The Lone Traveler - Part Twenty

The Lone Traveler

Chapter Twenty



By noon the small cart plodded over a slight ridgeline and they spotted Havenhall in the distance. The enormous city was at least three or four times the size of Lorainne and spread out over an entire island. A small causeway lead down from the north over to the island from the mainland and was fortified with three large walls, each more impressive and stronger than the last. Fifty or more guards manned each of the massive gates that also hid heavy portcullis behind them. A great wall at least thirty feet in height, surrounded the beach side of the island completely enclosing the city and on the northern half stood a much larger wall with a great castle and towers rising high into the air with battlements along the top of the wide walls. It was a very impressive and formidable place.

The farmer pointed to their right where a great circular lake spread almost to the horizon. The land in the distance was a purple haze. “The scribendi tell us there once was a fabulous city where that great salt lake now stands,” he stated. “The streets were paved with gold and great silver castles rose high into the sky. The city and one third of the island was destroyed by jealous gods because the people tried to become too godlike.”

A strange dream, Analia thought, the oddly paved roads and carriages, great shining birds in the sky, and crystal castles reaching to the clouds. Is this part of my memory returning or a dream?

Analia noticed a large fortress to her left, manned by many soldiers and several squadrons of cavalry.

“They’re there to protect the travelers,” the farmer stated noticing her questioning eyes. “Sometimes brigands prey on the farmers and merchants when they leave the city with their produce, money, and necessities. They are killed when captured and their heads join the thieves and murderers to decorate hooks on the main castle’s walls.”

When they reached the first of the massive gates, a squad of soldiers wearing red sur coats imprinted with a coat of arms bearing three yellow lion heads resting atop each other, surrounded their cart and asked the farmer what he was bringing to market. There was no harassment and the soldiers presented friendly and open smiles as they prodded the potatoes and onions and checked the other bags. Within a few minutes they signaled for the farmer to continue on into the great city. They had evidently assumed that she was the farmer’s sister.

At the second gate they were not stopped, however at the third gate located at the outer walls, a small army of scribendi took notes of the farmer’s name and a detailed list of the products he was taking to market. This list would be compared to a clay chit he was given. When he left the city the chit would tell them how much he owed in taxes, which would be collected on the spot. It was a complicated system, also used at the docks, one which was enforced to the utmost. Any merchant or farmer trying to cheat the system was severely punished. A much larger contingent of soldiers manned this section, apparently to safeguard the tax collections. Analia noticed many empty carts leaving the city. The farmers and pedestrians presented their chits to the scribendi and coins exchanged hands.

The small cart continued into the enormous city and down several large avenues and into a vast market place, spreading as far as the eye could see. “End of the road,” the farmer’s wife smiled. “We will sell our goods, buy some needed supplies, and try to leave the island before dark. All gates are closed then and no one may enter or exit until daybreak.”

“Thank you for the ride,” Analia stated, climbing down from the rickety wagon.

“We know nothing about you, young lady, and it is best that we do not,” replied the farmer. “I hope the gods are kind to you during your stay in the city. We have no coin to help, but our prayers will be with you.” He and his wife waved to her as she slowly made her way through the great sprawling market.

Analia was amazed at the clamor and sounds of the vast market. There were aromas floating in the air that she had never smelled before, and the stench of humanity was thick in her nostrils. She wore only the soiled tunic that the kind wagon master had given her and the thin shoes that barely stayed on her feet. She had no money to purchase anything cleaner or more serviceable or to even buy food. She had not eaten for almost two days, except for an onion given to her by the young farmer’s wife. All In all, she looked like a vagabond; no, she was beyond doubt a vagabond.

She passed open stalls with fresh juicy melons, apples, pears and unidentifiable fruit, some unusual for that time of year. They were probably shipped in from further south. Other stalls offered sausages, fried breads, chicken, pigeon, and many more succulent delights. Fresh baked bread and pastries were in abundance as well as wine, beer and other juices. The farmer had casually mentioned the penalty for theft in Havenhall was the loss of the offending hand and, in more severe cases, the ever hungry wall hooks.

Analia also noticed many men and women roaming through the market wearing slave collars made of thin metal, copper or other base metals. They were dressed in one piece tunics and serviceable sandals. They were probably on errands for their masters as many of them were carrying items clearly purchased in the sprawling market. There was also a large number of soldiers lingering on the corners and mixed among the foot traffic, there to keep the peace and handle thieves or swindlers.

