In The Shadow Of The Beast (15 page)

Besides, there was something so otherworldly
about the lady that Huron would not sully her great beauty by
daring to touch her even if he was at liberty to do so. She was
something that must be admired and treasured from afar, secretly.
She was not for the likes of him, grubby and soiled and fresh from
the slaughter. He would content himself with the sluts dwelling in
the city slums, if he could but occasionally look upon the lady and
bask in her unattainable beauty.

And therein lay the root of his significant
reluctance to do harm to the young lord Sigourd. For to do so would
break the heart of the Lady Veronique. It would bring tears to eyes
meant only for smiling and this was something that he was not
certain he could do. Even in the face of countermanding the orders
of his baron.

High above in the open sky over the forest
canopy, the hawk cried out, its piercing shriek bringing Huron back
to the leafy shade of the Velvet Forest. He watched the distant
pair of the prince and the wild man crest the horizon, before they
disappeared out of sight over a small hillock of the endlessly
rolling grass. With a gentle clinking of brass, he spurred his
horse forward toward the horizon too.

CHAPTER 10

Yarneth
Vardis...

The city seemed to sit atop the open plains
like a fresh mound of dung. It steamed with chimney smoke and other
more noxious gasses and odors typically associated with an urban
sprawl the size of the one that lay before them. Rising
unexpectedly out of the flat lands it was a wretched contrast to
its verdant setting. It seemed so out of place against the
surrounding grasses with its tall walls of dark stone and crooked
piles of ramshackle buildings.

Sigourd had never seen the like before. He
was used to the grand splendor of Corrinth Vardis. A city which had
its less attractive areas certainly, but on the whole was possessed
of an elegance that spoke of its status as a regional seat of
governance and commerce.

This place however, reminded Sigourd of sick
animals he’d seen that were in need of putting down.

‘
What is that?’ he asked
Jonn Grumble.

‘
That is Yarneth Vardis. A
place so wretched you’ll have to scrub for a week to get its stink
off ya,’ said Jonn.

‘
So remind me why we’re
stopping here?’

‘
Supplies lad, supplies.
And if there was ever a place to inquire about this mysterious
Brodus Klay character, or your missing lady, then this city is
it.’

Sigourd nodded, looking once more toward the
brooding sprawl before him.

‘
You believe there will be
folk there who will know something of what happened to Isolde?’
said Sigourd.

‘
I believe that there are
people there who have their grubby little fingers in all sorts of
underhand wickedness, and in places such as these, whispers travel
quickly.’

The pair set off once more, and were soon
swallowed up amongst the grimy outskirts of Yarneth Vardis.

The city itself lay on the most south
easterly region of Atos, and was the last significant settlement
one would encounter before crossing the border into Fulstarn to the
north east, ruled by the Morays, and Sovisland to the south east,
ruled by the Makkarat House.

By virtue of its close proximity to the
bordering lands, only a hundred or so miles as the crow flew to the
markers of both neighboring territories, Yarneth Vardis enjoyed the
privilege of being not only incredibly militarized, but prospered
greatly from trade across those borders, bringing into Atos goods
that were not otherwise available, and exporting many of its own
uniquely native produce.

Trade between the nations was of course
illegal, and the merchant cartels that powered the economics of the
city had seen fit to install their own puppet governor to ensure
that the underground trade in everything from the beautiful fabrics
of the northern cities of Sovisland, or the pungent spice powders
from the coastal lands of Atos , to the fine blades of the central
reserves of Fulstarn were moved freely through Yarneth Vardis.

It was something that had gone on for
hundreds of years, and was an established, if officially denied
factor to the economic stability of the region. The illegal trade
was something that the capital Corrinth Vardis was well aware of,
and tolerated as a necessary part of day to day business down on
the south eastern frontier.

