Quest's End: The Broken Key #3 (11 page)

They had been out in the hills around Quillim for over a week now. Ever since word reached them of the silver King’s coins that had been found, they followed the rumor’s trail until it led them here. Now they were trying to locate the entrance to the Horde. For surely, that amount of silver coins could only have come from the Horde itself. No other cache of silver coins had ever come close to that amount, not even copper ones.

When they first arrived in Quillim, they were quick to discover that the boys who had found the coins had gone and joined the Warriors Guild in Gilbeth. So they traveled to Gilbeth only to discover the boys had been promoted to Armsmen and were once again missing. With nothing else to go on, they returned to Quillim where they were sure the boys would resurface at some point. After all, wasn’t this where their families were?

They had been rather circumspect in their questioning of the townsfolk, neither one wishing to alert them as to what they were really after. They were fortunate to have made the acquaintance of the Magistrate’s son. The lad had been most forthcoming with information about the boys, especially the shepherd. Once they had a good idea where the shepherd usually took his flock, they set out to search.

The snow on the ground greatly hampered their efforts, not to mention the fact that it could very well hide whatever entrance there may be. But that didn’t discourage these two men from searching. For assuredly, if they had heard of the finding of the King’s coins, so too had others. And how long would it be before others arrived? Pulling their cloaks tighter around them against the chill, they continued on.

It was very peaceful in the woods. Animals were hidden in their burrows and what birds were left were silent in the face of the falling snow. The only sounds were the noise of their feet compacting snow with every step and the occasional snort from their mule.

Having just finished searching the area around a pasture some distance west of Quillim, they headed off toward the next. From what the Magistrate’s son had told them, there were five separate pastures to which the shepherd would take his flock. With four down, that left just one more to go. It was a bit further from town than the others had been and it took them a good half hour before they had forged their way through the trees and came to it. The pasture was a wide expanse of open grassland nestled around one of the many small lakes dotting the region.

“Nice area,” Kelby stated when they emerged from the woods.

The other man nodded. They came to a stop several feet from the woods and took a good look at the surrounding area. For the most part it was flat with only moderate hills. On the south side of the pasture was a hill a bit more pronounced than the others. The man pointed to the hill and said, “Let’s try there.” Setting out, he led Kelby and the mule across the pasture.

As they drew closer to the hill, Kelby said, “Doesn’t look like it’s here.”

“We’ll see,” the man replied.

“But I don’t…” Kelby started to say then abruptly stopped.

The man glanced back at his comrade and started to speak when he saw the startled look on his friend’s face. “Kelby?” he asked. Coming to a stop, the man watched as Kelby sank to his knees and fell to the ground. That’s when he noticed the feathered shaft of an arrow protruding from his back.

He grabbed for the hilt of his sword as he began backing away. Glancing to the edge of the woods from which they had emerged, he tried to find the one who had killed his friend. As he quickened his pace away from the trees, another arrow was launched from the woods and took him in the shoulder. Spinning the man completely around, the arrow elicited a cry of pain. Just as the man regained his balance another arrow struck him square in the chest, knocking him backward onto the ground. Then before his eyes darkened as his life left him, he saw three men emerge from the woods.

“I told you they would be here,” a young man said.

One of the other men nodded. Reaching into his coat, he pulled forth a small, coin filled pouch. “Here,” he said. “Let us know if anyone else asks about your shepherd friend and you’ll get more.”

The young man nodded. “Yes sir,” he said.

Staring at the two dead men, the third man asked, “What should we do with them?”

The young man replied, “The kidogs and wolves will take care of the evidence before long.”

The man who had given the young one the coins said to his man, “Retrieve your arrows. We don’t want questions arising should someone stumble across them.” His man nodded and left him there with the younger one.

“No one will be in this area until spring,” the young man explained.

The man turned to him and scowled. He said, “We were here. And so were they.”

The young man nodded in acknowledgement. “I best be getting back,” he said.

