CY 579, Coldeven 5 (Waterday)
That afternoon, they went into the inner city.
If Askyrja had thought the Outer Gates were huge, she was stunned by the Inner ones. They were massive timbers of oak three feet thick with five-foot steel hinges, reinforced with bands of iron wider and thicker than the span of her hand. One of the gates rested open – apparently they didn't feel the need to bother with both, given the size of them – its lower sill resting on big stone blocks and its incredible weight supported by thick hemp halyards lashing the upper seam to the wall. She stared in astonishment. The gateway was littered with troops including some Knights of the Hart in their surplice of the black shield and horns and there were murder holes and portculli in the ceiling above. Curious soldiers grinned down a trapdoor at them in the centre of the ceiling; Askyrja pulled her cloak around herself, scowling upwards.
On the far side of the gate the city opened up like a new world.
Tall buildings rose before her, some of several stories; there had been such in Soull, but not so many nor so beautifully made. Some of them were clearly Elven in construction, with sweeping, graceful arches of pale stone inlaid with actual living hornwood trees like thick dark ribbons, growing in troughs carved right into their structure. Their long spear-bladed leaves waved in the breeze and their scent was rustic and endearing. A rare few others were done with another species that looked much like the much smaller maples with heavy fronds. The Gnomish homes, to her surprise, were a mix of underground and above-ground dwellings. There were a number of tunnels dug out of a range of little ten-foot hillocks just to the left of the north gate, with round little doors, and round little windows like eyes peeking out of the ground and little chimneys of iron or lead piping with little wisps of smoke puffing out of them in the cool dewy morning air. Each was overlain with trees, shrubs, flowerbeds, rocks or vegetable gardens, and on their mounds above them sometimes were small rustic human-style houses.
Many of the human buildings were made of small stacked red blocks that Colson called bricks, which were apparently made of clay shaped in molds and baked in a kiln. Askyrja came from a place of wooden halls and the occasional stone edifice of rocks pried out of the mountainsides. It was ingenious, she thought, though it was fair to say that many of the things they did here were at the very least clever. Most of the rest of the buildings were made of a strange construction called wattle-and-daub where wooden strips – 'wattles' – were latticed around straight poles between beams, and then the intervening wall filled with mud, clay and straw and then whitewashed. It was a strange idea but the result was very pretty, she thought. Nearly all had roofs of wooden slats like at home though not so decorated, and others of tiles made of the same cooked clay. None – not one – anywhere in sight were thatched, or had a turned sod roof. She frowned with a little jealousy.
Perhaps it was only the emerging season, but the whole place seemed so much brighter and vibrant than at home, so much more radiant and alive. Colourful streamers and banners – a little faded, but still beautiful – hung on street-posts, on the lintels of doors, in windows. The spring was only starting but already plant boxes were out and the stems were greening again after the long winter. The doorknobs and fixtures were of polished brass and even the brick walls looked scrubbed. And the glass – so much glass! She'd seen glass windowpanes before, but even in Soull they were very rare, most people using wooden shutters or pig's bladders stretched over the openings to allow through a weak translucence. Here it seemed like every shop and house sparkled with bright clean glass, filled with pretty colours and light. The streets were like a carnival and she could not hide her admiration.
'Beautiful, isn't it?' Colson smiled proudly as they went along, as though he'd had a hand in the raising of every building. 'Real light of the Velverdyva, it is.'
'You were born here?'
'My mum come from Etterboek, but we moved to just east o' Verbo' just after I were born. She was a charwoman, see, washin' and such for the well-to-dos. More money there than bein' stranded on her da's farm, everyone mad at her for havin' a kid out o' wedlock.'
Askyrja frowned, feeling a sudden bout of sympathy. So he, too, was a bastard. 'I am sorry to hear this.'
'Ah, don't be: never meant no nevermind to me,' he said dismissively.
That was a surprising attitude. 'Do you know anything of him at all?'
'Naw – well, n'much. He were a… passer-through, they said…' He trailed off. 'Anyway, don't know much about him.'
Askyrja looked away, feeling she'd given offense with the question. But he did not let the silence grow long between them: 'Anyway, I just have a few stops an' I thought it were good just t' see ye get a taste of the city itself, look around and see what there was. We'll find someone at the port to give them letters to and head on in.'
