Tin Thoughts (The Downfall Saga Book 2) Page 4
Tuff kept them under the cover of the trees until well after the sun had set, before setting a blistering pace. They travelled that night without incident and camped in a small depression between two hills.
The landscape opened up around them during the next night of travel, and steadily dropped in elevation. As the sun rose above the horizon, it painted the foreign landscape in red. They found themselves on a large plateau, with a steep drop off to the land below. A broken landscape stretched out before them, split by narrow canyons snaking in every direction.
“Come on,” said Tuff, “we need to get down into one of those canyons as soon as possible.”
“Do you think we lost them?” asked Donovan.
“There’s no way to know. That’s why we have to get out of the open.”
“What if we get stuck at the bottom of a canyon and can’t climb out?”
“Don’t be silly. How can a couple of wizards get trapped anywhere?”
“I guess you’re right.”
Tuff picked a steep path off the plateau and started down. Despite the early morning shadows, he was surefooted and quickly made his way down. Donovan followed him at a slower pace, carefully picking each step to avoid stepping on a loose rock. The heat was sweltering despite the early hour, and Donovan doubted that he’d get much sleep that day.
Tuff spent several minutes examining the narrow canyons, before selecting one and starting down. The temperature dropped as Donovan followed Tuff into the slot canyon, arms extended to each side to brace himself against both walls.
“I hope it cools off and we get some rain,” said Donovan, wiping sweat from his brow.
“No, you don’t,” said Tuff. “A flash flood can come out of nowhere in one of these.” He ran his hand along the rock wall, admiring the striations.
They picked their way down to the bottom of the canyon. Donovan estimated that it was at least a couple hundred feet up to the top, yet he could almost stretched out and touch both walls. He considered himself to be a fair climber, but wouldn’t want to climb the steep, smooth rock walls if a wall of water was crashing towards them.
His dreams that night were troubled by huge waves of water dashing him against rocky walls, and he was still exhausted when Tuff roused him a few hours later.
“Come on,” said Tuff. “If we hurry, we might catch them still watching the roads while we slip into Lornell from behind.”
They didn’t encounter any flash floods during their journey through the slot canyons. Tuff proved himself adept at reading the terrain and selecting the canyons that generally headed south, and he knew when to abandon a canyon. On more than a few occasions, he’d tie the end of his rope into a noose, and levitate it up to a protruding rock near the surface so they could climb the shear wall. They’d then sprint to the next canyon and duck down into the safety of its confines.
Donovan could smell salt in the air when they emerged from the final canyon, and was surprised to see green vegetation to the south. Turning west, they headed towards Lornell. By late afternoon, they crested a rise and Donovan got his first look at the city.
Lornell was a coastal city, built on a gentle slope leading to a shallow lagoon separated from the ocean by a narrow, rocky ridge. A handful of small fishing boats lazily floated in the lagoon. It was a drab city. The buildings were mostly one or two stories tall, all made out of the same light grey stone, with very few colorful decorations. Two large buildings dwarfed the rest of the city. He assumed that the person who ran the city lived in the large estate near the western edge of the city, and the large circular building near the center must be the fighting pits which Tuff had told him about. The smell of the sea had been growing over the last few miles, inhaling deeply, he breathed in the perfume of the sea. Donovan’s spirits soared. Eamon was in the city, and with him the answers to Donovan’s past.
“Have you been here before?” asked Donovan.
“No. They don’t take kindly to my kind, but Osmont has told me about it.”
“Will that cause problems?”
“You can do pretty much whatever you want in the city, but be ready to defend yourself if it affects others. The one thing that you mustn’t do is upset the High Master. His word is law, and his punishments are harsh and swift.”
Tuff unslung his pack and began rummaging through it. He pulled out several knives which he distributed about his person, and tied his sword around his waist.
Tuff gave him a nod. “You’ll have to do the talking. I’m just a pack mule.”
They headed down the slope towards the city, each step kicking up a puff of dust.
At the city gate, two watchmen in sweat stained shirts came out of a small watch house just inside the gate.
