TST (27 page)

Azerick nodded in agreement. “I have a good knowledge of geography but without a reference point it’s useless. I imagine we will find a town along the river unless we are close to the sea. I guess our first step is to find us a waterway, follow it down, and see where it leads us.”

“That’s the way I figure it,” Zeb nodded in agreement.

Shortly after the sun cleared the top of the distant hills, the group headed west in hopes of finding civilization. Game was scarce and skittish but they managed to bring down enough rabbits and squirrels to keep the group fed. A few wild roots and spices made for a palatable stew. On the third day, two of the sailors brought down a small doe drinking at the edge of a river.

The river was narrow but fast and deep. The first three days they followed it downstream it never got more than a hundred yards wide. Frothing whitewater rapids and waterfalls were common. Most of the falls were only a few feet in height but one cascaded over a cliff to crash upon a deep pool a hundred feet below. The roar of thousands of gallons of water continuously striking the pool sounded like the charging of a thousand warhorses or the peal of continuous thunder.

The majestic cascade began its plunge at the top of a rocky cliff. The group was forced to follow a steep ridgeline for nearly half a day before the slope gentled enough for them to easily make their way back down to the river. Two more exhausting days of travel found the landscape slowly transforming from rough mountains to rolling hills.

The hills eventually flattened out until the river opened up into a large valley. As the land smoothed out the river grew wider and wider until a fired crossbow bolt would fall short of reaching the distant bank.

Almost immediately upon entering the valley, tilled fields and small farmhouses began cropping up. Azerick let Zeb talk to the farmers, as he did not consider himself a very sociable person. The farmers stared warily at Toron, gripping flails, hoes, or pitchforks in a white knuckled grip but were polite enough.

They told Zeb that they had a small town of maybe two thousand souls counting all the folks from the outlying farms and woodsmen. Riverdale was perhaps another three days on foot but there were several farms that may allow them to take shelter in their barns and purchase food if they had something to trade for it.

Most of the farmers treated them much like the first one had. They were initially cautious of such a large number of strangers, especially the intimidating minotaur, but they were polite and allowed them all to rest in their barns to get out of the elements. After weeks of sleeping on the hard ground of the mountains and even harder stone of the caverns, the soft hay in the barn’s loft felt like a bed fit for a princess.

Many of the gnomes had carried small lumps of raw gold and uncut gems that the humans were able to trade for milk, cheese, bread, and cooked oats. Such common fair tasted like a banquet after eating nothing but game meat and wild roots.

Only one farmer gave them any trouble. A surly old codger that tilled a small patch of ground by himself was ready to fight the entire group of humans single-handedly if they did not clear out immediately. Even Toron was unable to impress the truculent farmer.

They slept outside that night but still had the food they had purchased along the way to keep them well fed. The party spied a quaint community in the distance just past noon the next day.

A wooden wall and palisade jutted up at least eight feet from a ten-foot-high earthen berm encircling the town. Wide double-door wooden gates were propped open to admit those entering or leaving the town.

Two men, town militia from the looks of them, stood a relaxed guard at the gates. One man leaned on a spear just in front of the gates while the other  stood watch from the catwalk that was attached near the top of the inside of the wall.

Azerick noted that the man on the ground had a crossbow slung over his back while the guard on the catwalk kept his resting between the tips of the pointed top of the wall. The men did not seem overly surprised at their appearance. Azerick knew that they had probably been watching them approach the town for the last hour.

As they drew nearer, he also noticed that over a score of armed men gathered just inside the gates. These were probably a group of militiamen hastily assembled in case the strangers proved to be troublesome.

When Azerick and his band of refugees approached within about fifty feet of the gates, the guardsman on the ground called out to them.

“Stop right there if you please,” he called out politely but intently.

Azerick and his party complied with the man’s request. “Hail, guardsman. My name’s Zeb, ship captain and trader. My friends and I would like entrance to your fair town.”

“Unless you brought a river barge upstream you’re a long way from any boats, Captain. What is it you want in Riverdale?” the guard asked.

“We are poor travelers trying to get home. We would like some lodging and trade for some food and traveling supplies. I assure you that none of us wish your town or people any harm and we will abide by your laws and cause no trouble while we’re here,” Zeb assured the guard.

“Mayor Remkin has been told of your approach and will be here shortly. He’s the one to decide whether you come in or go around and be on your way. Normally we don’t bother travelers but you’re a big bunch and more than bit haggard-looking, no offense. Plus, we don’t get many of your big friend’s type around here, never in fact,” the guardsman informed them, a bit abashed for the lack of hospitality he was able to offer.

The guard looked back towards the town beyond the open gates. “Here comes the mayor now. He’ll get it all straightened out.”

A short, overweight man with a jovial face and wearing a well-made suit, that was at least ten years out of fashion, waddled quickly through the press of militia and gawking citizens to present himself to the travelers waiting outside his beloved town.

Zeb stood slightly forward of the group so the mayor addressed him as the spokesman for them all. “Good day, travelers! I am Mayor Remkin. Please allow me to welcome you to our fair town,” the mayor crowed jubilantly.