'Thankyou,' she said, meaning it. He'd already been so generous that it embarrassed her even to think of it.
The port was near enough but it took some searching to find a ship heading east down the river towards Urnst; the captain was a middle-aged human named Garth. He was tall and gaunt but jovial. 'I am visiting both Radigast City and Mardreth, and I can find a carrier for Bampton, have no fear. I'm sure that they'll reach your very fortunate friend, when he puts in.'
'Thankee,' Colson said, shaking his hand.
'Not at all! It is certainly no trouble on the behalf of such a… charming young lady.' He smiled and took her hand gently, kissing her knuckles, which made her blush. Colson smiled, though he looked a little put out.
They made a few more stops in the Inner city and Askyrja, deciding to stick to her word and not be quite so shy, helped Colson with moving the wood where needed, though most shops used their own people. 'Had some ideas already, Askyrja,' he told her when they climbed back aboard the cart to return to the Coster house.
'You have?' she asked, unsure whether she wanted to hear them or not.
'Yup,' he said, flicking the traces. Ban started off at a quick clop. 'Getting late, we should get back. Have you had any thoughts on things of your own?'
She hadn't, exactly, being merely happy to have something to occupy her and keep her mind off her problems. Half of her – the stronger half, she told herself – wanted to rejoice in her survival. But some of the remaining part wanted to curl into a ball and lie crying on the ground. But that was childish foolishness! Should she give up, merely because life was unfair? Life was always unfair, always cruel. It took more than it gave, in the end, always. Her people knew that better than most. The gods cared nothing about her feelings, or her life, so that the world would move on without her if she did nothing.
She would strike out, and she would see. And, if she failed, at least she would fail trying. That might be something to the gods, at least. So her heart had been broken! Twice, at the same time, in fact! But sun and moon would keep spinning and she must find a place under them and she would. She would not give in and follow Bjorn helplessly into the grave.
She would fight, tooth and nail, if need be.
She might need new clothes to fit in; not that her travelling clothes weren't pleasing, but she was not ignorant of fashion and knew its value. Besides, the women they passed were clearly dismissive of her fur-lined shirt and rough leather trews, and they did not hesitate to lift up their noses at her as she and Colson passed. A new outfit might do her much good. After all, she did not know how long she would be here, and it might be wise to fit in until she could figure things out. The women of Verbobonc seemed to prefer a mix of solid colours and patterned hems and she would select some things resembling that. 'Oh!' she yelped as she looked up, pointing. 'Look out!'
Colson, distracted by his own new thoughts, had let Ban get too much of a head and the cart now careened towards a thatched awning sprawling over the roadway. A merchant stood gaping underneath it as Ban trotted straight at him, the heavy wheels clattering and rumbling on the cobbles.
'Cuthbert's codpiece!' Colson yelped, sawing hard on the traces so that they dodged aside with only inches to spare, the cart tipping and then clacking down hard on its left wheel, the lumber jouncing in the cart bed. 'Sorry, Master Alwaite!' Colson called after them as Askyrja almost tumbled out, only catching herself by clutching the rail, and him. 'Didn't mean t' scare!'
Askyrja turned to look as they rumbled away, Colson giving Ban a quick flick of the reins to get away before Master Alwaite – who seemed to be a trader in furs and cloth – could exact some civil or uncivil revenge. The shopkeep could only shake his fist after them and from the contortions of his red fact he seemed to be delivering some justly foul words, but Askyrja couldn't make them out over the crashing of the cart.
She turned back and locked eyes with Colson for a moment before they broke out in laughter as they clattered away.
Askyrja was doubled over helplessly. It had been so long since she'd found anything funny, so long since she'd found anything happy that she couldn't stop. She didn't, until her face burned red and tears ran from her eyes. 'His – his face!' she giggled, clutching herself.
'I thought – I thought it was like – to stop his heart,' Colson guffawed and Askyrja broke down in another fit of breathless giggling, holding her stomach and then gave a little shriek as Colson suddenly had to swerve again to avoid running into a big, gruff-looking soldier with chestnut hair, wearing armour of banded mail strips and carrying a heavy pack and a sword. He had dark eyes and a three-day growth of beard on his jaw, Askyrja noted, and his insults they did hear as they hurried away. 'You – daft – cattle-catching – cu- ' the soldier bellowed after them in a castleyard's crow.
