Fury in the Wind chp 8 - The Lone Rider

The Scaly Dragon Inn sat before the base of the Agressi Mountains, just a few hundred paces before the gurgling Gnofen River fighting its best to keep flowing in the heart of the winter. A redwood bridge spanning wide enough for two wagons or eight columns of troops was the only path forward. Beside it sat two large, steeply roofed buildings, one full of grain and supplies, the other a large stable for travelers or, in this case, troop movements.

Outside, the wind was howling across the plains and curling up the mountainside. Snow was falling again, and although barely past midday it was already growing dark. The Foreign Battalion had quickly stabled their horses and crowded into a third building facing the other two, the huge inn. It was a log structure comprised of three levels, but even so, with over two hundred troops and a few civilian travelers, every table and balcony was full. Soldiers leaned over the thick redwood railings, looking down on the first floor, where Farrin was putting on quite a show. He was dressed in bright green and blue, and was flitting from table to table, strumming his lute and belting his lungs out.

Devlin and Gobi watched from the second floor as the musician worked his listeners into a rousing chorus of claps. Devlin had to admit that Farrin knew how to get the crowd excited. His voice reached every corner, low and high were his notes, and despite the sweat pouring down his temples he never slowed as he danced his way between the entertained. Even Devlin couldn’t help but join in the clapping. Gobi was loving it, and down below, Soltoro and Amarro were stuffing their faces with turkey legs and draughts of beer between each song.

“I must admit, I can see why he’s wanted on the front lines. Look at this place. You could get our brothers to fight death itself with the frenzy he’s got them in!” Devlin had to shout over the cheering and out of tune singing of nearby soldiers. Gobi smiled and tore a bite off a hunk of bread he had managed to snatch before the show began and the bar was overrun with soldiers clamoring for a drink.

“Well, if he’s got you in good spirits, he can uplift anybody,” Gobi joshed.

“As long as he sticks to his word, I’ll be in good spirits for quite some time.”

“You don’t trust him?”

Devlin chuckled. “If I didn’t trust him then we wouldn’t be here. But that doesn’t mean our plan is going to work. Asking a favor of the king is a bit desperate, don’t you think?”

“Not as desperate as raiding a sea fortress single-handedly.”

He wasn’t wrong. So, Devlin did his best to enjoy the music. When the show had ended, and the men slowly trickled into their beds for the night, Devlin and Gobi made their way down to the first floor, where Farrin was inhaling a huge mug of something. His face was bright red, and his clothes were soaked with sweat. Indeed, the whole first floor was still toasty from the activity. He acknowledged Devlin without stopping, and they waited until he set the empty mug onto the table and collapsed into one of the creaky chairs nearby.

“Quite a show,” Devlin said.

Farrin nodded, wiping his mouth and forehead with his brightly colored sleeve. “Yes! You Wsiwards knows how to make a musician feel at home, even if you don’t know our songs and myths.”

“We’ve got myths aplenty of our own. In the end, I think they all boil down to common themes and emotions,” Devlin said. “Such as loyalty and community.”

“Say what you mean,” Farrin said. He was usually chipper, but it seemed even he had a limit to the amount of grinning and singing he could handle in one go.

Gobi chuckled at Devlin’s expense. Devlin tried to ignore it. “I just want to reiterate our deal.”

Farrin sat up. “You will have your favor if I can procure it.”

The main door burst open and with it came a gust of freezing wind. It was a shock to the rosy warmth inside, and Devlin tucked his chin in his collar. An Astorian soldier strode in. He was dressed in dinged armor and wrapped in a bright red cloak. His open-faced helmet sported a horsetail atop it, running down the back past his shoulders. The black horsetail matched his black riding pants and dark riding boots. His face was weather-beaten red, but he had a young complexion, perhaps just a few years older than Devlin.

He paid no mind to Devlin and Gobi but made his approach toward the bar. Devlin noticed a thin blue armband around his right bicep. Devlin motioned his head the soldier’s way as he thumped by, his spurs jingling. He was a rider of some sort.

“What’s the blue for?”

Farrin craned his neck over the back of his chair. “That’s the man you should speak to if you want to know what you’re about to face. He’s from one of the mountain regiments.”

“That’s what the blue represents?” Gobi chimed in.

“Yes. Blue for mountain regiments, green for the regular infantry, and a few others for cavalry, auxiliary and so forth. You ask me, he’s probably from Hoden’s Pass. You might be able to glean some useful information on how to best live up there while you wait for me to return.”

