was surprised when she asked if he would like any company, a sure sign that she could be his for a price. He scrutinized her more closely and still remained uncertain. Her pretty, round face featured large, brown eyes and a dark olive complexion. She spoke with an edge of defiance common to women of her trade. The anger also touched the twist of her smile, though it was not an unpleasant effect. She wore a simple frock and no powder or rouge.
Still uncertain of her purpose, Anthen jumped up to pull out a chair for her. She frowned at that but took the offer and sat in a chair across from him. Though naturally attractive, he noted that her figure was just a bit too sturdy for her to be considered a classic beauty. He signaled for tea. This was part work for Anthen and he would begin by querying her for any information that might be important. At first he did most of the talking as the woman begrudged even her words to this man she resented for what would come later.
She said her name was Nory and that she had spent some time on the far side of these mountains. Anthen guessed her to be a farm girl from somewhere along the border plains near Gates. She said very little until he touched on some subjects that angered her more than her present occupation and her next client, then she let loose. Her tirade covered everything—the buffoons in Gates local government, the Dolonarians, crime, and the area constables. She went for more than an hour, during which, she finished her tea and drank two ales.
Nory said that she had heard of the disappearances and other strange occurrences in the region but added nothing specific to what the guardsman already knew. Satisfied, he stopped probing her for information and all at once, she became silent and directed her anger once more at him, her large, dark eyes hurling daggers.
Anthen settled his bill with the barman and they went up stairs. Nory preceded him up the stairs and then stood by, eyes downcast, waiting to follow to his room. She stopped at his door and raised her angry eyes and her palm before she would enter. She named an amount and he put double into her hand, which seemed to infuriate her.
"Why double?" she demanded.
Anthen told her it was just for the extra time he kept her downstairs and that seemed to placate her, though there was no softening in her cold stare. The guardsman furtively checked the door handle before entering, noting that the door had not been disturbed. He lit the lantern and turned down the flame as far as possible.
They undressed in silence, she at one end of the small room and he at the other. He watched her from the corner of his eye. She undressed quickly and slipped into the small bed. She lay on her back, pushed against the wall, ostensibly to leave room for him, though her hard expression suggested it was to get as far away as possible.
Anthen toyed with the buttons on his shirt. He pictured Urvena and suddenly did not feel right about this. He usually felt nothing except desire but for some reason, this time it was different. Irritated at having such sentimental thoughts and telling himself he would likely never see the fair Urvena again, Anthen hurriedly threw off his clothes and moved beside the woman on the small bed.
He lay on his side facing her and when he reached out to touch her she gasped but did not move. With gentle fingers he explored her rigid body but when he maneuvered himself above her he hesitated once again, more images of the maiden filling his head. He almost stopped but his anger at himself for harboring such emotions, as well as his physical need, overcame the momentary feelings of uncertainty. He pushed hard against her and she bucked against him with defiance. A low moan escaped her and Anthen did not know if it signified pleasure or sadness.
Fueled by their mutual anger, their coupling was passionate. He sought comfort in her dark eyes but she refused to look at him, though afterwards, as he lay collapsed on top of her, she reached up and briefly stroked his hair with a touch of tenderness. He lay there for some time, enjoying the contact of her warm, soft skin.
Later, Anthen rolled off her and she rose, dressing quickly and silently with eyes again downcast. She moved to leave but he called to her at the door and she turned.
"Thank you and fare well," he said softly.
A small smile came to her lips, the first he had seen not accompanied by an angry glare. "Take care on the far side of these mountains," she said, then the hardness returned to her face, a stranger once again. She turned and slipped out the door.
********
Garrick reached the rim of the valley in full darkness, shivering against the chilling wind. As he came over the rise, at the sight of the fortress, his heart began to race and a knot formed in his gut. The cold was instantly forgotten as he relived another night long ago when he came roaring over the mountains to this place, battle hammer in hand. He closed his eyes and tried to check the old familiar screams inside his head. He removed a shiny flask from his pack and took a long swallow. The rum burned his insides and he calmed as the warm spread through his body.
This had worked out just fine so far as Garrick was concerned; the apprentice could spend the night inside Dolonhold but as long as it took to ride through in the morning was enough for him. There were too many ghosts in the p
lace. Although he had eventually triumphed with great glory at the legendary stronghold, the glory had faded long ago and now only the horrors that he had experienced remained.
He found a grassy spot offering a view of the garrison just off the trail and unpacked Lance. After a cold supper, warmed with many sips from the flask, he rolled up in his bedroll and fur and slept. Nightmares from the war disturbed him for the first time in many years and he tossed and turned throughout the frigid night.
At dawn, jittery and unrested from the nightmares, he made a small fire for tea and sat watching the fort through his glass while waiting for the water to heat. The rising sun behind Dolonhold was comforting and hopefully signaled a warmer day.
The inside of the fortress had been turned into a small town in the years of peace, very different from how Garrick remembered it the two times he fought here before. The inner wall had been added after his first visit, during which the fort nearly fell. Every so often he turned the glass to the eastern gate, watching for Anthen's departure.
After retrieving some hot tea and lighting his pipe, the movement of a lone rider beyond the far gate attracted Garrick's attention. The telescope revealed the rider to be the young apprentice. Garrick's eye followed his back as if trying to read the younger man’s state of mind from the way he sat in the saddle or handled the horse.
All at once Anthen stopped, turned around in his saddle and looked in the older guardsman's direction. The apprentice then made a gesture, which Garrick recognized as a signal that Anthen was resuming the journey and Garrick was free to enter the fortress. At that moment, his respect for the apprentice rose considerably; the serious young man had obviously learned well at the academy. As he watched, the young guardsman turned again and rode across the flat land beyond the far wall until the trail dipped down and Garrick lost sight of him.