Casius’s heart nearly stopped, there among them stood G’relg.
G’relg’s eyes narrowed and then he recognized the somewhat familiar young man. “It’s him!” he shouted.
The three men rushed forward knocking aside any who stood in their way.
Casius bolted; he knew he could not make it to the stalls where Urbas and his men were busily setting up shop. He ran back into the heart of the market as fast as his legs would carry him. Darting around stalls and leaping over tables he sought to lose the Raiders in the confusion. Merchants cursed him as he knocked their goods onto the ground in his carelessness. Hands tore at his cloak but he was too fast for the Hawkers to capture.
Behind him he could hear renewed curses as G’relg and his men in their pursuit added to the damage he had already caused.
He left the market and darted down a narrow alleyway his hand wrapped around the hilt of his Ka’rich. The small blade was the only weapon he carried, all but useless compared to the arms his pursuers carried. He cursed himself for his stupidity; he should have known better than to leave his sword strapped to his saddle at the livery.
Leaping piles of refuse and a sleeping drunk he made for the opposite end of the narrow alley and the street beyond. The Raiders shouted for him to stop, as they spotted him in the alley. Boots pounded on pavement splashing through the fetid puddles in the shadows.
Casius did not look back he knew the men were close, he only hoped that he was fast enough to elude them. He burst out of the alleys darkness and into the street. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder and slammed into what felt like a wall. He fell onto his back momentarily winded from the impact. His small knife lay on the ground out of his reach.
A stern faced man stood over him the barest hint of a smile on his thin lips. “Always look where you are going,” he said with a chuckle. “You will find it less painful.” The man’s eyes were the color of steel and they narrowed menacingly as G’relg and his men rushed out of the alley.
“Friends of yours?” he asked without looking down. He flicked his wrist opening his cloak of faded green revealing a long-sword hanging from a belt of bronze studded leather. Resting his hand on the pommel he stepped between Casius and the men.
“Stay behind me,” he said softly his eyes never leaving the Raiders. “What quarrel do you have with this man?” He asked the Raiders boldly.
“It is our own affair and does not concern you.” G’relg said harshly.
“That is where you are mistaken,” The man answered undoing the pin that held his cloak across his shoulders. “I have made it my business.” he shrugged allowing the cloth to fall to the ground behind him. He wore a white Lenin shirt with voluminous sleeves, trousers of faded brown leather and sturdy riding boots.
G’relg smiled at the implied threat. “Who are you?”
“Who am I?” The man repeated brushing aside a strand of his long dark hair. “That is a question best suited for philosophers and men more learned than I. I am the sum of what you see standing before you, a pauper by most standards owning little more than what I now wear.” He patted the blade at his hip. “Save this well honed blade my treasures are few.”
“You are long on wind and short on sense.” G’relg spat in disgust.
The man inclined his head slightly as if accepting a compliment. “Never the less,” he said calmly. “What has this man done that calls for three Raiders to run him to ground.”
“ He is my property and I will reclaim him!” G’relg’s eyes burned with hatred as he spoke.
“I see no slavers mark upon his head,” the man spared Casius a quick look. “What say you?” he asked him.
Casius regained his feet, “I belong to no man.” He was surprised at how calm he sounded.
The man winked, and faced G’relg. “There must be some mistake,” he offered. “Perhaps you believe him to be someone else?”
“Stand aside!” G’relg commanded. “Too long I have walked these lands seeking him to be denied now.”
The man’s sword flew from his sheath, a lightning fast blur of silver in the air. Before any could react its point rested firmly on the Raiders throat. “Now ask yourself this,” He spoke softly, emphasizing each word with a slight amount of pressure to the blade. “How many men am I willing to lose to take him.”
G’relg stepped slowly back away from the sword. He was stunned, never in all his days had he seen a blade wielded with such speed and accuracy. This man was more than a simple townsman. “There are three of us,” he said confidently, reassured by the men at his back. From the corner of his eye he could see in their faces that they too had surmised the mastery that this man had of his blade. The man actually smiled at him!
“No matter,” he laughed. “Come then Raider, death cares not whether it is you or I that she drags into her twilight realm.”
“Just who the hell are you?” G’relg demanded.
“Very well,” he said with a shrug. “I am Connell Malkor.”
G’relg’s face paled and his men stepped back in fear.
“But what matters a name?” Connell asked stepping forward his sword held casually at his side. “You can now tell your brethren in hell who it was that sent you there.”
The Raiders gave ground keeping their hands away from their weapons.
Casius could not believe what he was seeing. Here stood one man backing down three murderous rogues.
A small crowd was beginning to gather, people were anticipating swordplay at any moment.
G’relg saw the crowd and knew if he backed down any further the Raiders would lose the power that came with fear. “Be still!” He snapped at his men. “How do we know if this man is the Eagle of Kesh?”