Of course as is often the way with corrupt
systems, the bulk of the wealth that such activity brought into the
city was kept near the top of the food chain while everybody else
could go to hell. The merchant cartels lived in luxury and
opulence, while the common citizenry starved and died. Crime
amongst the populace was rampant, and there was a mortality rate
from disease that beggared belief, as one plague or another moved
through the city unchecked, spread by the twin sins of poverty and
neglect.

It was in such a place, a crossroads between
three titanic nations, that information traveled in the same way as
might one of those festering diseases that frequently ravaged the
benighted populace. It was through such a place that those wishing
to buy or sell illicit property, be they stolen artifacts or stolen
people, might travel. It was into such a place that Sigourd and the
wild man now descended.

After passing through the shoddy looking
settlements scattered around the foot print of Yarneth Vardis,
moving between tattered dwellings where men and women shuffled
morosely about the business of scraping together enough to simply
exist, and hollow eyed children didn’t so much as play amongst the
filth as they did occupy the same space as it. Sigourd and Jonn
Grumble passed into the mouth of a tunnel that was ringed with
massive barbed hoops between which lank canvas was stretched like
flayed skin. The tunnel soon disappeared into the thickness of the
massive black stone walls that ringed the city, the blocks used in
their construction so gargantuan surely titans must have placed
them amongst the plains to mark the way to their never kingdom,
only to have scurrilous mankind steal them away to build his
monuments and fortifications here on the grass lands of southern
Atos.

Sigourd and Jonn Grumble braved the
oppressive murk of the tunnel, passing streams of folk wending
their way to or from the city, their faces rendered oddly
indistinct in the gloom.

Sigourd could not help the feeling of an ill
omen that had settled upon his heart. Something about the place
made him uneasy, but when finally he made his way from the gloom of
the long tunnel after several minutes trek, all his apprehensions
were swept away in an instant as a visceral deluge flooded his
senses.

They emerged from the tunnel into the city
proper, a mad press of people of all creeds and colors, hurrying
too and from with an energy that had been absent beyond the walls.
They filled an area hundreds of meters across and just as many
deep. Ramshackle buildings, the soundness of their structural
integrity questionable, crowded in upon the courtyard. They seemed
to lean like the listing trees of the Velvet Forest, towering above
the teeming populace beyond the tunnel mouth.

Sigourd saw peoples that he recognized as
being from Atos or Fulstag or Sovisland, and more besides. Men and
women whose faces were painted blue or red or yellow, bodies that
were garbed in the finest silks and the most ornate armor or the
most tattered of rags or even next to nothing at all.

He saw several men who were so dark of skin
as to be almost black, their lustrous, smoky shade giving them the
appearance of having been dipped in molten volcanic glass, and set
aside to cool solid.

He saw beggars pleading for alms, traders
flogging their wares from rickety stalls that lined the interior
square in rows consisting of dozens of such set-ups. Each one
selling a variety of exotic fruit, or cured meats, or pungent
spices or perfumes or potions.

The assault on his nostrils was as urgent as
the assault on his eyes. The smells of cooking meats and baked
goods, the sickly sweet bouquet of flowers fresh and rotting, the
stench of human and animal ordure. Everywhere he looked there was
some new fascination to be absorbed.

Even the markets of Corrinth Vardis during
high spring paled in comparison to this wonder, both in scope and
variety.

‘
Not seen its like before,
eh?’ remarked Jonn Grumble, who had taken an amused interest in
Sigourd’s obvious bewilderment at the scene that lay before
him.

Sigourd slowly shook his head by way of
response, his eyes still darting hither and to around the great
interior space within the walls.

The press of bodies around them was almost
stifling, and between the masses and the teetering crooked
buildings that leaned ominously over the proceedings, Jonn Grumble
was in no mood to dally.

He elbowed and shouldered his way through
the crowd, cursing and grunting at those who bumped and jostled the
pair as they progressed.

‘
Hello sweet treat..’
called out a young lady wearing entirely too much face paint and
not much else, ‘looking for favors are you?’