“Yes,” replied the man. “It wouldn’t do to have your townsfolk seeing us together.” As the young man started to depart, the man said, “Remember, if you hear of anything come and tell me.”

Pausing, the young man glanced back at the other and nodded. “I will,” he replied then returned to the woods and headed home.

Once the young man had gone, the other man walked over to where his man was removing the last of the arrows from the dead men. Off to their right stood the mule the dead men had brought with them. “Better kill the mule too,” he said.

“As you wish.” Wiping the blood off the arrow onto the dead man’s jacket, he stood up. Moving over to the mule, he drew his sword and soon had the beast lying on the ground, kicking in its death throes.

“We were fortunate to have found that boy,” the man said.

The other man nodded. “He’s got some hate in him that’s for sure.” Wiping the horse’s blood from his sword, he replaced it back in its scabbard.

“Being the son of the Magistrate, he’ll know if anyone comes into town looking for the shepherd, and the miller’s son,” the man replied.

“How far do you think we can trust him?” asked his man.

Daniel glanced to his man and said, “Only to a point. If he should grow troublesome, he can easily be disposed of.” Looking around the pasture, he knew the entrance to the Horde didn’t lie there. The shepherd’s pastures had been the first place he and his man had searched after arriving in Quillim.

Turning his attention one more time to the dead men lying on the ground, the thought occurred to him that if the shepherd didn’t return soon, this scene was likely to be repeated many times.

When the walls of Kendruck finally came into view, it was met with great relief. The days of traveling through the wintry countryside had taken its toll. After leaving the copse of trees three days ago, the weather had begun to mellow. Sunny days raised the temperature to somewhere just above freezing, and the world began to thaw. At least until darkness came again and froze it solid once more.

The last few miles had been relatively clear of snow. It was due mostly to the warmer weather of the past couple days, and the traffic flowing along it. Some miles back, another road coming from the northeast had joined with theirs, and from that point on they were no longer alone on the road. They even encountered a lone caravan making its way bravely north.

Before them, the wall encircling Kendruck rose dramatically. They were about the largest walls any of them had ever seen. Guard towers were spaced every fifty feet and rose another thirty feet above where guards walked along the top of the wall. Each of the guard towers boasted a catapult positioned upon its roof which the defenders could use in the event an army was foolish enough to besiege the city.

“Kendruck used to be plagued by raids from the Tribes before they built that defensive wall,” Chyfe explained to them. “From what my father once told me, the Tribes made the mistake of trying to take Kendruck after it had been completed.”

“What happened?” asked Chad.

“It was a slaughter,” Chyfe said. “The catapults atop the towers rained stones the size of your head down on them. Between the hail of stones and flights of arrows, the Tribesmen were decimated. Ever since then, it has grown into a massive commerce center from which both sides of the border profit.”

“How far away are the Moran Tribes?” asked Soth.

Chyfe glanced to him and said, “That depends on who you ask. Both sides agree that for four miles south of Kendruck, Byrdlon rules. From what I’ve heard, Byrdlon claims another twenty miles as theirs, while the Tribes say the additional area is theirs.”

“Sort of a no man’s land?” asked Riyan.

“Actually, no,” Chyfe explained. “Many villages inhabit the contested area and both sides claim them for themselves.”

“Must make life hard for those who live there,” Bart observed.

“I would think so,” agreed Chyfe.

Kendruck’s gates stood open allowing an intermittent flow of people to make their way in and out. This close to dusk it wasn’t surprising that most of the people were leaving the city. The surrounding countryside was dotted with small villages and hamlets that owed their safety to the soldiers stationed in Kendruck.

Off to the east a score of cavalrymen appeared, patrolling the countryside. Even though Kendruck itself may be safe from the raids of Tribesmen, those living around it were not so fortunate. Situated outside the walls as they were, they would fall prey to Raiders and bandits from time to time. And so, regular patrols made their way across the countryside to keep the people safe.