As she continued to stroll through the packed streets, the goods being offered turned to clothing, then to leather goods, cooking utensils, shoes, boots, bolts of bright colored cloth, and eventually live animals. In one open area a large crowd of spectators had gathered to listen to the clamor of a man standing on a short wooden platform. This was obviously the slave market. A number of men were tied in a line which slowly advanced towards the raised platform. As they were untied and forced up, the auctioneer would point out any special qualities the man being sold might have and started the bidding with a high but negotiable asking price.

Many wealthy men stood around bidding, either for themselves or representing their clients or masters. Some sat on stout cushioned field chairs, with personal guards, others in the comfort of a carriage, and still others on horseback. Analia noticed there were many soldiers and men-at-arms being offered for sale, their cropped hair and military tunics betraying their identity. Further down she spotted several more auction blocks, some were selling women, others children and one seemed to specialize in expensive slaves for the men and women being auctioned were dressed in very expensive attire. These were probably debtors or from wealthy families, Analia thought. She knew that in Camalund those who failed to make restitution on their debts, whether merchant, craftsman, even the occasional knight, were often sold into slavery by the courts and the proceeds dispersed among their creditors with the realm receiving the lion’s share.

By the time twilight began to slowly set in, Analia was exhausted, ravenous, and completely lost among the maze of dirty streets and alleys. When she turned a corner onto a larger alley, hoping to make her way back to one of the major thoroughfares, she was accosted by a small group of boys or street urchins. The waifs were dressed in dirty rags, barefooted, and all had mops of dark, filthy hair covering their grimy heads. The eldest, hefting a stout quarterstaff longer than he was tall and no more than two and ten years of age, appeared to be the leader of the little rat pack.

“Wot ave we ere?” he smirked in a difficult to understand accent, signaling for the others to fan out in a half circle thus caging Analia against the grimy wall. “Eu don belong in Gray’s turf. We don allow whores abein ere.” Analia knew he was likely referring to the territory his little rat pack considered under their control.

“First of all, I am no whore!” Analia spat back, “and second, I am simply looking for the main street. I got turned around.”

“Er is lost is wot she is,” the little boss rat guffawed. “Got enny coppers hidin’ in them rags o yourn?” The youngster turned to snigger at the rest of the small group. It was a mistake he should not have made. Analia immediately grabbed his quarterstaff and with one lightning fast move the young boy was laying stunned on the dirty cobblestones.

“You can join him on the street or make like you were never here!” Analia yelled in her most threatening voice. She held the quarterstaff at an angle signifying that she knew exactly what to do with it. The boys scattered like scared mice, some down the street and others up the street, a few even running headlong into the brick walls.

Analia bent over to get a better look of the youngster in the quickly dying light. He appeared to be unhurt, just a swelling knot on the side of his head the size of a goose egg. His coin pouch had torn loose from his rope belt and emptied its small contents on the stones. It contained half a dozen coppers. She picked up the coppers, placed them back in the bag, and glanced down at the boy who was now sitting up rubbing his bruised head.

“I mean you no harm,” Analia stated offering her hand to help the youngster stand. “I do not enjoy being accosted in smelly alleys on a dark night, especially when I am lost and in a strange city without friends, without funds, and most of my memory missing. I can assure you though, I am not nor have I ever been a lady of the night.”

The boy gave her a quizzical look. “Eu speaks like Er Ladyship! Eu must be a lord’s lady or mayhap from a bloomin’ rich sot. Eu got a roight fast hand wit the stick, eu do. Eu moite be haile from the bloody Nordlanders too, Oi ‘ear they girls foight along wit the men?”

“Whatever,” Analia replied handing the small bag of coppers to the youngster.

He looked at it with surprise. “Eu nae keepin’ the coppers? Was me don pinched eu.”

“I am not a thief,” Analia replied, “I do however; need directions to the main street if a certain gentleman might persuade himself to guide me?”

“Follow me,” the boy smiled, reaching out to take her hand then deciding it may not be a very wise move. “Avin nae a remembering atall and bein’ neu in the city, Oi bet eu ‘ave nae had a bit o food ta sup taday?”

Analia shook her head. “Food is almost a memory,” she wistfully replied.

The youngster knew the city well because within minutes they were back on the main boulevard after making a dozen twists and turns and cutting across several back lots. As they passed one small shop on a street named Red Sparrows, the smell of fresh baked bread was so overpowering Analia almost fainted from hunger. The young lad, witnessing her discomfort, halted at the still open shop and bought a large loaf of crusty brown bread with one of his copper coins.

“Best bread in the city,” he smiled, tearing off a large chunk and passing it to Analia. “This bake shop belong to Duncan, iz boy is fightin’ in the Emperor’s Army e iz. E gives me bread for a copper, is two for most. E’s a roite good man, Duncan, that e iz.”