Askyrja's eyes and mouth popped open at the term and she gaped at Colson – and then they both broke into helpless laughter. They rolled another block in the main lane, then he pulled on the left reins and they hauled around a corner and disappeared down a side-line. She giggled again at the audacity and verve that Colson had displayed, and at which she had participated. She had never known such freedom from care and lack of restraint; working in Orvung's hall had certainly permitted no such frivolity, however much she liked to break the rules there. She gradually brought herself under control and wiped her eyes.
Colson was wiping his eyes and wheezing. 'Oh… gods above,' he coughed. 'That was… that was somethin' else! I dunno when I last laughed like that!' He looked over at his companion. 'An' y'know, Askyrja… that's the first time I've ever heard ye laugh a'tall,' Colson chuckled, mopping his eyes with a sleeve end.
'I – I have not laughed in some days,' she grinned, surprised at herself. 'I did not think that I would. Thank you,' she said, sincerely.
'Ha! I should be thanking you! Hell, you saved me from crashing into Alwaite's place and that's a credit, you can be sure. He'd have had the hide off me if you hadn't seen it in time!'
'And perhaps me too!' she grinned, though Colson did not think so. 'Now, that is three gifts you have given me: a ride, a place to stay – and laughter.' She smiled and patted his hand. 'Thankyou, friend Colson.'
Colson turned red again and not from amusment. He whipped off his hat, scratched his head and nervously adjusted his jerkin. 'Well, gosh and all, Askyrja, I – it – it weren't no trouble,' he said, cursing himself inwardly for tripping over his own tongue in his answer. Why couldn't he talk to women? Or at least to this one: maybe the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, just riding along with him as he did his deliveries on a damned donkey cart! 'Steady on, Colson,' he whispered to himself as she turned to momentarily admire some brassworks at a shop next to the corner. 'Easy, lad.'
'Hmm?' She turned back quickly and Colson thought her blonde hair flashing in the sun looked like a golden waterfall.
'Ohh – ' he said, 'I – was just sayin'… how it ought to be dinner soon!' The light was well dying now, for it was still early spring, and the shadows were drifting longer between the buildings, filling the alleys and yards.
To his surprise, Askyrja actually clapped her hands with dellight. 'Good! I wish to try more of your foods!' she said in her slightly stilted Common. Then she frowned. 'But… I do not think you should pay for me. It is only right that this time, I pay. Yes?'
Colson was taken aback. 'Well, Miss Askyrja,' he said, pulling together his dignity, 'That might be all and well where you're from, but here in Verbobonc – County and Town – we don't rightly let a woman pay for her meal, whether she's a… sosha – socialite – socialist or no,' he concluded, mentally congratulating himself on getting the word right again. 'However well to do she might be, as an… er,' – no need to risk trying it yet again – 'So, I'll pay, and I won't hear another word on't. Fair enough, friend Askyrja?' he asked, extending his hand.
Askyrja smiled wryly. 'As you say, friend Colson.' She took his hand and shook it. 'That would be well.'
'That would be well,' Colson repeated with a grin. 'Funny way o' talkin', you has. Do they all talk like that where you're from?'
She tried to think but the words did not seem to form. 'I – ' she began, then trailed off.
Colson aimed the donkey-cart northward back towards the Outer City and Walder's Wains. The lane he took them down, however, soon stole her complete attention, for only a hundred yards beside them lay the mighty Castle Grayfist. She turned to watch it as they passed. Three hundred feet to a side, the walls of the Royal Castle – for the Viscounty was a kingdom in all but name – like the town itself was a strange hybrid of human and other construction.
Grayfist stood on a small hill nearly exactly in the middle of the city, with a curtain wall of pale granite forty or so feet in height, great fifty-foot towers projecting out at each corner with crenellations everywhere for protecting archers. Wall and towers were just like those of the outer walls but even larger and studded with arrow slits, and atop each was another of those huge, wicked mechanical crossbows she'd seen at the bridge. She wondered how big the quarrels they threw must be, and what they could even be for. Were there giants that marauded here? But was clearly not so, for no giant would ever venture within a town; that was ridiculous! Surely the destruction would be enormous and the town's warriors would destroy them. Sure enough, small groups of soldiers stood atop the towers looking out over the town, or marched between them with a slow, orderly tread. A pair of ravens squawked and lifted off the nearest tower, their dark cruciform shapes drifting away southwards on the gentle northern breeze.