Devlin was already moving. It didn’t matter how long he was going to have to stay at Hoden’s Pass, he was new to these lands, and winter was the last thing he knew how to be prepared for. He needed to be fit and ready to move when the time came. He and Gobi approached the rider from the left, nonchalantly putting their elbows up on the bar. The soldier gave him a passing glance and went back to his mug, shoulders slouched. Whatever his ride, it must’ve been arduous.

Devlin stuck out his hand. “Devlin Tarathin.”

The soldier looked at his hand, then back into his mug.

“Foreign Battalion,” Devlin added on.

The rider’s head perked up and back in his direction. His dark brows arched slightly. “Is that so?”

His piercing blue eyes bore right through Devlin to Gobi behind him, and maybe past him and out the back wall as well.

Devlin stuttered in agreement. “Would you be a rider from Hoden’s Pass?”

“I would.” His voice was soft but firm. A very confident man, who had witnessed much that life had to offer, if Devlin were to wager a guess.

“We are set to replace you in just a few days. My friend over there suggested seeking advice on how to best wait out the winter.”

The rider’s head rolled in Farrin’s direction. “And what would the frilly man know of army camp life?”

“Not much. Which is why he suggested we reach out to you,” Gobi chimed in.

The soldier cupped his mug with both hands, staring into its dark contents. “Stay bundled. Stay out of the wind. Dig your fires in the earth and never stray from camp. It’s cold, and the storms can come upon you in a flash,” and he snapped his finger here. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve been riding all day and would like to enjoy my meal and drink in peace before I head back to the Pass first thing tomorrow morning.”

Devlin smiled sheepishly. “Of course, of course.” He tapped Gobi on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

They slipped away from the bar, but to Gobi’s surprise, they headed for the door instead of the staircase. Gobi asked for clarification, but Devlin just left, buttoning up his long coat as he exited. The sun, wherever it was amidst the dreary clouds, was sinking fast, and the dull shadows were growing long.

If Gobi had guessed that they were headed to tend to the horses, he would have been wrong again. Devlin stalked along the side of the Scaly Dragon until the first corner, and he took it with pace, hurrying along until they were at the back corner.

“What are we doing?” Gobi hissed in a whisper, unsure of why they were being so secretive out of the blue.

“Just a feeling,” Devlin shot back without bothering to stop. They were now at a double door. Devlin pushed his way inside, closing the door after Gobi. Entering in revealed the kitchen behind the main bar. There was a wall dividing the two sections, lined with bottles of mead and pots and pans of all shapes and sizes. Half a dozen inn workers were scraping food off plates and scrubbing out mugs. They were startled at the sudden entrance of two foreigners. The innkeeper himself, whom Devlin had noted when the first entered earlier in the day, was a tall man with thinning black hair that was beginning to turn grey.

“What are you doing?” He said, approaching them.

Devlin feigned ignorance. “Apologies,” he said holding up his hands in protest. “We must have gotten turned around after tending to our horses.

“This is the kitchen, if you hadn’t noticed,” the innkeeper said. His temper apparently had no fuse length, it was simply ignited on contacted.

“Yes, it seems it is,” Devlin said. “A thousand pardons. Could you direct us to the main hall?”

The innkeeper huffed and pointed at a swinging door on his right. “That way, and don’t let this happen again!”

Devlin nodded vigorously and pulled Gobi’s sleeve as they slipped past the disgruntled keeper. They pushed through the swinging door and Devlin immediately dropped to his knees and slid to the left behind the bar. Gobi did likewise with a whirlwind of confusion on his face.

They were now on the other side of the main room where that had talked to Farrin and the rider just minutes before. It was quiet now except for two hushed voices away from the bar. Devlin peeked over, a flashback of him playing hide and seek in the wheat fields as a child, cutting across his mind. But as seriously as he had taken those games, this was more important. Gobi followed his every move, despite having no inkling as to why he was doing so. That was a good friend, Devlin thought.

The light was gone from the windows. A few candles burned on the support pillars of the hall. Farrin remained in his seat, but whereas minutes before he had looked exhausted, he was now rigid, his body pulled close to the table with his hands on it, in serious discussion with none other than the Astorian rider. From their whispers, which were quiet but sharp enough to cut through the silence, and the secretive posture, it was clear that there was something amiss. And Devlin had already begun to feel that way. He strained to hear anything but could not.

His heart was beating fast and sweat began to wet his palms. He had to hear what they were saying. And he wasn’t even sure why. But something was gnawing inside him. He had to get closer. He gave Gobi a “wait here” palm, and crawled along the floorboards, wincing at every creak, sure that it was loud enough for anyone up on the third floor to hear.