At the gate, six guards stood watch over the citizens passing through. Four of them were off to the side near an open fire pit trying to keep warm. The other two stood on either side of the gate keeping an eye on things.

As their party approached the gate, the two guards by the gate focused their attention on them. Since they didn’t appear to pose a threat, they remained in position as Bart led the others through into the city.

Once they passed through the gates, Bart immediately relaxed. This was his environment, he was home. Maybe not Wardean, but a city was a city, and he knew its rhythm. When he turned to look back at the others, he couldn’t help but allow a grin to show.

“A warm bed and a hot meal,” he said.

“You better believe it,” Chad replied. He’d had enough of the cold and snow to last for quite awhile. Each day on the road seemed colder than the last. At least it hadn’t snowed or rained since they left the copse of trees, which would have made the journey even more intolerable.

Bart kept his attention focused on the people around them. Spying one of the children who called the streets their home, he caught the boy’s eye and held up a copper. The lad of twelve winters saw the coin in Bart’s hand and immediately came forward.

“Can you tell me of a good inn hereabouts?” Bart asked.

The boy bobbed his head. “Yes sir.” Pointing down the street in the direction they had been heading he said, “Go down to the statue of Phillip the Vanquished and turn to the left. Another two streets down you’ll find the Blue Osprey.”

“Phillip the Vanquished?” asked Riyan.

“Yes sir,” the boy replied. Then he looked to Bart for the coin.

Flinging it to him, Bart watched as the lad snatched the coin out of the air and then scurried away.

“Why would they erect a statue to someone who was vanquished?” asked Seth. “Doesn’t vanquished mean he lost?”

“Something like that,” replied Soth.

Seth shrugged and they continued down the road. It wasn’t long before they saw the intersection of streets where stood the statue of Phillip the Vanquished. It was of a man in fine attire standing with head slightly drooped. His left hand hung at his side and in it were clutched seven short sticks.

“Oddest statue I’ve ever seen,” observed Riyan. Bart agreed. As far as they could tell, it didn’t have any meaning.

The intersection was full of people and they were forced to slow as they made their way past the statue and entered the street on their left as the lad had directed them. Sure enough, two streets down they found a two story building bearing a sign depicting a winged bird in flight clutching a fish.

Bart dismounted, then he and Riyan went inside to see about rooms. In short order they were back with the others and taking the horses around back to the stable. “I paid for two nights,” he told the others. “That should afford us sufficient time to locate the merchant.”

“We could make inquiries about the family crest as well,” suggested Soth. “Never know, in a town such as this they may have a trading concern of one kind or another.”

Riyan nodded. “You may be right.”

Around back at the stable, they were greeted by a stableboy who aided them in settling in their horses. “Who is Phillip the Vanquished?” Seth asked the boy as he was helping him remove the tack from his horse.

“Was, you mean,” the boy replied.

Seth gave the boy an annoyed look at correcting him. Where did a stableboy come off having such an attitude? He was about to teach the boy a lesson in manners when he caught sight of his brother’s grin. Deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble, he finished removing his saddle and placed it on the shelf at the rear of the stall.

“He was a noble hereabouts a century or so ago,” the boy replied. “As the story goes, he and another minor noble by the name of Lord Tillen, were rivals for a lady’s affection. For seven months, each man courted the fair Charmaine.”

As the boy related the story, the others finished with their horses and gathered round to listen.

“Each month, their rivalry grew more intense. By the second month, the betting houses around the city got wind of what was going on and began placing odds on who was going to win. It became quite the spectacle, though I’m sure the lords in question didn’t care that their endeavors were becoming public knowledge.”

“But the notoriety only seemed to fuel each lord’s determination to win the fair Charmaine.” He picked up a brush and began currying Seth’s horse. The boy glanced around at his audience listening to his narration and inwardly grinned. It wasn’t everyday a stableboy was the center of attention like this.

“What happened?” asked Chyfe. “I take it Lord Tillen won?”