Analia wolfed down the bread, tearing off large chunks and barely chewing it before swallowing. She knew the youngster was aware of her plight but she felt no shame. It wasn’t her fault that she had been captured and forced to flee for her life. She knew she did not belong in this great city or among its inhabitants. She belonged on the slave block being auctioned off like the women and soldiers she had seen earlier. She also did not know how far she could trust this dirty street urchin. For all she knew he was taking her to the soldiers to claim a reward bounty. His sudden turn for the better could not simply have been because she bested him.

“Where are we going?” Analia curiously asked as the youth continued to lead her down small alleys.

“To the ub,” he replied.

Analia did not understand him. “To the ub. What’s an ub?”

“That be the place we lives,” he casually replied. “Me an me gang lives in the ub and we goes out to do our work. We’ve nae got grups, some do but they beat them awful bad, so we all lives in the ub.”

He must be referring to a pub and grown-ups, Analia thought. Why would a gang of orphan street urchins live in a pub? She had no place else to go, except the streets, so she followed the youngster. Within half an hour, he led her into a large abandoned building which must have once been a warehouse of sorts. The place looked as if it was about to collapse and smelled like the city dump. As soon as they halted in the stygian darkness of a large room, the boy yelled.

“Come aut ye little rats!” he bellowed. “Oi ave company for eu to meet.”

A sudden spark and a piece of tender suddenly caught fire. From the small blaze several candle nubs were lit and passed around. Analia saw a dozen or more young boys creep into the open from hidden crevices in the old warehouse. As she watched, scores more joined them including a dozen young girls. They were all less that two and ten years of age and dressed in rags. None had seen a bath or wet cloth in a long time. Starlight reflected from their wide curious eyes.

“This ere be my neu friend,” the boy stated. “Wot be eur name?” He suddenly asked Analia.

“I think it is Audrey,” she replied. “I never got you name, young Ser?”

“Oi am Will, short for William,” he replied. “Audrey ere is neu in the city. Oi wants eu to welcome er to the ub.” A small chorus of shouts and claps broke out among the dirty mob of children. “Audrey done walloped me good on account of oi earned it,” Will continued. “She nae took me coppers when she ad the chance but gives them back. She iz a Lady true.” He turned to Audrey. “Eu is welcome to join us ere at the ub if eu loik, Lady Audrey. These be me mates an oi looks after em. There be seven and sixty the last time oi talle em.”

The hub, Analia thought, not the pub. They live in this ruined warehouse and fan out to do, whatever they do.

“I have lost most of my memory for some unknown reason,” she stated. “And, I think I am an enemy of your kingdom. By staying here I may be placing you all in very great danger.”

“Oi nae ave a kingdom,” a young boy stood and waved his dirty finger. “They treats us worse than they slaves, theys do. Stay ere with us Lady.” He was followed by a loud chorus of other children.

“I may possibly be of some use,” Analia smiled. “I will stay with you until I recover enough of my memory to return to where I belong. You must remember that I am simply your guest, Ser Will here is still in charge.”

“Ser Will!” the group of children laughed. “Will nae be a Ser, Lady Audrey. Es a bastard son of a bastard son, e iz.”

“I for one believe that titles are earned, not provided by birth,” Analia replied. “Ser Will has earned his title by helping to keep each of you safe and providing sustenance. You are not required to call him, Ser Will, but I shall address him accordingly.”

The large group looked at her with mouths wide open. Half of what she had said was too much for them to follow, but, they did understand the Ser part. Over the following days Analia discovered that the enterprising youngsters had quite a network established. Some children, the cuter ones, begged, some who knew the fundamentals of the dangerous skill, stole or cut purses, others worked where and when they could find work at their tender young age, while still others maintained a security force to protect their gang members - Gray’s they called themselves - against rival gangs of orphans and oft angry merchants.

For her part, the only skill she had to teach was the proper use of the quarterstaff, not one was interested in writing or reading or etiquette or even learning their numbers. They emphatically noted that Will knew his numbers well enough for them and they were very unlikely to have need of the other knowledge.

All of them took to the quarterstaff training as if was a matter of life or death, which, it may eventually come too for some of them. Even the youngest, no more than six years, were excited to learn the proper use of the simple weapon. From whence they obtained the staffs of strong oak or hickory wood, she did not know, nor did she care to ask.

Around ten days after she became the unofficial but beloved nanny for the rat pack or ‘Greys,’ Will told her that soldiers and others were looking for her in the market and shops. “Oi heard soldiers talkin’ wit some o the merchants,” he stated. “They wore lookin’ for a young girl what ran away from a wagon train a comin’ to the city. They was a lookin’ for eu, my Lady. They could nae be alles other girl but eu.”

