Roger Taylor - Arash-Felloren

‘At least we don’t irritate people by being brisk and hearty when we wake.’ Atlon plunged his face into the cold water to end the conversation.

Dvolci delicately picked his teeth while Atlon washed and dressed.

‘Where shall we go first?’ he asked eventually.

Atlon thought for a moment and then shook his head. ‘I’m no wiser about that than when we started,’ he said. ‘We’ll just have to keep asking and following the trade route back to its source – if it has only one source.’ He frowned. ‘I must admit, I’m surprised we’ve never heard of this city on our travels… what was it – Arash-Felloren? Does the name mean anything to you?’

‘There’s something vaguely familiar about it. It’s got an old sound – very old – but I can’t place it.’ The felci gave a dismissive shrug. ‘It’s probably only a small town when all’s said and done. You know how parochial people are – everyone thinks that their village is the centre of the whole world.’

Atlon looked doubtful. ‘This is a big inn to serve a small town.’

‘Well, we might learn something over breakfast. There are quite a few other people staying here.’

Atlon’s expression changed to one of surprise. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I looked, of course,’ Dvolci replied. ‘While you were comatose in your pit I had a good prowl around the place.’ His voice rose. ‘And don’t look at me like that. One of us has to stay alert. You know how treacherous your kind can be. This could be a den of thieves and murderers for all we know.’

Atlon buckled on his sword. ‘I can look after myself quite well, thank you.’

Dvolci snorted. ‘Half a day with the Queen’s elite troops doesn’t make you a warrior, you know,’ he said. ‘Especially when all you did was raid an empty fortress.’

‘It could have been very dangerous.’ Atlon protested defensively. ‘And it was more than half a day. I spent a lot of time with them – as you know. They were quite impressed by me.’

Dvolci gave a scornful whistle. ‘You mean they remembered you vividly – it’s not the same thing.’

Atlon straightened up. ‘Impressed. Their word, not mine. They said I was a very quick learner.’

Dvolci moved to the door. ‘Why don’t you try learning to wake up in the morning then.’

Breakfast at The Wyndering was both constant and variable. Constant in that Ghreel and the fare he served each week were always the same, variable in that those present on any two consecutive days were rarely the same.

Not that the latter was anything to do with the former, for Ghreel, oddly enough, was a remarkably competent cook. It was simply the location of the inn, which stood at a busy crossroads. All the traffic between the Wilde Ports and Arash-Felloren passed by it, as did such traffic as moved through the region north and south.

Thus, though he had imagined himself to be a solitary guest the previous evening, Atlon now found himself in a room with a score or so others, all busily eating at four long tables. Some were grouped together, others sat alone, but that they were all travellers was apparent from their dress and general demeanour. Beyond that however, Atlon could not deduce anything about their various trades and professions. Nevertheless, he was relieved to note that they appeared to be an improvement on the group that had been decorating the place on his arrival. Two boys and, occasionally, Ghreel, were moving amongst them, serving food.

Atlon sat down at the end of one of the tables. Dvolci jumped up beside him. The man sitting opposite started slightly but Ghreel, who was lumbering by, gave an almost feminine cry.

‘What the hell’s that?’

The general hubbub dropped and all eyes turned towards him.

He answered his own question. ‘It’s a rat!’

Embarrassed, but managing a smile as he met Ghreel’s gaze, Atlon forced himself to be pleasant. ‘It’s a he, and he’s a felci. He travels with me. He’s my companion.’

‘Not here he’s not. He – it – isn’t staying in my inn.’

Atlon looked around the room. There were at least three dogs lying under the tables. ‘The dogs stay,’ he said.

But Ghreel was not going to bandy words with this know-all teacher from far away. Momentarily forgetting Atlon’s easy way of paying, he leaned forward menacingly. ‘Get it out of here, or I’ll throw it out.’

‘You don’t know anything about felcis, do you?’ Atlon said. He motioned to a passing boy for food in the hope that morning routine might divert his irate host. Then he laid a hand on Dvolci’s sleek neck. ‘It’s not a good idea to touch him. Felcis are a highly intelligent species and they don’t like being mishandled. They’re deep rock-dwellers, and…’

‘I know a rat when I see one.’

There was a flicker of impatience in Atlon’s eyes but he kept his tone conciliatory. ‘Then when you look a little more carefully, you’ll see that he isn’t one, won’t you? Look at him. He’s nothing like a rat. He…’

Ghreel however, was not listening. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. One of the dogs pricked up its ears, then scrabbled to its feet and sauntered over to him. It was a large, muscular animal with torn ears and scars on its face bearing witness to its history as a fighter. Atlon gave Dvolci an inquiring look. The felci gave a slight nod and Atlon edged resignedly away from him.

Ghreel seized the dog by the chain around its neck and turned it towards Dvolci.

‘See it off!’

Immediately, the dog set up a great clamour, barking furiously, its paws scrabbling on the rough floor as it pulled against Ghreel’s grip in an attempt to reach its prey. The big man staggered as he struggled to restrain it. Atlon looked anxious but Dvolci seemed unconcerned by the uproar, sitting on his haunches and peering curiously about the room.

‘Get it out of here or I’ll let him go,’ Ghreel shouted to Atlon above the din.

Atlon was about to reply when Dvolci gave a low whistle and turned towards the dog. As if seeing it for the first time he began to stare at it intently, tilting his head first one way, then the other. The dog redoubled its outcry at the challenge. Dvolci continued staring for a little while then dropped gently on to all fours and, crouching low, began to crawl slowly along the bench.

‘Quietly, if you can,’ Atlon hissed between clenched teeth as the felci crawled over his knees.

Dvolci made no response, but stopped briefly about two paces from the dog. Then, without warning, he leapt forward. There was a collective gasp from all those who could see him, and more than a few jerked their feet off the ground in a very unmanly anticipation of a wild flight by the felci. But it was suddenly quiet. In between frantic barks, the dog had found itself nose to nose with the felci and, for some reason, had lost interest in its loudly announced intention. Though all that could be heard was the felci’s whistling, now very soft, the dog’s ears flattened against its head, its tail curled tightly and protectively between its legs, and it dropped to the floor with a whimper. So sudden was this collapse that Ghreel almost overbalanced.

It took the innkeeper a moment to grasp what had happened, then he swore at the dog and yanked violently on its chain. But to no avail – the dog remained motionless, its head turned away from Dvolci. Eventually Ghreel drew back his foot to kick it.

‘No!’ Atlon cried. ‘Leave it. I told you you didn’t know anything about felcis. It’s lucky your dog had a bit more sense. It could have been cut open from nose to tail by now.’ Suddenly he was on his feet, very angry. ‘And what the hell were you playing at anyway? Do you always set the dogs on to anything you happen not to have seen before? Is that the way travellers are treated at The Wyndering?’ He waved an arm across the watching room.