Sigourd turned to see whom she was
addressing, realizing quickly that she was winking at him,
beckoning suggestively for him to come to her.

‘
We’ll give you the grand
tour of the city,’ said another, ‘and the rest...’

Sigourd looked away, his cheeks flushing
red.

‘
Did you see those girls?’
he said as he hurried along behind Jonn Grumble, ‘the people here
are so friendly!’

‘
Those aren’t girls,’
muttered Jonn without looking back.

Confused, Sigourd stole a backwards glance
at the two painted ladies, taking horrified note of their large
hands and overly broad shoulders. He quickened his pace to catch up
with his companion, who was busy shouldering his way through the
crowd.

‘
Where are we going?’
Sigourd asked.

‘
I know a place where the
tongues of men like to wag over a little tipple. It’s as good a
spot as any to gather a bit of knowledge about what we might be up
against.’

Jonn Grumble quickened his pace, much to the
annoyance of the people around them who shouted all manner of foul
expletives at the pair as they made their way.

‘
There...’ mumbled Jonn
Grumble, who was pointing in the direction of a particularly run
down establishment at the end of the narrow street through which
they were headed, ‘The Inn Of The Dirty Dog. I’ve had a few rowdy
nights in that dung pit I can tell ya.’

Looking up, Sigourd could not help but frown
at the state of the wretched looking tavern.

‘
I can well imagine,’ he
said under his breath as they reached the doorway.

Barring their way was a man, presumably a
patron of the tavern, who had either fallen asleep or passed out
slumped up against the door. He was sitting in a foul smelling
puddle of his own making, and Jonn Grumble had to gingerly push him
aside with the handle of his sword staff. The man’s only response
was to belch loudly, before tipping sideways into the cobbled
street where he continued to slumber peacefully.

‘
It’s a bit of a colorful
crowd,’ he said, winking at Sigourd, before pushing open the heavy
wooden door of the tavern and stepping into the darkness
beyond.

Inside the the tavern was almost as noisy as
the street outside. Men caroused and drank themselves insensate.
Working girls moved amongst them, some pouring drinks or serving
food, while others offered a more hands on experience, haggling
with the rowdy patrons over a reasonable price for their tender
ministrations.

Hardly anyone seemed to notice the pair as
they entered, all too lost in their own dealings. Besides, in a
tavern like The Dirty Dog, in a city of trade like Yarneth Vardis,
new faces coming and going was nothing remarkable.

Only one person actually took note of their
arrival. An old man, hunched and withered under a thick cloak made
of coarse dark wool. He was positioned out of the way of the rest
of the rabble in a quieter corner of the establishment, hidden
amongst the shadows where none would pay him any mind. Despite his
frail appearance and apparent great age, his eyes shone with a keen
interest. Those eyes were now fixed intensely upon Sigourd and his
feral companion.

Jonn Grumble looked about himself in self
satisfaction, ‘Did I mention I’m partial to a little drink before
dinner?’ he said to Sigourd with a knowing smile on his lips. With
that he moved over to the bar, signaling to the barkeep for a pair
of ales.

The surly looking barkeep
took a pair of glass mugs down from a rack on the wall, spat into
and began to polish the vessels before pouring the ales. He placed
both glasses upon the counter with a loud
thunk
, Sigourd, eying the creamy dark
contents of those glasses with undisguised suspicion.

‘
Not for me,’ he said to
Jonn Grumble. ‘I prefer to keep a clear head.’

Jonn Grumble took up both mugs, holding them
close to his chest as if guarding them jealously, ‘Huh, a prince
can afford to buy his own sodding drinks.’ With that he proceeded
to gulp back the contents of first one mug and then the other,
finishing off the contents in a matter of seconds. He belched
loudly as if to emphasize the point, smiling broadly at
Sigourd.

Sigourd rolled his eyes, was about to make
comment on Jonn Grumble’s tremendous thirst when a commotion from
across the bar suddenly drew his attention.