The outer walls were man-built – even she could tell that – but the keep beyond the curtain wall was no human construction ever made: narrow, high peaks rising around a tall, round middle tower like the tips of so many spears reaching into the sky. Each tower was linked to the others on its corners by walks so slender it did not seem possible that they could be supported. They must be the work of Elves, she realized: beautiful… and eerie. What did one really know of them? And this… Wilfrick, jarl of Verbobonc – he chose to live there? Right in the heart of such strange, alien structures? Askyrja repressed a shudder; she did not hate Elves, but she did not know them and certainly did not trust them. This Viscount Wilfrick must be a fool to do so. There was no other explanation.
They reached the north side of the castle and followed it around south, circling the west side. Just across the road from the castle grounds there was some kind of broad Gnomish manse with many windows and small doors leading up to a lowish ground level building, all shaded by another great ipt tree that also seemed inhabited. The neighbourhood here appeared quite Gnomish overall and, as before, she was intrigued by these strange creatures and their ways. They seemed almost comical, but really there was a kind of stoic solemnity about some of their behavior here; even the doorway to the manse boasted a pair of guards armed with spears, shields, steel caps and ring mail jacks. Strange. Perhaps they were more like Dwarves than she'd thought.
There were more of the strange houses of brick and stone as they went back but just to the west in the city, Colson said, was the Elven Quarter, sometimes called the Dawn Quarter since the dawn sun would strike that part of the city first as it cleared the eastern walls. It was very beautiful, Colson told her, but… different. She looked that way and true enough, she saw some of the things Colson described: Elven-works, but this time in wood rather than stone and glass.
A few of the houses were of regular human construction, but many of the Elves seemed to live in weird ipt-houses instead, terraced structures in the main boughs of great trees fifty feet or more in height with massive green-barked trunks and big emerald leaves the size of a man's spread fingers. The houses were cleverly constructed without nail or screw but only by close-fit tapped wood joints supported on the tree trunks and cross-branches. She saw several there; even in the brief views she had she could tell the women were very beautiful and the men handsome, graceful and tall, carrying themselves with admirable dignity. They had beautiful almond-shaped eyes, pointed ears, slender forms and hair from a chestnut brown to pale blonde. She'd heard there were different kinds of Elves and she wondered which these were. There had been a very few half-elves living in Soull – artisans in wood or stone, gem cleaners and jewelers that Orvung did not permit to have or carry weapons, but most of these Elves – full-bloods by the look of them – carried swords. One of them even looked like a mage, which both fascinated and worried her. Their clothing seemed functional and unelaborate, but intriguing and always was fit to show them off to best effect. Would such be for sale here, she wondered idly? Some of the fluttering banners were of the green tree and leaves but there were other tree-banners too, these ones with a brown tree with green branches, on a purple background. Another showed only a radiant moon, and another a shining sun. The area around them seemed peaceful and calm, tranquil even. She half-envisioned herself stretching out for a nap under one of them, despite their strange, eerie owners.
'Lot more o' their folk comin' to the city these days,' Colson said, meaning the Elves. 'Big wars away down south, way past Dyvers and even Celine, all sorts fighting down there, though exactly what's happening I couldn't rightly say.' He frowned, pensive. 'Seems like… I dunno. Like somethin's happenin'. Like them stories I told ye about things gettin' darker, more dangerous. Like we're all headed towards somethin', and try as we might we can't get away from it, like it's comin' and can't be stopped.' He caught himself then with a chuckle. 'Course… all that's just stories, Askyrja.' Her name positively rolled off his tongue now and he never seemed to pass up a chance to say it. 'Sure, there's goblins and kobolds and trolls in the world: allus has been! And there's wars and such, and there's always been them too. Elves move this way an' that, an it don't mean nothin'. World'll be here tomorrow, an' the day after, and the year after that. Omens and such, it's just talk.' Askyrja nodded, but she did not know if she quite agreed.
