In The Shadow Of The Beast (17 page)

Sigourd hoped they might loose the soldiers
amongst the crowd, but turning to chance a glimpse at their
pursuers he was dismayed to see that the soldiery had stayed with
them. He could see the ripple of disturbance traveling through the
crowd where the determined city guardsmen were ploughing through
the press of bodies in the wake of the men they hunted.

The main street was really more of a large
thoroughfare through which there seemed to be no easy way to
circumnavigate the crowd. No way to quickly duck out of sight and
allow the soldiers to pass them by.

‘
There, up ahead!’ Cried
Jonn.

Sigourd looked to where His companion had
indicated, to the mouth of a small street only slightly larger than
the alley into which they’d originally emerged. They picked up
their pace, hoping to hit the street and round the corner to get
out of sight, or at least to use the opportunity to put even more
distance between themselves and those in pursuit.

They darted around the bend and into the
mouth of the small street, where only a handful of people walked,
going about the function of their daily concerns. About halfway
down the street there appeared to be a small bakery, sweet smelling
rolls and hot breads piled high on shelves outside, and not too
much else. The walls of the buildings to either side of the street
were high, and here just as everywhere else in the city they seemed
to hunch arthritically over the street below.

Sigourd noticed how Jonn Grumble looked
wearily at those near buildings. It was the second time since
they’d entered the city that he’d seen the wild man looking to his
surroundings with an almost tangible apprehension.

The street itself curved around in a sharp
bend, keeping from immediate sight the secret of where the other
end let out.

Again, Sigourd chanced another look over his
shoulder to see how far behind the soldiers were, and caught sight
of them emerging from the crowd, weapons ready in their hands. It
was clear that they’d caught sight of Sigourd and Jonn Grumble, but
instead of charging into the alley in hot pursuit, they slowed to a
brisk stroll.

Sigourd wondered why they were not pressing
themselves to charge after the pair, and had his answer soon
enough. As he and Jonn Grumble rounded the bend in the street, he
was dismayed to see that the road terminated altogether in a dead
end consisting of high wooden fencing stretched between the twisted
facades of two crumbling buildings. There would be no escape.

Sigourd and Jonn Grumble turned to face the
approaching soldiers, who were now sauntering casually down the
alley. They wore wicked looking smirks on their faces, obviously
content in the belief that their prey was cornered.

Sigourd and Jonn Grumble drew their blades,
ready for the seemingly unavoidable combat that was about to take
place.

‘
You’ll lower your weapons
or you’ll meet a grisly end, to be sure!’ shouted one of the
guardsmen, a burly man with a mustache as thick as his guttural
accent.

‘
We did not start the
trouble at the tavern. We were merely defending the honor of one of
the serving girls employed there,’ said Sigourd.

‘
Then more fool you,’ spoke
the guardsman, ‘those little trollops generally don’t have much in
the way of honor to defend,’ replied the guardsman. ‘Lower your
blades and come quietly, and we’ll see what can be done about
sparing your hides.’

Some malicious glimmer in the eye of the
mustashioed guard told Sigourd that the man had no intention
whatsoever of bringing either Jonn Grumble or himself in for
questioning.

‘
I cannot,’ said Sigourd,
‘for I am about the business of the prince of the realm himself,
and command that you stand aside.’

The guardsman and the rest of his group
laughed boisterously at this as if it were the most amusing thing
they’d heard in all their days.

‘
...and we’re about the
business of cracking troublemakers skulls,’ said the guardsman,
smiling all the while. At this the other soldiery raised their
blades and lowered their spears, advancing steadily toward Sigourd
and Jonn Grumble, who held their own weapons at the
ready.

Just then a strange sound began to echo
around the small street, a sound as of hooves beating against the
surface of the rough hewn streets.

Sigourd and Jonn Grumble and the guardsman
as well all began to look about themselves for the source of the
sound, which was growing louder by the second. They could see no
horses nor much of anything else that could be responsible for the
echoing, and confusion began to descend upon both groups.