Connell nodded, “Come then, slay me and remove my shirt if it is proof you want.”
G’relg drew his blade and attacked. He was furious and swung wildly.
Connell’s sword flashed in the sunlight skillfully knocking G’relg’s weapon from his hand. As fast as a striking serpent the blade flashed across G’relg’s face. The Raider fell to his knees clutching at a deep gash across his cheek.
Connell stepped forward and grabbed the Raiders chin forcing him to look up. He compared the fresh cut with the old scar he nodded approvingly. “Once it heals your face will have a touch of symmetry.” He released G’relg’s chin and shoved him onto his back.
G’relg scurried away and with the help of his men he came to his feet and glared at Connell.
“Say nothing!” Connell threatened holding his sword up. “I will not entertain your petty threats, if you place any value on your hides you will leave. Simply walk away and bother me no more.”
G’relg’s face reddened but he held his tongue, with a final venomous glare at Casius he forced his way through the crowd and back down the alley.
Connell slid his sword into its scabbard, scooping to pick up his cloak he turned to Casius. “You’ve made some dangerous enemies.”
“Four years ago he led a raid on my village. He was going to kill me during the voyage to Cythera but I escaped.”
“Escaped?” Connell asked raising an eyebrow in surprise. “How does one escape on a ship at sea?”
“I jumped overboard during a fierce storm.”
“You say it as if it was as easy as crossing this street.” Connell said laughing.
“I had few choices in the matter, he did have a knife at my throat.”
“It was bravely done none the less.” Connell looked at the crowd, the people were beginning to depart now that the excitement was over. “We must be going. They will not lick their wounds long. The Raiders will return and in greater numbers.”
“Damn!” Casius cursed. “G’relg has only to ask around and he will learn where it is I have been staying all these years.”
“Then you cannot return, why would he go to such lengths to capture you?”
Casius shook his head, “I do not know.”
Connell chewed his lip in thought for a moment. �
��Do you have a horse?”
“I left it at the livery, along with my sword.”
“You are fortunate to have left it behind. More than your dignity would have been lying in that street. I won that fight by luck, playing on the cowardice that darkens the hearts of men of that ilk. Raiders seek victims that are weak, they attack at night and rarely engage in open combat.” Connell led him up the street towards the stables. “I will be leaving with the dawn. Heading north to the city of Tor, come with me and I will help you escape the Raiders clutches.”
Casius did not know how to respond, he had only just met this man but there was something about his face that made him trust Connell. He was confident and unimposing appearing anything but well versed in the art of swordplay. This man had traveled far if he was truly from Kesh. “Have you ever been to Ril’Gambor?” he asked.
“Fond of knights, are we?” Connell grinned. “I’ve been there several times. It is a beautiful land, both wild and wondrous.”
“Why did you help me?”
Connell stopped and looked him in the eye. “What is your name?”
“Casius Rhaine.”
“Because Casius,” Connell continued. “It was the right thing to do. My honor would not allow me to act in any other manner. Don’t look so surprised, it is a rare enough thing in Lakarra but most men will do what’s right if given the chance.”
Casius doubted that, too many people had been willing to simply standby and watch the Raiders. Only one man had put himself at risk for a complete stranger. “I am grateful that it was you that I ran into.”
“Thank whatever god you believe in, for it was he that led you to me.”
Casius snorted, “I no longer believe in Gods or the workings of fate.”
“Then call it chance, the outcome is still the same.”
“Why did they fear your name?” Casius asked. He had seen the fear in G’relg’s eyes.
“I have a rather dubious reputation among the fouler folk of this land. Mostly built on exaggerated tales and half-truths that have a way of spreading from inn to inn. I counted on it to aid me in the confrontation.”
“You’re a bold man Connell.”
Connell grinned, “It did my heart some good to put that cut on his face.”
Casius smiled back, “I too felt a small measure of joy in that. I fear that I have not seen the last of him. Especially now that he has been humiliated in public.”
“I should have killed him,” Connell mused.
“I want no deaths on my account,” Casius replied quickly.
“Very well,” Connell said. “But be forewarned, if he meets up with you again there may not be any choice in the matter.”
“That I do not doubt,” Casius said with regret. “I can always hope never to run across him again.”
“While you draw breath there is always hope, never forget Casius. Many a Good man has gone into the ground in despair having never learned that lesson.”
They reached the livery and Casius retrieved his horse and equipment.
Connell looked the horse over; apparently he was satisfied with the animal’s condition. “Come,” he said handing Casius the reins. “It is but a short distance from here.”
Connell was true to his word; they followed a winding path through several alleyways and came to a small Inn. The building had seen better days; it was a wooden structure sagging with age. The sign above the door was carved in the shape of a running boar and painted a gleaming yellow. From the open doorway the smell of freshly baked bread flowed out into the street.
Casius tied his horse to the porch rail and followed Connell into the inn’s common room.