She saw other symbols around the town, three rows of squares diagonal with the two outer ones yellow and the middle green on a black background, another with a white star on black, with golden crescents, and still another a mailed fist on a red base. She knew the houses of none of these… but to her relief nowhere did she see one like a yellow shield with a red circle in the middle, nor a blue shield with a white circle, nor the reverse set with tiny dark trees, for these were the symbols of the Snow, Ice and Frost Barbarians. It both relieved and uneased her that none of her people were near.
They followed the wall around westward, then took a sharp south past a cloth shop and ended up along an industrial street that Colson called the Street of Steel, where many kinds of artisans worked but mostly those involved in making things of steel and iron. Colson pulled up for a delivery and Askyrja got out to look around, promising not to wander too far, and seeing a metalworkers shop.
Smiths worked iron and steel with the constant ring and clang of hammers; horseshoes, tools, harness, being fashioned before her eyes with sparks and rhythmic battering. Their apprentices worked the bellows to heat the stock, and brushed, scraped, sharpened and polished the final products after the smiths had added their own marks, for each smith made and presented their goods and scorned the work of all others. Women – wives and daughters, perhaps – hawked items at the front of the smaller shops to passers-by. Some smiths seemed to specialize in specific goods while others did general work of all kinds; but one smithy on the south side of that same block truly grabbed her attention.
It was a long, low building with multiple chimneys rising and several bays of burly blacksmiths – humans, Dwarves, even a Gnome – sweat dripping off their heavy muscles and scorched, hairless chests. Unlike the other places, however, here the metal shot not only red sparks but sometimes strange, eerie sprays of blue, gold and green, showering the smiths in their aprons and the floor of the shot. She watched them battering lengths or blocks of steel for swords, axes and hammers, or just tapping out the slots for a simple crossguard. This, then, was a place of weaponsmiths. Waves of bright fire blossomed like flowers under their tools as tired apprentices stoked the furnaces with bellows made of bronzewood, the slats sealed with leather.
One apprentice carrying a quenching bucket stopped to gawk in return at her, hooting and cat-calling at her, until a burly human smith cuffed him in the back of the head and bawled at him to get on with his job, though he did cast an appreciative eye over her before picking up his hammer and tongs again.
'Like smithing, do you?' Colson said, startling her. She hadn't noticed him come up. 'Yeah. Hard life, though. And you never get to see any of the country, never get outside.' Askyrja nodded, though it was not the smithing itself that interested her but the things they were making; gleaming swords and arrowheads. An apprentice ground a swordblade on a spinning stone wheel under the keen eye of an older smith and she marvelled at how it shone and sparkled.
'You! Girl!' a huge voice barked and she looked to see a Dwarf in a leather apron pointing at her. 'Get on! You're distractin' the lads!' Sure enough, several of the apprentices were sneaking looks out of the corner of their eyes, their minds clearly wandering. 'Go! Get!' And the Dwarf slammed shut one of the bay doors, then another. 'Get!' he barked again, and Askyrja and Colson hurried for the donkey cart, where Ban patiently waited. 'Touchy sorts,' Colson said by way of apology.
He explained he had two more stops to go and then they would be at liberty for the rest of the day; it was scarce afternoon so that would leave some time. Until then, he would show her what he could on the way. She smiled and nodded and they set off.
As they went along towards the North Gate Askyrja saw yet other near-humans of still another sort she'd never seen before. These were even smaller than Gnomes by a few inches but bulkier, if she was any judge. Their complexions varied from fair to tawny, though most seemed ruddy in the cold, and nearly all had wavy or curly brown hair. They were nearly all beardless, though one or two had some of the same curly hair sprouting from their cheeks. The men were dressed in knee-length britches, shirts, coats and vests of plain-colours, sometimes patterned, while the women in bodices over flowery dresses, sometimes with wide kerchiefs around their hair. A few went into a blocky kind of alternation in colours between their shirts and bottoms, light to dark. But to her utter amazement, not one wore shoes nor even socks on their stout curly-haired thick-soled feet, despite the weather. Each was bare-legged below the knee, so far as she could tell but despite this they seemed cheerful and lively.
'Are these… Hobniz?' she asked.
