by Damien Lake
Much less time had passed than he feared. The throwers were quick, taking little time, and only twenty minutes had elapsed since Chatham led him away.
Harlan gloomily inquired as he reclaimed his seat, “How much has that idiot lost so far?”
“He’s only thrown three times. Three coppers aren’t so bad, I guess.”
“If he sticks to single coppers and doesn’t stay there all night. Last time he started throwing five and ten-copper coins and damn near broke himself. Kept saying one win would make it all up.”
Marik recalled his own elation upon making his coin into a scoring pot on the first try, though it had not decided to stay there. He could see how seductive the game might become. If he played any further, he would limit himself to two tosses, then quit no mater how the throws landed. “It seems like a quick score, but then I only saw one winner in the last thirty or so throws. Pretty clever on the owner’s part. He’d probably lose more coin if he set up a regular dicing game. I bet he hauls it in by the sack full.”
“That proves you’re smarter than Chatham. But then, I already suspected that.”
Marik accepted the compliment at face value while their food platter arrived. After all, how hard was it to be smarter than Chatham? It seemed like complimenting a farmer on how yellow his corn was. “The promise is alluring though. Drop a copper in the center and win a silver? Does he pay a gold if you drop a silver in there?”
“Hanson would pay it, but hardly anyone ever throws them. The only ones who do are the brats of the various nobles passing through the ford. All the proof you ever need that they have too much silver if they throw it away. Usually it’s the ones who’ll raise the taxes after they return home to get it back.”
“You sound like you pass through here often.”
“We do, but those were Hanson’s words, not mine. He’s not above taking all he can get, but he covers against loss. That opening on the center pot with the biggest payoff is a hair too small for a gold piece to fit through. Not that I’ve ever heard of anyone throwing a gold.”
Chatham reappeared with colorful accusations against them for hoarding the food, intermingled with Harlan’s barbed comments about his foolishness and gambling habits. The food tasted good, consisting of ham slices, small warm bread loaves and a type of cream soup Marik had never eaten before.
The rest of the evening passed in the same manner. After leaving enough coppers to pay for his share of the food, he threw his tosses down Hanson’s Alley, then listened to the minstrels who had tuned their instruments during the meal. Marik hoped to hear a ballad of courageous warriors pushing back the forces of evil or one of the tales of mythic figures he loved listening to.
But the songsters knew their audience. They filled the room with bawdy lays and crude cadences to the patrons’ cheers and laughter. Intermixed were popular comedic verses, such as ‘The Unlucky Shepherd’ or Felix Drool’s mad attempt to ride across the kingdom on the edge of a golden coin. To judge by the wealth piling up inside the lute case left open for the purpose, they would pull in a tidy sum by closing time.
His efforts throughout the day combined with the food settling heavily in his stomach. Exhaustion took hold over Marik. Harlan gave him the room key and, while he searched for Chatham to tell him he meant to go upstairs, he noticed a greater number of women mixing with the crowd than before. They were dressed in the same low-cut bodices with laces down the front as their server had worn, showing equal amounts of cleavage. He might have no experience in this field but he recognized working girls when he saw them, despite Puarri’s Tavern being free of the type. His thoughts were confirmed when he saw a woman lead a man through one of several doors along the second common room’s farthest wall. A brief glimpse through the door revealed a small room no larger than the tool closet at Pate’s, the space mostly filled by a backless leather couch.
Chatham was holding one woman and laughing. Marik chose not to interrupt. Harlan or Maddock would keep him informed if it mattered. In their room he selected the small cot under the equally small window for his resting place.
After he unrolled his bedroll, he only managed a single thought before sleep claimed him. Only two days from Tattersfield and he was already in a different world. How far would he need to travel before he finally found his father?
Chapter 05
Chatham pounded Marik’s blade from his grip with force enough to numb his entire arm. The younger man bitterly reflected that Harlan had the better measure of his friend than the man himself did.
Once left to his own ends in the Randy Unicorn, Chatham kept calling for drink, throwing his coin down Hanson’s Alley and rendezvousing with the working girls in Hanson’s Parlors. Come morning he’d been collected by his companions, who had spent a comfortable night in their room, with a head fit to split and an empty purse.
This resulted in a foul attitude on Chatham’s part that had lasted several days, his surliness interspersed with stinging insults toward whomever attempted to drag him from his mood. Marik had been hurt and offended by this side of the otherwise jovial man. Maddock soothed his feelings and observing the other two receive the same treatment from their friend helped in its own way.
To Marik’s dismay, it seemed Chatham’s mood only found an outlet in their nightly sparring. That first match had been an easy session he now realized, as the taller man’s irritations drove him to a near mercilessness pounding on his adopted pupil. He knew Chatham was not doing it deliberately as both Harlan and Maddock had spoken separately with him about it but he felt it unlikely that he would master any swordsmanship by being driven into the ground like a tent stake.
“How in the hells do you expect to take on so much as a peasant child wielding a wet tunic when you fight like that? Faster!”