The floor was sticky and had a fermented smell to it. He reached the end of the bar. There was a small half-door that swung outward. He put his hands to the wood and moved it half an inch. It squeaked.

The whispers stopped.

 He looked back to Gobi, but his friend was already in motion, heading back for the kitchen door. He snuck through it, and a moment later a chorus of shouts went up, a mix of Gobi and the innkeeper and more than likely a few irritated workers. There was a crash of pans and Devlin made his move, brushing through the door and clambering to the nearest support pole. He put his back to it, then risked a quick peek around the corner, confident that if anyone looked his way the glow of the candle in front of him would obstruct their view and he would blend in the fuzzy shadows behind.

Farrin and the rider were still looking towards the bar, their conversation disturbed by Gobi’s interference. If Devlin had to guess, he had made it even more eventful than necessary. He had a real knack for getting under people’s skin when he wanted to. Devlin was still too far away though. There was another pole, maybe ten paces away from Farrin’s table, and equally distance from Devlin. He pursed his lips and rested his head against the pole, working through the problem, envisioning the room.

He looked before him, and there was a table, as of yet uncleared. In the center was a nearly empty bottle of mead. He hunched down and snatched it with his fingertips, stiffening back up against the pole. He wagered he could get away with one more look, so he peered out quickly, and noticed two soldiers across the wide hall, both passed out and slumbering on crossed arms across the table which was covered in empty bottles and mugs and plates. Farrin and the rider had just turned back to their table. Now was his chance.

He hurled the bottle with one hand, as far as he could. It struck the table in front of the slumbering soldiers, bounced off the back of a chair, and smashed into a million pieces on the floor. Farrin jumped from his seat, and the rider had his dagger pulled before he had yet risen. With both of their backs to him, Devlin sprinted across to the other pole.

The two slumbering soldiers rose with a roar, bleary-eyed and angry that someone had snatched their sleep from them. They looked around for a moment, mumbled something to each other, and slowly gathered their coats and weapons and, arm-in-arm, stumbled up the steps to their rooms.

Farrin and the rider sat down, slowly this time, looking all around. Devlin ducked behind the pole. He could be at their table in two large strides.

“I don’t like this,” the rider whispered.

Devlin breathed a sigh of relief, happy to be close enough to hear them. He also immediately regretted it, worrying that it was too loud. But Farrin was speaking softly now.

“Don’t worry about it so much, Orvick. These ‘soldiers’ have never even seen combat. And they expect to see even less at the pass. Please, continue.”

There was a shuffling of armor, like Orvick was settling back into his chair.

“Very well. The Black Bull is birthed. All is at it should be. Get to Thessapon and begin the revival. I will see you in two weeks’ time.”

“And what of you?”

“There is one thing left unresolved, that Eridan has put upon me. There can be no loose threads. The others will be by his side.”

With that they were finished. There was the sound of chairs scraping across the floor. The rider and Farrin’s steps faded to the stairs where each step creaked as they ascended, once again several feet apart, looking nothing more than strangers to the outside world. Devlin waited until he heard two doors slam shut, then another two minutes, and finally slipped out of his hiding spot. He was out the front door again, being sure to open it just wide enough to fit through.

Someone grabbed his shoulder as he brought the door shut. He shoved off and raised his arms in a fighting stance, then sighed.

“Don’t do that, Gobi!”

Gobi spread his arms out wide. “After everything you just made me do, I think you owe me some gratitude for helping, whatever said thing was. What has gotten into you, man? Why are we spying on soldiers?”

“Because something isn’t right. With that rider, or with Farrin. Have you ever heard the name Eridan?”

“No.”

“What About the Black Bull?”

Gobi just looked at him with a quizzical smirk.

Devlin rubbed his hands together and began walking again, this time towards the large stable. It was now dark, and the only light came from inside the inn and the stables.

“Where are we going now?” Gobi said, running to keep with Devlin, who was walking in straight line at an angry mother’s pace.

“The stable.”

“Yes, I can see that, but why?”

“That soldier was from a mountain regiment, and he was alone. I would wager he did not walk his way down here.”

“Yes, alright, he rode a horse. You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

Devlin hauled open the heavy stable doors with a groan and then fought the wind to slam them shut behind him when Gobi had passed the threshold. Gobi crossed his arms. “Don’t do this silent thing. Talk to me, Dev.”

Devlin scratched his cheek. “Thing is, I’m not exactly sure what ‘it’ is.”

