| The door opened this time. Rowena's brother let her in and then closed
the door. He was already dressed and his pack was on the cot. Rowena told
him of the bee in her room. He simply told her not to worry: "What can
anxiety do?" he said. "Nothing but spill the sands of time."
They left the room and went to get some food. The Chanticleer was already
eating. After some breakfast, some discussion, and some words with the
commander they left that keep, and with it the Shreken.
Meanwhile a small cadre of persons were discussing our group of heros.
"Are they gone?"
"Aye - all four."
"Only the Red Guard counts."
"I hear the Lady is cursed."
"And that the Bard can kill a man with his voice."
"Stupid sheep! My brother sent me this note from Batlan...its the Red
Guardsman who's got power."
"Aye, and he hides it as he does his armor under a cloak of common cloth."
Even as the gossip mill continued to grind on, our foursome traveled
northwest onto the Plain of Toulaine. This land was controlled by the horsemen
of Gelda and though no fence or wall blocked the grand expanse, there were
few souls willing to violate its bounds. The road took our riders after
many hours past only a few hamlets. By nightfall they had crossed a considerable
distance, and they had also found themselves in Cest-by-the-Bend. This
good-sized village sat upon the bend of the River Chartreuse. Once they
located an inn Pall went straight to his room, the others headed for the
refrectory.
After a fair meal the trio took to drink; the Lady sipped a white wine,
the Troubador had his mead, and the man-at-arms held a pint of the local
brew. Fred only took a pint for he valued his senses. As they came to the
conclusion of their evening they were approached by a large blond-headed
man. His dark eyes were bright and his smile inviting. "Hello strangers,
my name is Bo. I see ye like to drink; I also hear by yer accents that
at least two of ye hail from the Kingdom. King's man," said Bo looking
at Fred. "What do ye think of oure beer?"
Fred relaxed as he realized this man only wanted friendly banter. "Its
actually very good," said Fred.
"HA!" laughed Bo. Then he turned and yelled across the room to a man
sitting at a corner table. "Ye owe me three coppers, Francoise! The Allarian
does
like fermented mare's milk!"
Fred's eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he spat out what beer
remained in his mouth: "WHAT!!??!" By this time Bo had lost interest in
Fred and was collecting the winnings of his bet. The Chanticleer was laughing.
"You've gotta lot t' learn, Denom...This is Gelda and everything in Gelda
revolves around horses. Or aren't men-at- arms taught of the wider world?"
Rowena was giggling at her brother's situation, yet the last remark
struck her too. Since leaving her home in search of her brother she had
come to realize how shallow her life at home had been.
"This is horse country. This is Gelda whose mother tongue, an ancient
trader's language, spawned the Common which both south and north now use.
Their copper is called 'gelding' and their goddess is Gilda and their soldiers
all ride the steed on saddle."
"Yes," said Fred. "I have heard of this western land whose knights ride
like madmen."
"Very efficient madmen if you ask me. But back to food; their
flan is exquisite, their souffle is delicious, and their beer as we have
witnessed is remarkable."
"But mare's milk?!!?" said Rowena.
"Hey, it's your man-at-arms who likes it, not me."
With a little more laughter at Fred's expense and some more wit and
geography lessons they soon made their way to their rooms, their cots,
and much needed sleep.
-
 the
next day
Go Back
|