Marik already worked hard as he could simply to defend. He became increasingly worried that Chatham would forget to pull back with his sword and eventually injure him.
Maddock called an early halt, which suited Marik and went uncontested by Chatham. The brooding man jammed his sword home in its sheath. He went to perch on a large stone near the campfire. Harlan brought in fresh game to cook as the night descended.
* * * * *
Chatham eventually drew out of his mood before they reached Spirratta. They had journeyed through several towns and villages. This would be Marik’s first city.
In his talks with Maddock during the marks they walked the roads, Marik had learned much that would come in useful during the search to discover Rail’s fate. While Galemar might have several hundred minor towns across its face, there were only four cities with sizable populations. The capital city of Thoenar held the largest, mostly due to its higher number of nobles and lords who gathered to preen in the king’s court. That city lay in the northern kingdom, far outside this journey’s path. As far as their own journey went, Maddock estimated it would take them two eightdays to reach Kingshome from Spirratta. What would happen then they could only guess.
Marik considered their destination, worrying over what his next step should be once they reached the town. He supposed that would depended on what he learned once he found the chance to question people. Of course, finding the right people to ask would be a problem all in itself but he thought he could count on Maddock to help him with that. The barrel-like warrior had taken a liking to the inexperienced youth and could help him wade through any difficulties he encountered.
But future troubles could wait until the party arrived at the formidable mercenary base camp. At this moment, Marik’s interest centered on the road around them. They were a day and a half outside Spirratta, one of the other three Galemaran cities. The travelers on the road had steadily increased since that morning. Harlan assured him they would be neck deep in merchants, farmers and peddlers by the time they arrived at the gates. Already wagons carrying various vegetables or fruits had joined the main road, as well as men with enormous packs strapped to their backs. Several travelers streamed onto the road from side paths.
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br /> Never having been outside Tattersfield, Marik looked forward to visiting his first real city. The others had already gifted him with numerous tidbits of advice seemingly designed to paint the city’s portrait in ominous shades of danger. What did he care about that? He still eagerly anticipated the experience despite the hoards of cutpurses, thugs and back alley con artists his friends, Chatham in particular, kept describing.
Also, he wanted to make an effort to replace his sword. His father must have thought it would be handy to have a replacement around or maybe he’d intended to sell it but never gotten around to doing so. Marik had long since concluded he needed something better. His spars with Chatham had taught him that much. He definitely did not need his arm numbed or his sword vibrated from his hands during a fight for his life.
But much as he wanted a better sword, he might not be able to afford one. Maddock’s explanations on life out here in the wide open had included general prices for standard equipment. The Tattersfield council paid him fifty silvers for his cottage near the town’s edge. He’d been in a hurry to unload it and leave, a fact the council member had capitalized on, so he had not negotiated the price. Now he wished he’d been in less of a rush to receive what coin he could.
It turned out that as low quality as his sword was, it would still run nine or ten silvers, a price high enough to motivate a skilled mercenary to rescue the wanting blade for his own profit. To buy a higher quality sword like Chatham’s might only cost him thirty or forty if luck shone on him. Marik dithered whether he should spend so much of his available coin at once in such a manner.
Which presented a new problem. How would he replace the coin he was spending each day? When leaving Tattersfield, vague notions of perhaps working as a mercenary like his father had floated across his dim concerns for the future. Listening to his new friends’ stories opened his eyes to how difficult it was to find contracts that would cover the expenses involved, let alone provide a profit.
They had finally wearied of the constant search. This was the primary reason behind their decision to try joining a larger band. Lords who needed a substantial addition to their fighting forces went looking for them rather than the other way around. Maddock had explained he would be content to let others handle the business dealings for awhile. “Once they haggle their way to an agreement, they will tell us where to go and what to do. It will be a nice change.”
With these enlightened thoughts illuminating his mind, Marik walked on, wondering how he would make ends meet while his hard coin supply dwindled.
* * * * *
The city of Spirratta came into view as they exited a small wood. It both succeeded and failed to meet Marik’s expectations.
Certainly it spread across the flatland ahead in an impressive manner. A twenty foot wall surrounded the entire city. Except most of the buildings could have come from Tattersfield. No grand or majestic edifices marked the elevated lifestyles of city folk.
After they drew closer, smaller details undermined his first impression. The walls were wood rather than the impressive thick stone he had envisioned, and constructed primarily to block access by unwanted visitors. They sloped outward slightly from their base, the tops protected by sharpened points set close together. Guards aloft talking to each other along one stretch revealed the walls to be thicker than they looked from the road. Also, the buildings near the walls were larger than they had seemed from farther away. Seeing the men above helped Marik judge the actual height of the city structures.
He could see buildings through the open gate beyond the line he stood in with Chatham and Maddock. Harlan had stopped to talk with a peddler who sat on a blanket by the roadside. The peddler sold all manner of items to people seeking entrance or departing through the gates. No one from within the city stopped at his impromptu shop. Either there were much better goods within the walls or, having just set out on their travels, they had not yet discovered what they’d forgotten to pack.