Colson looked at them down his nose, squinting. 'Hobniz? Oh, Halflings? Well, o' ourse they are!' he sputtered in surprise. 'Askyrja… I saw you lookin', and if I were any judge, I'd say you'd never seen even Elves really afore today. Where exactly d'ye come from so's you've never even seen any of the other Folk of Oerth?'
'I – I have seen many Dwarves,' she protested, blushing, which was true.
'Yeah, but where? Where did you live that there weren't any of them a'tall?'
She shrugged vaguely. 'Up… river?'
Colson gave her a very skeptical smirk. 'Well, I think they got 'em there, but anyway you're seein' 'em now,' he said. 'What d'yer think?'
'I think they seem very interesting. I… think I would like to talk to some, sometime.'
Colson laughed now. 'Well, don't that beat all. A rich girl, never even seed a Halfling afore but wants to have a chat w'em! S'pose we can see about that, maybe after we take care of business! That suit ye?' She nodded.
Colson nodded back, then frowned. 'Uh… Askyrja… you sayed you were one o' them socialists an' all, and I 'spect that means you're… er… well, well-to-do, right? Like, a lady? Are you… noble, then?' He removed his broad-brimmed hat. 'Cause… I been sayin' your name all along w'out sayin' my lady, an' if you are, then I'm right mighty sorry, I ain't got no call to do that and don't want no trouble – '
She smiled wanly, interrupting him. 'I am no lady, friend Colson, do not fear.'
He seemed relieved. 'Well, that's a comfort, I don't mind tellin' ye! For a moment I thought I'd been drivin' around a princess all day!'
She laughed, a rare warm trill. 'You do not like princesses?'
'No! Well, I mean, I dunno. It's just that they'd have me up before the magistrates! Be lucky to get off without some time in the stocks!'
Askyrja frowned in confusion after Colson explained exactly what stocks were. 'This is against the word of the jarl – I mean, Viscount? For lords and peasants to talk?' She'd learned some words from him already.
'Well, it's… kinda like that, I spose. It just isn't done. Nobles and peasants and freemen, we just don't mix. Allus been so.' He shrugged. 'An' I can't say's I mind it none. What in the hells would I have to talk to a noblewoman about? I mean, unless you're really one and ye'd rather not say, Askyrja. You don't seem like them other. You… I can talk ter. You're… different.' He smiled.
'Well, I am not a – a noblewoman, I promise,' Askyrja said. And that, again, more or less, was true.
In Rhizia, it was not impossible to talk to noble men or women, for there was no single hard social division there, just an appreciation of the distribution of power, which could be complicated the greater the social differences between two men were. The jarls were always dangerous, experienced men, warriors of great renown and skill. One must be careful around such men, and have respect – but one could interact with them. 'And I am not rich, I promise you this also.' She did not wish to say anything of her money, really, since it was stolen, after all, and she had no wish for the upright and honest Colson to think she was perhaps not so honourable as he. Her gaze stole back eastward for a moment and she was caught up in thought again.
She had never thought about what would happen after she stole the scroll. It was to have just been handed off to Bjorn, and then her part were done.
But really, what after that? Would she really have just returned to her duties as if nothing had happened, unsuspected? Would Bjorn and Felix have escaped suspicion? Would there have been a revolution? A coup? Orvung would have turned the Great Hall upside-down to reveal the truth, questioned everyone in sight, maybe even in the presence of a priest doing magics to watch for lies; and Felix, true, was an outlander and therefore suspicious by default, let alone his magics. How loyal did Jarl Orvung really think him? If taken and put to the question, would Felix have concealed their part – her and Bjorn's, and hers in the theft? She did not think so. And anyway, Bjorn and Felix were probably known by someone to associate; if suspicion had ever fallen on either of them – and Orvung would not have rested until the culprits were found – it would have fallen on her as well. She would have been taken, and probably tortured until she gave up her part and that of the others.
Or if suspicion had neared, would they have killed her? Was that why he had not merely accepted the job of hunting her down but, at the last, actually volunteered to kill her? She must accept what had been, for she could not deny it – and, to her surprise, the pain seemed more bearable now, though it filled her heart with a sour, bitter thudding.
But what was she going to do now?
'Don't you worry, Askyrja, we'll figure something out,' Colson said confidently, breaking into her worrisome thoughts. 'Like I said: got some ideas already, I have.'
She nodded back, still feeling distinctly uncertain.