Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

Endryk looked at the pack horses. ‘There’s no special reason why we should, we’ve plenty of supplies. And we’ve no local money so we’d have to barter if we wanted anything.’ He shook his head. ‘And I do remember they’re hard bargainers. I doubt any of us here are a match for one of them in a haggle.’

‘We don’t have to buy anything, we could just look – wander around for a while,’ Thyrn insisted.

His enthusiasm made the others smile.

‘Well, if Endryk’s happy there’s no threat to us and if it’s not too far off our way we can spare a day to have a look at this place, can’t we?’ Tirke inquired generally. ‘I’d certainly be interested to see a city that’s bigger than Vakloss.’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Dacu said. He looked at the others challengingly. ‘The sight of some different faces might do all of us some good.’

The next day they came to a road heading north. When they first joined it there were few other travellers using it but as the day passed it became much busier, traffic entering at almost every junction. They made several brief travelling acquaintances as they rode along; people in groups; people alone; families in orderly, courteous procession; families in excited, disorderly confusion; heavy-booted farmers on heavy-wheeled carts loaded with hay and produce; slouching stock-men, herding cattle and sheep; craftsmen and tradesmen of all kinds, walking, riding, leading pack horses, pushing and pulling precariously loaded handcarts of every conceivable shape and size.

‘It seems you were right,’ said a stunned and unusually agitated Dacu to Endryk as he managed to extricate himself from one individual. ‘They all want to buy or sell something.’ He indicated his recent companion, who misjudged the gesture and gave him a knowing salute in return. ‘I told him we were just passing through, that we were on a long journey, but he insisted on trying to sell me glass for my windows – windows! – for my tent, presumably!’ He growled. ‘Or in my saddle, for all I know! I doubt he cared. My “lucky day”, it was, to have met him before any of his rascally competitors. His glass was “not cheap”, he admitted.’ Dacu laid his hand on his heart in imitation of the man’s expression of sincerity. ‘But “very special. Double thickness”. It would “last a lifetime”, though he didn’t say whose, now I think about it.’ His eyes widened in shock. ‘I wouldn’t mind, but I nearly bought some. This place must be worse than the Gretmearc.’

Endryk stopped trying not to laugh. ‘A soldier of your experience should know when he’s outmatched. There’s no disgrace in retreat under such circumstances.’

‘It’s not even seeing the ambush that’s bothering me. These people are the commercial equivalent of a combined Goraidin and heavy infantry unit.’

‘We need a new leader if you can’t take the strain,’ Endryk advised him solemnly. He nodded towards Nertha who was in the middle of an agitated debate with a red-faced man pushing a bright yellow cart full of garments. Vredech was trailing in her wake with the air of a child who has just been given the sternest parental instruction to stay quiet. Amid a great deal of emotional arm-waving, Dacu and Endryk learned, amongst other things, that the carter had a family of sickly children on the very edge of penury somewhere, while Nertha’s horse had developed a debilitating complaint that needed her every worldly resource to cure. Being a physician, Nertha had a wealth of ominous words and alarming symptoms at her command. In the end, Vredech was presented with a stout jacket of undeniable quality and the carter went on his way, still concerned for the well-being of his family, whose condition was apparently worsening by the minute, but carrying now an elegant gown with which, presumably, to comfort his much afflicted wife.

‘It was no use to me,’ Nertha replied to her husband’s protestation. ‘I don’t know why I brought it in the first place. And you need a good jacket.’

There were less entertaining meetings though. At a cross-roads a band of uniformed but unsavoury-looking individuals passed over the road in front of them, heading east towards the Thlosgaral. With them were two conspicuously well-dressed men.

‘Private guards escorting someone across the Thlosgaral,’ Endryk told Dacu. ‘There are lots of such people in the city, protecting individuals, businesses, properties.’

‘They have no civic authority to do this?’

Endryk’s lip curled. ‘After a fashion. As I recall, there’s the Prefect and his Guards – the Weartans – but they’re corrupt. Much worse than Arvenstaat’s Wardens.’

‘The more I hear, the more I feel this city’s a desperate place,’ Dacu said.

‘Well, now you make me think about it again, I suspect it’s just the size of the place. Too many people too close together. They can’t be governed by force any more than we could be, and there are too many conflicting factions and interests to reach any semblance of a consensus for an effective form of government.’

‘Destined to destruction?’

Endryk was unexpectedly optimistic. ‘I don’t think so. Destined to permanent change, yes, but they’re probably used to that. Some of their qualities might have protected us better. Made us more alert, suspicious. I don’t know.’

Dacu was silent for a while before saying simply, ‘You may well be right.’

Later, while they were walking the horses, they were overtaken by a hooded figure striding out, high-shouldered and tense. Both Dacu and Tirke started as he passed them while Thyrn reached out and gripped Endryk’s arm tightly.

‘Good day to you, sir,’ Dacu said to the man with a geniality that his friends saw was taking some effort.

The figure hesitated, then turned to him as if surprised.

‘Good day to you,’ came a harsh and unpleasant voice after a moment. Then the figure was on its way again.

A passer-by, a middle-aged man, spat noisily and sneered after the departing figure.

‘You know him?’ Dacu asked.

‘I know them,’ the man replied, his voice as full of contempt as his face. ‘Kyrosdyn. The lot of them should be burnt.’

‘That seems rather extreme.’

‘You’re strangers around here, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, We’re heading north.’

‘Well, welcome to Arash-Felloren, my friends.’

‘I don’t wish to buy anything,’ Dacu said hastily.

The man’s expression changed. He chuckled. ‘I see you’re not complete strangers, then. Don’t worry, I’m not selling anything, I’m just going to watch one of the animal fights tonight. But I’ll give you this advice for free. While you’re in the city, keep your eyes on your goods, your hand on your wallet, and your business well away from the Kyrosdyn.’

Dacu’s eyes narrowed at the mention of animal fights, but he asked, ‘Bad people, are they, these Kyrosdyn?’

‘Yes, very,’ the man replied starkly. ‘Crystal workers they’re supposed to be, but they’ve got fingers in everything.’

‘What are crystals?’ Dacu asked.

The man looked at him in open surprise. ‘You must be from a long way away. They’re used in everything. Expensive jewellery, toughening iron for ploughshares, knives and the like, fancy decorations for those who can afford them, medicines…?

‘Medicines?’ Nertha queried.

The man looked her up and down as though she might be an item for sale. ‘Ointments, potions, lozenges. Draw the badness out of anything, they do.’ He leered. ‘Or put life into it if it’s… sagging a little.’ The leer faded as Nertha did not respond. He tried for another effect. ‘There’s some grind them and cut them straight into the blood.’ He made a scratching motion with his finger on his arm but the action seemed to disturb him more than it disturbed Nertha, to whom it obviously meant nothing. He rejoined the men. ‘Kyrosdyn do it all the time, if you ask me. That’s why they all look the same.’ He gestured towards the rapidly retreating figure. ‘All tight and jerky.’ He sneered again, then took Dacu’s arm confidentially. ‘Mind you, their star’s falling a bit, what with Imorren getting killed and all.’