“Who else besides the soldiers were searching for me?” Analia curiously asked.

Will screwed up his dirty features in a concentrating mode. “Duncan the baker sez some people was lookin’ for eu and the guards be too. Some wealthy noight or lord be offerin a rich reward for eu, sez Duncan. Ten whole royals, e sez!”

“Ten gold pieces,” Analia muttered, “Enough to feed the gang for years.”

“We nae turn eu over for a hundred royals,” Will vehemently replied. “The Greys don all fell in love with eu, my Lady.

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” Analia gave him a warm smile. “Anyone offering such a high sum for someone like me must have information that I do not possess, possibly my true identity. Perhaps we can make a deal with this baker friend of yours.”

“Wot kind o deal?” asked Will in a skeptical tone.

“I am positive that the person offering the reward would never give you the ten royals for turning me in, however, I am certain they would give it to the baker. If we can make a deal with the baker to share the reward with you, you will have five royals to help take care of the Greys.”

Will quickly replied. “Oi don told eu oi will nae turn eu in, nae to the baker or the guards.”

“Hear me out,” Analia continued. “After the baker has received the reward and given you your share, I will escape from the men taking me into custody. All we need is a large demonstration by the Greys to distract them and throw them off guard. I am certain I can escape because I have done it before.”

Two days later they put their plan into action. Will went to the bakery and told Duncan that he knew where the girl called Audrey was hiding and that he would be able to coerce her into coming to the shop. When she arrived with him at the bakery, Duncan was to have the guards, with the reward, hiding nearby and at a signal from Duncan, they could arrest her. Duncan was at first doubtful, but, intoxicating thoughts of five gold royals, equal to a year’s income, quickly clenched the deal.

At day break on the following day, Analia quietly followed Will to the bakery. Duncan quickly opened the front door and let them inside. The shop was warm and full of wonderful smells. She had eaten sparingly since joining the Pack so there would be more food for the youngest members and hunger had become her constant companion. Duncan absentmindedly pulled a loaf of white bread from the rack and split it into with his carving knife, then spread delicious creamery butter over each half and gave them to her and Will. It tasted like heaven to Analia. White bread with a crispy crust was reserved for the rich and for royalty and the poor made do with black, rye, or barley bread.

Analia watched as the baker and his wife worked around the shop. The man was short and rotund; exactly how she would expect a baker to look, and the wife was twice his size and sported a dark female mustache. No doubt she had had some say in the plot to turn Analia in to the authorities. The man appeared to be doing make-work, just to keep him busy. He glanced at the shop door about every ten seconds and she knew he was waiting for the guards to appear. The wife kneaded the same piece of silky dough over and over, slapping it down on a floured board then kneading it again.

Suddenly, a loud banging came from the front door followed by a shrill yell. “Open in the name of the King!”

Duncan quickly hurried to the door and opened it to allow several men to rush in. The man in the lead was dressed in rich civilian attire but he was followed by men wearing chainmail covered with sur coats bearing the royal emblem. Duncan did not say a word but nodded in Analia’s direction.

The arrogant civilian walked over to the small table and glanced down at her. “What is your name girl?” he demanded, slightly backing away from an offensive smell clearly emanating from her and Will.

“My name is Audrey,” she smugly replied. “What do you and your soldiers want with the likes of a poor young girl?”

“She’s the one!” the man yelled, turning to the soldiers behind him. “Seize her.”

“On what charge?” Analia demanded.

The lavishly dressed man gave her a look of important self-satisfaction. “The description that Lord Clynton sent to us, along with your obvious Camalund accent, identifies you as an enemy of the realm,” he replied in a conceited manner. “Not only are you an important enemy of Angalund, you are also one of those vile and dangerous Dragon Riders. Take her away.”

Analia noticed the shock on the face of the baker and his wife and fear coming from Will as the soldiers grabbed her and started for the door. The civilian threw a small bag to the baker as they left. “She’s worth a hundred times that amount,” he sneered, then laughed in the baker’s face.

Once outside the shop, she noticed a full squadron of Imperial Armored Cavalry mounted and ready to escort her to wherever she was to be taken. There was also a small coach with an iron cage welded to the floor base and a small door with a stout metal lock. She was roughly pushed into the cage and the iron door secured and the key thrown to the richly dressed civilian.

One of the Dragon Riders?” Analia thought, as the coachman whipped the horses into a fast trot along the bumpy cobblestone street.