“Oh, so we are welcome after all. I was getting worried that we were not welcome here,” Zeb said sourly.

The mayor’s plump face reddened at Zeb’s bitter comment and replied in a conciliatory voice. “Please forgive us of our cautious greeting. We are far from any major city and must rely on our own for most of our defense. It is rare to have so many travelers approach our gates at once, particularly with such a formidable looking, er, gentleman in their midst,” mayor Remkin explained, looking up and down at Toron. “What brings you all to Riverdale if I may inquire?”

Zeb gave a shortened version of their capture, escape, and travails through the caverns. “We only wish to rest, get some good warm food, and purchase or trade for some traveling supplies.”

Mayor Remkin had remained silent throughout Zeb’s tale of woe and the guard nearly fell over as he leaned closer on his spear trying to eavesdrop. The mayor’s face went from flushed to pale then flush again as he listened to the party’s travails.

“By the good gods above what an incredible ordeal you all went through! On behalf of the people of Riverdale, I bid you welcome. Follow me to our inn and I guarantee that you will drink and dine on my town’s hospitality. Perhaps if you are willing, you can regale the evening crowd with your tales. We get so few tales of adventure or news of the kingdom out here and we are all eager to hear of happenings outside our valley.”

“I suppose that would be more than fair compensation for your generosity,” Zeb replied, brightening at the prospect of some proper food.

“Follow me then and I’ll see that you poor folks are taken care of properly,” the mayor invited, turned and preceded them down the hard packed dirt avenue.

Zeb led the group through the throng of citizens who stood around talking in hushed tones about the strangers, especially the big minotaur. Azerick noticed that the gate guard ran and began spreading their tale as soon as they passed. It took only a few minutes to reach the inn that was located near the center of town.

At three stories, it was the tallest building around with the exception of two large grain silos. The first two stories were rough stone, mortared in place. The third story was made of wood and had likely been built some time after the original two floors. The rest of the town was built primarily of wood, logged from the abundance of trees that grew in the nearby hills and mountains. Most buildings were single-storied but a few rose as high as two. All of the buildings were well maintained; none seemingly allowed to weather or lose too much of the stain used to decorate them.

The owner kept up the inside of the inn even better than the immaculate outside. Wagon wheels suspended from the rafters supported six oil lamps each providing warm light to the interior of the common room. Two dozen tables, each surrounded by four chairs, and four long tables with benches provided seating for a large number of patrons.

A long, well-polished bar ran nearly the entire length of the back of the inn. Through a swinging door wafted the scents of the entrees being prepared in preparation for the evening’s meals. A wide staircase with an ornately carved banister rose up to the second floor where several doors were visible behind an open balcony protected by a rail carved in the same fashion of the banister stretched out over the bar to look down on the common room below.

The man standing behind the bar bore a striking resemblance to the mayor albeit considerably thinner, which still put him just over the line of heavy. He looked up as they all strode in and mayor Remkin hailed him.

“Belkin, these are visitors to the town and my personal guests. Let’s get them washed up, fed, and bunked down for a couple nights until I can figure out what else we can do for them.”

The innkeeper did a double take as he watched Toron duck his head to keep his horns from striking the wagon wheel chandelier then gave the mayor his attention.

 “I can put the ladies in one room and divide the gentlemen up between three others. It’ll be a bit cramped but I can get some extra mattresses stuffed with straw and laid out for them,” the innkeeper told the mayor.

Belkin called back to the kitchen where a plump woman with graying black hair promptly burst through the swinging door. “Sarah, we’ll be putting these folks up for a couple days. Rustle up some help and get washtubs taken up to rooms two, five, six, and eight. We’ll also need mattresses stuffed and brought up for each of them.”

Sarah made a quick count and disappeared back into the kitchen where they could hear her issuing orders to more of the staff.

“You folks look like you could use a drink. Food will be ready in about two hours if you can hold off a bit longer and make yourselves comfortable,” Belkin told them as he began pouring mugs of ale for the men and watered wine for the women.

The innkeeper set the cups on the bar as soon as he poured them and promptly passed around with many words of thanks. When the last glass was poured and served, he waved the mayor over to him as his guests took up seats around several of the tables.

 As Azerick, Zeb, and the rest of their motley band sat sipping what to them was the finest drinks they had ever tasted, several men, women, and boys carted washtubs, buckets of water, and mattresses up the stairs.

At the end of the long bar, the mayor and the innkeeper were having a hushed discussion.

“Now, brother, maybe you can tell me what is going on. Who are these people and where did they come from and what in the world is that massive bloke with the horns on his head?” Belkin asked his brother the mayor.

“They say most of them were sailors that were captured by some foul creatures and made slaves somewhere far off. They escaped, though they didn’t really say how, crawled days through tunnels under the Witch Crag Mountains from the sound of it, and found their way here,” mayor Remkin told his younger brother. “I figured to put them up for a time; their stories alone will have your inn packed for several nights to more than make up for the cost of housing them.”

“Not to cast aspersions on your good nature, but I find it hard to believe that even you would go through this much trouble to accommodate a gang of bedraggled strangers. What is it you are looking to get out of this?” Belkin asked, narrowing his eyes at his rotund brother.