Suddenly there was a tremendous noise as of
lumber splintering. Crashing through the high wooden fence that
formed the terminus of the alley came a pair of magnificent horses,
drawing behind them a two wheeled cart of quite sturdy design.

The horses were dark, their lustrous coats
almost seeming to shimmer in light of the day, and their bodies
were powerfully built in the fashion of animals well used to
physical labour.

Sitting atop the cart, his head hunched low
and his gnarled old hands tight around the reigns as the cart
careened through the fence, was the old man.

Sigourd and Jonn Grumble dived to either
side as the horses and cart passed them by, the mighty animals
barreling into the group of astonished guardsmen who scattered like
chaff before this terrifying prospect.

The old man turned quickly in his seat, and
shouted down to Sigourd and Jonn, ‘You can come with me or you can
hang. Your choice gentlemen.’

Sharing a brief look of total amazement,
both men quickly clambered aboard the cart. The old man wheeled the
horses about, aiming them squarely at the gap he’d put in the fence
only moments before.

By now the guardsmen had recomposed
themselves sufficiently, and one of them foolishly threw himself at
the cart. His efforts were rewarded with a solid boot in the face,
courtesy of Jonn Grumble, as the cart swept by.

With a powerful leap the
animals dragging the cart bounded back through that gap, the little
cart not managing to clear the splintered edge of the gap quite so
gracefully. It connected with that fence jarringly, shearing off
more of the splintered wood with a loud
crack
.

The rest of the guards attempted to give
chase, but it was a futile gesture. They had no way of catching the
cart as it sped across a tract of open land and into a parallel
street before disappearing from sight.

The late afternoon sun was warm on Sigourd’s
face as he sat under the shade of a small tree far to the south
east of the city of Yarneth Vardis.

The old man had taken Sigourd and Jonn
Grumble far beyond the city and its watchmen. They had managed to
loose the half-hearted pursuit of the soldiery amongst the warren
of back streets that comprised the slums within the city walls.
Their savior had known a secret route out of the city that took
them through the wall and out into the wilderness that bordered the
lands of Sovisland.

They had traveled all that morning to come
as far as they had, pausing only to rest now that they were
sufficiently beyond the care or concern of the soldiers that had
pursued them.

Behind Sigourd, Jonn Grumble was busily
cramming the small delicate plum like fruits of the tree into his
mouth, eating as if he’d never seen food in his life.

Sigourd studied the old man, who was tending
the magnificent cart horses as they grazed peacefully by the tree.
He was a peculiar sort of fellow. His small frame, hidden mostly
behind a dark felt cloak, seemed to be so worn with age that it
appeared as if even a sudden breeze might blow him apart,
scattering his component elements like leaves upon the wind. But
there was a spirited constitution within that belied his fragile
appearance. Certainly, anyone willing to come to so dramatic a
rescue of two men whom he’d never met, at the risk of possible
execution by city authorities, must certainly be made of stern
stuff.

In their headlong flight from the city,
Sigourd hadn’t had an opportunity to learn much of the man who had
rescued him or why.

‘
My name is Sigourd, and
this is my friend Jonn Grumble,’ offered the young lord. ‘I must
thank you for your timely intervention. Were it not for you I fear
those soldiers would have put us to the sword.’

‘
Or tried too!’ offered
Jonn Grumble, his mouth full of half chewed fruit.

‘
That ruffian you were
quarreling with at the tavern is the city constable,’ said the old
man. ‘...and those guardsmen that gave you chase were his men. It
would have been a sorry end for the both of you had they managed to
catch you.’

‘
What’s that? You don’t
think we could have handled those buggers?’ said Jonn Grumble. ‘We
had it all well in hand thanks very much.’

‘
It looked to me like you
were running for your lives. But with these old eyes, my sight
isn’t to be trusted like it used to,’ said the old man.

Jonn Grumble snorted at this comment, and
went back to pulling the sweet plums off the branches of the little
tree.

‘
You have yet to tell us
your name, friend. Or why you came to our rescue,’ said
Sigourd.

