Chapter 37: The Gaze of a Dog Lover

The wagon slowed as it reached the dusty field outside the main city gate of Katresburg.

There was no avoiding the vicinity, or the potential encounters with Imperial troops that it might lead to, for the country road led directly towards the city itself before veering eastwards and crossing the nearby river. However, the companions knew they could at least avoid the scrutiny of the city guards this time, by turning at the crossroads which lay around a hundred yards from the city gates. From there, they would head directly towards the bridge.

Alcar and the others were sitting low in the wagon – though not so low, he hoped, that it would arouse suspicion. He glanced behind him as the wagon rumbled on, steered by Kora alone.

“How conspicuous do you think we are?” asked Alcar, looking around at Olynka. “Not so much, right?”

“Ha!” she chuckled quietly. “One green-clad sorcerer, one halfling, a guild healer, and a beautiful archer like myself? It may not be a unique party, but there can’t be many groups matching that description. And they must know that we are now outside of the city walls.”

Alcar nodded thoughtfully, then shrugged off his robes, and pushed them carefully underneath the oilskin tarp, conscious not to damage the clinking glass vials and jars within as he did so. Brutus growled slightly as he was disturbed from where he had been sleeping with his head on Alcar’s lap, but he then quickly settled down again.

Looking back, Alcar noticed that Leppie had a loose smock over her black outfit. Olynka was not wearing her armor, and there was no sign of her bow, either. “You all hid your equipment?” he asked.

“Naturally,” said Leppie. “For I knew that we’d have to pass by the city, and they might be actively searching for us.”

“But from their perspective, we’d be crazy to come back,” said Etienne, rubbing his hands together. “So we have that on our side. If they are looking for us, they’ll surely look further afield.” Alcar noticed for the first time that the backs of Etienne’s hands were unusually hairy, and wondered if the rest of his torso was the same. Perhaps he would find out soon enough during their time on the road.

“Etienne has a point,” said Leppie, “but all the same, don’t count on it. And it’s not a case of ‘if’ they are looking for us – believe me. You might suppose that Imperials would quickly forget about the people who escape the army or resist arrest. But they are notable for having long memories, and for hunting down fugitives mercilessly. It’s part of a policy to keep all the provinces in line.”

“Makes a certain sense, I guess, from their perspective,” Alcar conceded. “I guess we may not have seen the last of General Tung.”

The healer nodded. “Right. But we do have one thing going for us: chapters of the Elemental Hand Guild will never turn on one of their own, fugitive or not. Unless I leave or am formally expelled from the order, I’ll be safe at guild chapterhouses.”

“Is there one of those in Gilmour Village?” asked Etienne.

“Yes – a small one. And also in the frontier town of Larch, just short of the Trollbone Hills.”

Alcar glanced around as the wagon began to turn at the crossroads. He was itching to look out for warriors emerging from the gates, but not wanting to look as if he was looking out. He forced himself to gaze instead to the west, along the line of the great outer wall of the city. The mighty structure appeared to glow brightly as it reflected the orange of the morning sun. Its great defensive towers, no longer used in these times of relative peace, cast long shadows which nearly reached the fringes of the forest in the distance. In line with those shadows, a narrower, rutted road led westward from the crossroads, and passed a small lake that sat immediately to the south of the city. From there, it wound its way onwards towards the forest and the mountain. While the route was used mainly by scouts and foresters for the city, and he had never been that way himself, Alcar knew that it led to the mountains, and the wilds of Kamarok province beyond. A good place for loot – and monsters, it was often said.

But it was the other way that they would be travelling today. Towards the ancient city of Dathmir, and the many small villages near the borderlands between two provinces.

“Where are you going, and what cargo do you have?” demanded a woman’s voice.

Alcar raised himself up a little, and saw a stocky dwarven woman with a clipboard standing on the road ahead, a chainmail-clad city guard alongside her, a tall and slender man with a neat beard. Kora pulled at the reins and brought the horses to a halt, looking around at the official.

“Good morning, Madam Terrapin. How nice to see you. I am travelling on an errand from my mother, taking some farm workers back to their home village.”

Madam Terrapin began to circle the wagon, and Alcar now felt very glad that he had pulled off his robes. Would he pass for a farm worker, akin to Zaxon and the other Khranulian man? He clenched his fists, flexing his biceps in an effort to make his arms look more muscular, but there was no discernible difference in the look of his tunic as he did so.

“You, young man,” said the dwarven woman. “What’s your name?”

“Uh... they call me Zaxon. I am a Khranulian farmhand.”

Olynka raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.

“Khranulian, are you? What is twenty divided by four?”

Alcar was about to answer ‘five,’ when he recalled Olynka’s comment from a few days before – most Khranulians do not take lessons.

“I don’t know those words,” he said, putting on what he hoped was a confused-looking face. “What’s a twenty?”

Madam Terrapin shrugged, apparently satisfied, until the guard spoke up. “That’s no Khranulian,” said the man. “They wear long beards, and have red hair.”

“Ah, well, I can explain that,” said Etienne, speaking up. “This here man has a Khranulian mother, but she famously dropped her knickers for a halfling man from my own family. This one that you see is half Khranulian, half-halfling.”

“Does that make him a quarterling?” asked Olynka with a wink in Alcar’s direction.

Madam Terrapin sniggered at this.

“Right, right,” said Etienne, with a dismissive wave. “He’s obviously small and weedy, and barely able to grow a beard.”

“I’m only eighteen years old!” responded Alcar hotly.

“Aye, right enough, that’s true,” said Etienne sagely. “And the halfling side takes a while to develop. Believe me, you’ll see some changes, young farmhand.”

As they were speaking, Brutus stood up, shook himself, then moved over to the edge of the wagon and bared his teeth.

“Ah, I stand corrected,” said the guard, pointing. “The youth has a traditional Khranulian bloodhound. Aww – what a beautiful animal! I’ve heard they make great pets.”

“He’s a fine beast,” agreed Alcar, trying to cross his eyes slightly as he spoke to add to his assumed persona. He had no doubt that many Khranulians were extremely intelligent, but the chances were that the city guard harbored all of the common prejudices that could be found throughout the Empire.

Madam Terrapin appeared to be satisfied with what she had heard – or, at the very least, bored of the conversation. She stepped away and walked back around to the front of the wagon, where she addressed Kora again. “You have no other goods or valuables on board?”

“Only food for the journey, Madam Terrapin. We’ll be... uh, I mean, I’ll be leaving the farm workers at Gilmour Village by the Northern Trail. I’ll overnight at The Quisling Inn, and then pick up some animal feed before making my way back.”

The dwarven official took another step towards Kora, cricking her neck to look up at the seated woman, speaking more quietly. “Tell me – have you heard any anti-Imperialist sentiment expressed in the farms or villages? From this bunch, or anyone else?”

“No, Madam Terrapin. But then, I hardly speak to anyone but my own family, and the occasional farmhand. I’ll keep an ear out for such things in Gilmour Village, and let you know if I hear of any rebellious sentiment.”

With a nod, Madam Terrapin now stood back. “Very well. Long live the Emperor!”