The Exodus Sagas: Book IV - Of Moons and Myth (31 page)

“Inform father Garret and the dwarven priests that the marshall and I seek answers in Freemoore. Should we not return by nightfall, send men to find us.”

“
And the carava
n m’lord?”

“Wh
en Sir Karai, Sir Leonard, and L
ady Kaya return from their routes, they have command until my return. Continue west and make camp before the sun falls to the east.” Cristoff took the reins and nodded to his squire as he received another sweeping bow.

“Be careful m’lord, Alden watch over you.”

“He does,
no concern
squire, he does.” The former lord of Saint Erinsburg walked at a quick march to catch up with the dwarven marshall and his lewirja scout. One hand on the reins, another on his longsword, he could feel that this was a bad idea already.

The outer markets were hovels of cluttered wagons, most without wheels. Covered in colorful blankets and cloth to hide their condition, the stands and merchants both pleaded with but a look for passersby to spend some coin. Meat too dry and withered from the sun, skins of lizards
and strange beasts
, armors and weapons of every make, and even fetishes of savage beliefs were held
out
in front of them. People here had little shame, showing their wares directly into the faces of travelers, and shouting prices loudly over one another. Black skinned Jaali men and women sold exotic jewels, thick and tall Shanadorians traded cloth and steel, mysterious
eyed
Armondi children ran across sandy streets too fast to see, and olive-tan skinned folk from the western islands of Yallah and Falligarde walked
, chins held high,
with their black braids decorated in golden clasps an
d their white drapes of cloth
dr
agging
in the dirt.

Elves sold woodworkings and charms in simple shops. They were not savage Gualiduran elves, nor golden highbornes either, but blue eyed and fairskinned elves of the Loestal River regions that were once prosperous in this area and to the north. Cristoff had heard of them, and what Altestan had
done to their capital
of Aloeste, long ago.
Though beautiful and graceful indeed, they did not have that passionate zeal to their motions a
s he had seen from the elves he
had met.
Dwarves shouted in differing languages, trying to gain the attention of Tannek who waved them off with his hand. They were tan, scruffy, surface dwarves that had left their homelands for
far
too many generations. Thinner, with no care for their beards of mismatched frazzle, Tannek scoffed at their unkempt appearances. Their wares looked as
mediocre
human quality at best, junk to any dwarf from Marlennak.

As for a central keep or structure of authority, there was none to be seen. Merchant princes and other self-named lords draped colorful banners across their homes and their hired brigades. Guards made up of mobbing peasant women drew their blades on soldiers comprised of but a few scarred red and brown minotaurs, all over a price dispute between two sellers. Elven scouts kept their bows in hand while arguing with their translators, who in turn yelled at one ano
ther
as the opposing men of ebony skin from Jal-Adeen crossed their arms and tickled the pommels of their long curved scimitars. By confrontations’ end, the Jaali merchants removed their necklaces displaying a golden triangle
with three emeralds, the sacred symbol of Yjaros, God of the northern empires.

Centaurs trotted slowly in tight groups through city streets, lewirja prides traded feathered fangs and dangling claws, and even some Caberran seafarers held small caravans of trade that likely came through the islands and Armondeen. Flashes of green flames that sizzled from the mouths of performing wizards erupted with cheers. Floating magicians entertained children with simple tricks and tucked coins into their worn robes. Horned lizard mounts big enough for two men to ride padded by
fast
in lines as they watched six men eating a boiled snail the size of a wagon wheel. Drunks wandered from tavern to street, bottles in hand, and
food of every discomfort and rare pleasure steamed the air and mixed with animal scent, dung, and sweat.
Whores beckoned from every corner and shoddy balcony, showing their breasts and legs to lure any man of any race into their rooms.
Following Dalliunn
’s lead, Tannek and Cristoff fought the crowds into the center of Freemoore.

“Seen anything like this before, Lord Cristoff?” The former southern marshall of Marlennak shoved past another interfering juggler, knocking him into a wagon, smiling shortly after hearing him crash into something and lose his balls.

“No, the poverty and trade districts in my kingdom are…cleaner, more organized, and mostly Harlian. This is…unreal to see, and quite a mess.” Cristoff looked down some of the sidestreets when the crowd allowed. He saw naked children, st
arving dogs, and here and there
a dead body left out in the sun
with but a cloth to cover it
.

“
Aye, this be humanity when no one be in charge, the direct result it is.”

“Where is he taking us, into that tavern?” Cristoff looked to
the lew
irja entering
a round plaster and stone structure, largest they had come across yet. The signs above the multitude of doors each had a different languag
e, but
one in Agarian was hanging proudly above a row of well fed horses. Tethered and guarded by forty armored soldiers with the green and gold flags of a stallion on a shield, the steeds drank from troughs as their riders did from pitchers of water and ale. Shanador banners with five mountain peaks un
derneath marked them as standards of
Evermont.
Beside the steeds was a motley purple and green painted set of box wagons. Curtains of mismatched color, donkeys tethered with the giant horses of Shanador, and three little pygmy men chatted with the men of Evermont in serious manner.

“Yep, he done gone in already.
No
King
s Well
, must be room for hundreds in there. Seems like the place to be in the grand heat and stink o’ Freemoore it does.” Tannek read the sign in Agarian, then the one in dwarven on the next door over, just to be sure.

“They are indeed proud of their lack of monarchy and rule, are they not?” Cristoff tossed his reins to a young elven boy, reached for a silver coin, and tossed it. A slight nod, a flashing grab, and the little pointy eared troughmaster took the lord’s mare and started brushing.