“State your business,” said one of them lazily.
“I’ve been told that I can experience more in a month in Lornell than a lifetime elsewhere,” said Donovan.
The watchmen didn’t react at all to his response. “And your companion?”
“Merely a helper.”
“Yet he’s not helping you with your pack.”
“Never said he was a good helper.”
The watchman gave him a slight nod, and they continued into the city. Passing through the gate, Donovan saw a large figure lazing against the wall of a stable, hood pulled up over his head despite the heat. They continued on, pretending not to have noticed him.
“Is that one of them?” whispered Donovan.
“Think so,” said Tuff.
The city was even more unimpressive as they walked along its streets. The smell of the ocean was tainted by rotting fish, and the faces of the people strolling along were grim and unfriendly. The streets were littered and dirty, and Donovan thought that he saw several blood stains on the sandy streets.
They walked in silence, the streets filling with people as they neared the center of the city. Donovan spied a street vendor. A surprisingly appetizing smell emanated from her cart as they headed over. Tuff took a few steps past the cart and turned to watch the way they had come.
“What you got?” asked Donovan.
“Meat pies.”
“What kind of meat is in them?”
“Only the best.”
“We’re looking for a lodging. Do you know of a place called the Drinking Duck?”
“You sure look hungry. You’ll want lots of energy if you’re walking all that way.”
Donovan stared into her bright eyes for a moment.
“Fine. We’ll take two.”
After exchanging coins, they were given two meat pies which threatened to burn their fingers if they held them for too long, and directions to The Drinking Duck.
Donovan took a bite of his pie as they followed her directions. He couldn’t decide if the pie had a strong fishy flavor or if the meat in it had gone bad. Either way, he dumped the pie at the first opportunity he had. Tuff ate his entire pie, and admonished Donovan for wasting food.
The Drinking Duck was located halfway between the docks and the busy central square. They headed a couple of blocks past it towards the docks, and entered an inn called The Gladiator’s Retreat.
The tables in the common room were stained and had more than a few gouges taken out of them. The room had the faint smell of vomit and ale. Donovan shared a look with Tuff and shrugged his shoulders. They’d only be here until Donovan made contact with Eamon.
They each took a room and headed to wash up before meeting back in the common room for dinner. The meal was heavily focused on fish, and decently prepared.
“I hope Osmont is okay,” said Donovan.
“He’s a survivor.”
Donovan took a nervous look around the crowded room before responding. “We’re already a couple of days later than I’d planned. I expected him to pop out of nowhere while we were heading over here.”
“He’ll find us eventually. Tomorrow we’ll get the lay of the land before trying to make contact.”
Donovan headed up to his room early. The room was small
and simply furnished. Donovan drew aside the curtains, hoping that he’d wake with the sun in the morning. He laid down on the lumpy mattress which smelled moldy, and promptly fell asleep. He was woken a couple of times during the night by the raucous revelry in the common room below, but after so many nights on the road, the sparse comfort of the bed drew him back to sleep.
Donovan woke late the next morning. He ate a lonely breakfast in the nearly deserted common room. He was just finishing his meal and debating whether he should head out on his own, when Tuff came in through the door.
“I thought you were in a hurry,” said Tuff, sitting down across from him, “yet I find you here wasting daylight.”
“Where have you been?”
“Watching your back. I haven’t seen either of our tails, but they’re around here somewhere.”
“Osmont?”
Tuff shook his head.
“I’m going to find Eamon regardless.”
“Tonight,” said Tuff. “Wait until tonight to make contact.”
They stared at each other across the table in silence, before Donovan dug out a few coins to pay for his meal and got up to leave.
Donovan wandered without a destination in mind, and eventually found himself down by the water’s edge. The lagoon’s waters were green and placid. There were many small round fishing boats floating in the water, their occupants holding their fishing rods in a relaxed manner. Elsewhere, several men walked through the chest deep water dragging nets in between them.