The room was small and empty; Connell seated himself at one of the less battered tables. Casius took the chair across from Connell and nearly fell out of it as he slammed his open palm onto the wood loudly.
A large bellied man wearing a soiled apron rushed out of the back room. Wiping his hands on his apron he nervously came forward. “I…I…” he stammered. “I did not expect you to return so soon master Connell.”
“Nor did I,” Connell replied. “Have your stable boy attend my companions mount.”
The man nodded his heavy jowls quivering. “Will he be staying then?”
“For the night only.” Connell tossed him two silver coins. “Put him in the room adjacent to mine.”
The man frowned, “That room is taken.”
Connell merely stared at the man.
The inn keep grunted clearing his throat. “I’ll move the merchant then,” he offered. Tucking the coins into his pocket he asked. “Will there be anything else?”
Connell looked at Casius, “My friend here needs a bath.”
“I’ll draw the water myself,” the inn keep offered.
“Thank you Turlott,” Connell said dismissing him. “A couple of ales before you go.” He added as an after thought.
Turlott returned with two overflowing tankards, he set these down quickly and disappeared into the back room.
“Nervous fellow,” Casius observed. “Does he always act this way?”
“No,” Connell said picking up his tankard. “It would seem that word of our adventure has reached the inn before us. He is probably waiting for the Senatum to come rushing through the door at any moment.”
Casius hadn’t considered that possibility, he drank his ale keeping one eye on the open doorway.
Connell laughed, “Now don’t you start playing the worried fool. The Senatum will do nothing in haste, and I doubt your friends have the weight in gold to necessary to pique their interest.”
“We should stay alert,” Casius said voicing his fear. “G’relg will go far for prides sake alone.”
“But will his pride allow him to seek aid in capturing one man?” Connell turned his attention to the open window. Through which he could see back down the busy street.
“Connell,” Casius said drawing his attention away from the window. “Why did they call you the Eagle of Kesh?”
Connell opened his shirt revealing a large raised scar on his chest. It was in the shape of a flying eagle with its claws outstretched as if attacking.
Casius grimaced at the thought of the pain he must have endured to receive a scar such as that.
“When I was a young lad my cousin and I decided to test our budding manhood by branding ourselves with the very iron used by the King’s smiths to mark the royal horses.”
Connell closed his shirt hiding the mark. “The herd master followed the sounds of my cursing, he arrived too late as the brand had already seared my flesh. He chased us from the livery, the buckle from his belt biting our backsides.” Connell smiled at the memory. “Needless to say my cousin never did prove his worth beneath the glowing iron.”
Casius shook his head in amazement. What a strange man this was who sat across from him. Why on earth would anyone allow a piece of glowing hot metal a full hand’s span across to be pressed into his flesh was beyond him. This Connell was either a fool or one of the bravest men he had ever met.
Connell finished his ale and stood adjusting his sword belt. “I have an errand to run, See to your bath and then get to your room. Open the door for no one until I return.”
Casius nodded and emptied his tankard in one long pull.
With a slight tilt of his head Connell turned and left the inn. He moved silently with an almost catlike grace quickly disappearing into the lesser-traveled alleys that riddled the city.
Turlott stepped into the room and at once seemed more at ease when he realized Connell had left. “The bath is ready,” he said holding the door open for Casius. “Its none of my business,” he said leading Casius down a short hall. “You seem like a decent enough fellow, too decent to be hanging around with the likes of Connell. Stay clear of him, he has a reputation and not all that I have heard is pleasant.”
“Rumors have a way of growing Turlott, until little truth remains.” Casius replied stepping into the small room where a copper tub stood steaming
. “Connell stepped in where others would have let the Raiders take me. For that I am grateful, that alone tells me much of his character.”
Turlott shook his head, “Keep your own council then. But ask yourself this, did he help you out of charity or for some other reason known only to himself.”
“I guess time will tell,” Casius answered closing the door and ending any further attempts at conversation from the inn keep. From beyond the door he heard Turlott mumble something about a damn fool as he walked off.
Casius stripped of his clothing and slipped into the steeping hot water. He scrubbed the weeks of travel away the water growing murky with grime. Feeling human once more he wrapped himself in a threadbare robe and laundered his clothing in the tub.
He left the bath and carrying his dripping clothing he had Turlott show him to his room. The inn keep was stoic and said little, he had said his piece and was insulted at having had a door closed in his face.
The room was Spartan but adequate, it was located on the second floor at the end of the hall. A single window set within a wall of cracked plaster that overlooked the stables behind the inn.
Casius closed the door and hung his dripping clothing over the sill. Looking out onto the stable he counted twelve stalls beneath a sloping roof of moss-covered slate.
There were three horses present, one of them towering over the others. It was a powerful mount with a glossy coat of midnight black. Casius had never seen such animal; it had to be a warhorse. The kind found in the northern realms of Trondhiem and Kesh.
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