Their group had come within sight of the city at midday. Several candlemarks of light still remained. Despite this, Marik wondered whether they would gain entrance before the sun descended behind the horizon. In the past mark, perhaps a dozen parties had been admitted through the broad gates. None were turned away, which struck Marik as a good sign.
The road at this point became stone. It was the first time Marik had seen paved roadway. Workmen had taken stones that were either naturally flat or hewn to size and laid them side-by-side. No two stones were exactly the same color or shape or size, forming an impressive mosaic. He could see the paving continued in like fashion through the open gates into the city streets.
There were still twenty or thirty groups before them when Harlan returned, looking neither cheerful nor disappointed. “Did you find what you wanted?”
“Yes.”
He offered nothing more, so Marik asked, “What were you looking for?”
“A new spool of wire for my pheasant traps.”
“Couldn’t you find that inside the city?”
“The peddlers outside don’t charge as much.”
He showed no inclination toward further conversation so Marik let it drop. Even Chatham acted subdued. Marik passed the time by asking Maddock further questions about the city.
“There is nothing remarkable about Spirratta. For some reason, it kept growing until its population reached what it is today. It’s full of crafts and trades of many natures, since large populations that can support luxury attract those who set up their shops. Most of the city’s craftsmen are more skilled in their calling than those you’ll find in the towns, but Spirratta boasts none of the unique locations you find in the truly large centers of civilization, such as Thoenar.”
“What are you talking about?”
“For instance, in Thoenar you will find the Alchemist’s Academy. It is a large complex in the city, home to many scholars, not only alchemists as the name implies. Anyone willing to pay for entrance can attend their teachings if they don’t have a sponsor from within the academy. Also there is the Greater Library of the city, open to all, though for a fee of course. The palace complex of the king is there as well, as are the primary churches of many different faiths. While Spirratta holds a variety of shops you have never seen, it contains nothing so grand as Thoenar’s Cathedral of the Eternal Twelve.”
“This is the only city between here and Kingshome, right? There must be one decent weapons shop here. I want to find a good replacement for this chunk of ballast.”
A strangely queer look passed over Maddock’s face as he replied, “I know a few shops inside Spirratta’s walls, yes. It would be good to closely look at many of the different weapons we have discussed, yet I would advise against the investment in a finer weapon for now.”
Confused, Marik asked, “Why? This thing is about as good as a giant paring knife! I’ve learned that much at least. I need a reliable sword for my journey ahead.”
“Yes, that is true. But while you travel with us to Kingshome, that would be my advice. The final choice is yours, of course. It is merely a thought I have.”
Maddock would say nothing further on the matter. Well, no point worrying about it until he saw what the shops offered.
The line moved slowly. Finally, as sunset arrived, they reached the massive doors.
* * * * *
As large as it looked from outside, once inside the city Marik thought it impossible for it to be this large. Harlan led them from street to street, around corners and through various districts. Marik felt certain they had traveled twice the city’s length from what he’d viewed during their approach, yet they still wandered the man-made canyons of building walls and stone streets.
They had finally made it to the gate, wide enough for four wagons to pass through, and been questioned by the cityguard on post there. A portable desk rested to one side in addition to the several standing cityguards watching everybody. One beckoned them to the desk. The guard on the right, a tough leathery brawler, asked them their names. A
nother guard to the left, an average looking soldier all around, wrote on a scroll unrolled before him. Marik assumed he scribed the answers to the other’s questions.
After their names they had given their purpose; traveling through, occupation; mercenaries, and estimated length of stay; two or three days. The second guard wrote at length, which made Marik feel uncomfortable without knowing why. Finally, they were permitted entrance after the first guard narrated the basic conduct codes for the city of Spirratta.
At which point Harlan started navigating the maze. Harlan never displayed any hesitation when given a choice of directions so Marik followed without comment. What would he say if he gave his mouth the chance to run? Probably something he would wish he hadn’t. Marik was well aware that he gawked around like a country hayseed, and was not at all pleased with himself for it.
Past the gates were several shops. Marik did not see what they sold since they had closed for the day, and Harlan hurried to get wherever they were going.
At one point, Maddock had observed, “Hmm, the city is certainly beginning to wind down as the sunlight dwindles.” Whatever signs were evident to the mercenary were meaningless to Marik. Harlan chose back streets when given the chance, staying away from the busier main roads, yet the narrow ways still teemed with bodies. People moved from place to place while bumping and blocking each other’s progress.
The buildings he passed were indeed similar to what he knew from Tattersfield. Built from wood, thatch, planks and tar with stonework here and there, they could have come from any town they had passed through on their journey. It was just that they were much taller than any he was accustomed to, many as tall as four or five floors. Also, they were wider than even the Randy Unicorn, and mostly crammed tight together. He felt as if he walked through a strange open-ceiling cave.