“Aye they are, if they got out to other kingdoms and saw a bit of cleanliness, perhaps that’d change for the better. Watch yer back there, Cristoff.” Tannek loosed his battle axe, nodded to the small troupe of children that were
enthralled with the armor and sword that the Harlian man had upon him.

He reached for his pouch, just in time, his gloved hand covering that of a small chil
d that had just neared a years’
worth of food for his family
and friends
. Cristoff looked down, felt the enchantments of the decorated armor of Herrimus empower his voice, and he shook his head at the children.

“If you need,
you ask
. Taking what is not yours will never supply a life worth living.” His words captivated the young pickpockets, not with volume nor voice, but with something they had never felt before. The armor instilled a feeling of honor and truth into the words, and in those that heard them.

The boys all nodded, understanding, and just stared at Cristoff in little naïve grins of innocence.
He reached in his pouch, counted out nine Harlian silvers, and handed each boy one in turn. No words were spoken, even when Cristoff put his hand on the golden feathered cross of
Alden around his neck, and whispered
blessings to them and their families. He touched each boy on the head as they passed, silently and respectfully, and then they wandered off and stared at their coins with one another.

“Ye do that a few more times, and they likely will crown ye’ or somethin’. Or, ye will be broke by nightfall and have an army o’ dirt
y kids at yer beck and call
. Shall we then?” Tannek Anduvann walked in through the shirtless and tattood Armondi men that watched the sides of each door to
No King
s Well
.
He looked for Dalliunn Cloudwatcher, but saw very little that was not taller than him, making his search for his companion nearly impossible.

Smoke from pipes hung in the lack of air, ales and meads poured from stacked barrels, and the massive round tavern
with eight entrances and two floors of debauchery was filled with every race, religion, and creed. Rooms with gambling roared with jingling coins, alcoves with prostitues moaned promises, and finding an empty table or chair looked less than probable. Incense masked the odors of sweat, blood, and brews yet the crowd here likely cared less what the smell was. In the center
of the packed room,
a well sur
rounded with hundreds of people could be seen. It was old stone, nearly ancient, with buckets being lowered and raised by boys and barwenches every second.

Cristoff kept his hand on Tannek’s shoulder, not for safety, but to remain close in the bustling crowd that one could be lost into on a moments’ inattention. “Where is your scout, marshall?”

“Ye be a foot and a half taller, Harlian, ye’ tell me where to go and I’ll make a path.” Tannek pushed people aside left and right, searching for a way through the mob.

The former lord of Saint Erinsburg
raised up on the toes of his boots, trying to see over Shanadorian men, women being carried in merriment, and all the raucus inside No Kings Well. He saw the black wiry hair, the lewirja frozen ahead, staring at something amidst a sea of motion.

“Ahead Tannek, and to you
r left!
I see Dalliunn, a
ll the way back past that ove
rhang, room near the other side!
” Cristoff yelled it amidst a raising commotion from an unseen source.

“Aye, stay close then!” The noises turned from joyous drinking and songs that overlapped one another to scuffling and stomping with the mass of clientele pushing to get away from where they were heading. Tannek hurried, hoping Dalliunn was not the cause.

The back room cleared, just enough for Cristoff and Tannek to get a look inside. Ten soldiers of Evermont, hands on their greatswords that were planted down into the wooden floor, stood guard in their chainmail and looked nervously to their right. Behind them it was dark, the windows covered and oil lamps flickering from several tables. Cristoff heard horses outside, many horses, and shouting to make way for them to disembark right outside four of the eight doors to the large round tavern. Someone was approaching, someone that had many men, and someone that even the drunken mob was willing to make way for.
He saw and heard elves whistle to one another in the hundreds here, he saw a woman with short slick hair darting her eyes to other men and signaling. Cristoff put his hand on his blade and drew it out a few inches, not liking the sudden silence and motions of some in the tavern.

Tannek stood right below the beard of a Shanadorian guard, and peeked in to Dalliunn who was trying to converse with those few in the dark room.
There were two men, dressed like the ones from Evermont, but more regal and decorated. One was older, a beard of blonde with golden locks to match, his hand resting on a greatblade across the table. His companion was
a man
built like the strongest of dwarves, thick and made of muscle upon muscle, with a clean shave and long waves of near white blonde hair.

They were not minding the commotion heading this way, nor their nervous guards, but were surrounded by little pygmies, gnomes, a twig, and two goblins. Though the little minstrels had a few instruments with them, no one was playing nor singing melody at their private tables. Between the two large men, sat a pudgy
older
pygmy with dark curls and a fat nose.
Tannek peered at the well dressed runt of a man, and he saw a necklace of long claws or fangs of stone around his neck as well.
He looked to three platinum coins he was flipping over his fingers with his right hand, and with his left, he was caressing a stone axe on the table, Dalliunn’s axe.

Tannek looked to Dalliunn, who must have pushed around the ten guards somehow, and indeed he was staring at his axe
. Stone edging, blunt on one end, tied with sinew and cord with a curved bone handle, it was
the one he had traded to Azenairk Thalanaxe
back outside of Marlennak. He had smelled it, all the way through the city, and he had assumed the five they sought were here. A hand on his shoulder let him know that Cristoff was right next to him again.

“What is it, are they here?” Cristoff nodded to the statuesque guards that blocked them from entering.
The stomping of boots and armored men echoed from outside, getting closer.

“No, but aye, not sure really.
Could use some help getting past these bigguns’ here, lord Cristoff.”