“Then answer me this, why did we barge through that kitchen and spy on him?”

“Because something is off with him. He said he was from Hoden’s Pass.”

“Yes?”

And he said he was riding back tomorrow.”

“Yes again. I was there, remember?”

“Why would a rider come all the way here, only to ride back, when his entire battalion is being relieved in less than five days?”

“He could have a special assignment,” Gobi offered.

Devlin began perusing the stalls, looking for the rider’s horse. “He and Farrin also made no acquaintance of each other but were talking in secret conversation the moment we left the inn. Why would they do that?”

Gobi threw his hands out wide. “You have me there. But that isn’t a crime. Sometimes I wish I could pretend I didn’t know you out among the public as well,” he teased.

Devlin stopped before a brown mare. There was a hawk branding on her left hindquarter.

“Here we are.” Devlin eyes the stall. There was the usual feedbag, blankets, saddle and bridle, and beneath all of that, a worn, leather case about the size of a plate. The brass latch was locked with a thick padlock.

“Isn’t this odd,” he said to himself.

Gobi rolled his eyes. “Yes, because what are the odds that someone spies on him and rifles through his belongings.”

Devlin glared back up at him. “You don’t have to help me. I can do this myself.”

Gobi’s left brow shot up. “Really? You know how to unlock that?” he said without an ounce of belief in his voice. “You aren’t the one who broke into grain barns and army chests your whole childhood.”

Devlin looked from the padlock to Gobi’s outstretched hand, and back to the padlock.

“You make no sense. You don’t seem at all interested, and yet here you are, still helping.”

Gobi shrugged as Devlin gave up the satchel. “Your hunches are often right. And if something is amiss, imagine what rewards we might get if we uncover a spy, or traitor, or whatever that rider is. Perhaps our old commission?”

Devlin smiled. Then he frowned. “You might be right about that. And we might need it as well. I’m not sure what they’re involved in, but Farrin is most certainly part of it.”

He recounted what he had heard as Gobi worked the lock with a set of small metal wires he had seemed to pull out of thin air while Devlin’s back was turned.

Gobi said nothing for a few moments, his tongue out over his lip in concentration. At last, he spoke. “While suspicious, nothing you heard is all that condemning. And he could just deny any of it. Who are they going to believe, anyway, a man from the Royal Circle, or some Seaweed?”

“Seaweed?” Devlin hadn’t heard that before.

“It’s an ‘endearing’ term, as Soltoro puts it, that some of the locals have given us along the trail. Wsiward. Wsiwan. Seaweed. It’s not a great leap.”

Gobi sounded too unphased by the insult. But Devlin made up for it. “We offered to give our service to them! And they call us names.”

Gobi chortled. “We aren’t exactly here for perfectly innocent or honest reasons, either, Dev.”

Devlin tapped his foot. “How long is this going to take? I should just cut it open.”

“Oh yes, because that’s quite subtle,” Gobi said with a glint in his eye. “Besides, you’re too late!”

And with that the padlock popped and fell to the stable floor with a thud. Gobi tucked his lockpicking tools beneath his wrist, and Devlin slid open the satchel. There was a scroll inside, tied with a brown ribbon. Devlin pulled it out and gently undid the ribbon while Gobi took the satchel. Devlin unfurled the small scroll, and his eyes widened.

“What is it?” Gobi asked excitedly. He shuffled to Devlin’s side. But his face scrunched up when he looked at the writing, if he even dared call it that. It looked more like a bunch of random lines and crosses.

“It’s old Ensurri.”

Gobi laughed at first, then his face turned serious, and his brows narrowed. “You mean, The Ensurri? The god language?”

Devlin ran a finger along his lip. “Not gods. They were bestowed by the All-Maker. At least, as the legend goes.”

And you can read it?”

“No, but I recognize it from my pilgrimage. But what is it doing in Velhurland? And why is a rider from Hoden’s Pass carrying a letter with it?”

“Perhaps it’s a code. Or a way to keep the message safe.”

“Do you know how rare this language is? Even back home it’s only written on old tablets and temples. We don’t use it, and half our people shun the very sight of it.”

“What’s this,” Gobi said, pointing to the base of the scroll. There was a singular rune, a sword, and the outline of a bull.”

Devlin threw his hands up. “I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this.”

Gobi grabbed the scroll and rolled it up. “Then we put it back, and don’t tell anyone of this.”

“We can’t let this go,” Devlin said.

“We don’t even know what this is?” Gobi said, shaking the scroll.

“No. But I have feeling that it isn’t good.”