The old man paused in his ministrations to
the horses, his body was turned from Sigourd who could not see the
momentary expression of confusion that flickered across the old
man’s face. After a moment he turned to face Sigourd, ‘It’s been so
long since I’ve had any use for names I’d almost forgotten my own.
Names are so overrated, but you may refer to me as the elder. As to
why I came to your aid, I assumed that anyone willing to stand up
to those wretched louts must be either very stupid, very brave, or
very new to the city.’

‘
Well elder,’ began
Sigourd, ‘we are very grateful for your aid, and are pleased to
have made your acquaintance. My friend and I have traveled far.
Jonn Grumble lives in the Velvet forests, and I hail from the city
of Corrinth Vardis.’

The old man accepted this with a nod, ‘You
have indeed traveled far. And if you do not mind me asking, what
brings you so far from your lands?’

‘
Perhaps we do mind,’ said
Jonn Grumble, drawing a frown from Sigourd.

‘
Suit yourself, I merely
seek to know a little about the men whose live I have saved and
start some conversation to lighten the burden of wearisome
travels,’ said the old man without a trace of disquiet. ‘Although
sitting here down wind of you has given me cause to rethink that
desire.’

Sigourd smiled at the playful jibe, while
Jonn Grumble scowled and returned to foraging for more fruit.

‘
And where might you hail
from, elder?’ said Sigourd.

‘
I too have traveled a long
way. I make my home in the mountain ranges of the
Ash’harad.’

Sigourd’s eyes went wide at the mention of
those treacherous mountain ranges, ‘You come all the way from the
mountains. The Ash’harad border the Eastern Fringes do they
not?’

‘
Aye they do. It’s a fair
way for these old bones to travel, but one must go where there is
money to be made,’ replied the old man.

‘
And what is it exactly
that you do to make this money?’ asked Jonn Grumble.

The old man turned his gaze upon the wild
man, and something like mild annoyance flittered behind his eyes
for the first time, ‘I tell stories.’

‘
An old crow like you must
have more than a few tall tales to tell,’ scoffed Jonn
Grumble.

‘
Yes, and I have no doubt
there will be another to add to my collection before very long,’
said the old man, his manner quite cheerful once again.

‘
We are searching for
someone. A great warrior named Brodus Klay. Have you heard of him?’
asked Sigourd. The old man raised an eyebrow, considering Sigourd’s
question.

‘
Yes, I know of Brodus
Klay,’ the old man said.

‘
Perhaps you could direct
us to him, or better yet take us there? You would be rewarded
handsomely!’

‘
Handsomely is it?’
chuckled the old man, an amused gleam in his eye, ‘there’s no need
for handsome anything. I travel in that direction and would be glad
of the company. Even an old soul like me can tire of keeping his
own counsel for too long a time.’

‘
We would owe you a great
debt for your assistance,’ said Sigourd.

The old man waved his hand dismissively
before him, ‘You’ll owe me nothing. The pleasure is mine. But I
must confess to no small measure of curiosity as to why to fellows
such as yourself find themselves on the road in search of a
character like Brodus Klay. Or to travel to so dark a place as the
Eastern Fringes. Those territories are not to be traveled without
great care.’

‘
I’m aware that danger may
lie before us, but I must press on,’ said Sigourd.

‘
He’s love-struck!’ offered
Jonn Grumble, who was still busying himself with the fruit, ‘and
we’re searching for his girl.’

This time the flicker of mild annoyance
passed over Sigourd’s face. ‘Her name is Isolde and she was
snatched from my homestead by persons I have yet to identify. I
have been told that this Klay may be able to tell me of the nature
of her kidnappers. Of how I might defeat them.’

‘
Ah, a mission of rescue.
Of a damsel in distress no less. A nobler cause I never did hear,’
the old man said. As he spoke he looked up with some surprise at
the little nightingale that had settled in the fruit tree and was
now darting from one branch to the next, chirruping contentedly in
the waning sun. ‘And what I must wonder is the story with our
little feathered friend here? He has been traveling with us since
we left the city.’