Donovan couldn’t remember ever seeing the ocean before. He found it eerily beautiful. He’d heard so many stories about the aggressive creatures which dwelled below the waves that it was strange seeing so many relaxed people out in the water. A narrow, rocky ridge separated the lagoon from the ocean and he surmised that the opening must be small enough to prevent anything dangerous from coming through.
He flipped over a discarded crate and sat there, watching the peaceful lagoon as the sun crept higher into the sky.
The sun was nearly overhead when Donovan dug a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. Unfolding it, he read it again, even though he’d looked at it so many times that he had practically committed its contents to memory.
Eamon had left the note along with his lute in a music shop in Kendra half a year earlier. It was written in Shem, the language spoken on the southern continent. Despite the number of educated wizards at Haven, none of them could read the language, yet inexplicably, Donovan had no difficulty deciphering it.
In the note Eamon sounded like he was under duress to avoid Donovan, yet felt that it was worth the risk to setup a meeting. The note told him to ask for a man named Silk at The Drinking Duck and he would be put in contact with Eamon.
The men who pursued them on the way to Lornell complicated matters. Not knowing who they were or if they had any connection to Eamon, made Donovan fearful that he was walking into a trap. His instincts told him to leave, but leaving meant losing his past forever. Eamon clearly knew him growing up, and knew his father. Donovan didn’t know what he’d be able to learn, but felt it was worth the risk for even a small tidbit about his past.
He thought about the strange symbol carved into his chest, the Blood Magic which prevented him from accessing his memories. Perhaps Eamon knew who had created the symbol, and Donovan could persuade them to undo it effects.
Getting to his feet, he winced when he saw how red his skin had already turned. It was time to head indoors. It was time for a meeting with his past, and he didn’t want Tuff anywhere near him when he got to The Drinking Duck.
Chapter 4
A large signboard hung over the door depicting a duck swimming upside-down. The Drinking Duck was written in plain white letters beneath. He stood outside the door and listened to the din of voices emanating from within.
A wave of heat and body odor hit him when he opened the door. He took a deep breath before plunging inside. Thick curtains covered the windows and it took Donovan’s eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. Most of the tables were full of well-dressed people engaged in conversation. He scanned the room until he found a small empty table, and sat down on a wobbly four legged stool.
A short, fat man with a bald head and red face stopped by the table a minute later. He wore a clean white apron and carried a tray full of empty mugs.
“My name is Hob. Will you be wanting anything to drink, young sir?”
“Beer please.”
“Food?”
Donovan gave a nod, and he disappeared.
He traced his finger along the grain in the wood on the dark table top as he waited for his meal. He wanted to get up and search the inn until he found Eamon, but resisted the urge and kept his focus on the table in front of him.
Hob set down a mug filled to the brim with an amber liquid. Donovan took a small sip before Hob returned with the meal. There was fish stew, cold meats, a loaf of crusty bread and a small slab of butter. Donovan thanked him, before starting on his meal. It was good, plain food, like what he’d become accustomed to eating at Haven the previous year. He’d missed a few meals while on the road, and was happy to get readjusted to eating regular meals again.
He ate his meal in peace and was soaking up the remnants of his stew with a chunk of bread when Hob returned.
“How was the meal?”
“Good ... quite good. Hey, while you’re here, I was told that I could contact a man named Silk here. Do you know where I could find him?”
“Never heard of him. Can I get you anything else?”
“Another beer,” mumbled Donovan.
Hob disappeared with the empty mug.
Donovan looked around the room, hoping that Eamon would suddenly appear, but to no avail. Sliding his empty dishes across the table, he leaned forward, his head cradled in his palms and his elbows resting on the table.
“Your beer, sir.” He felt Hob set the mug down on the table and heard his footsteps retreat across the room.
Donovan lifted his head high enough to take a deep gulp of his drink. He nursed the rest of his drink, but couldn’t think of what to do next. He’d pinned all of his plans on the servers putting him in contact with Eamon. Maybe he’d come back later and try asking a different server.
He looked up at his half empty mug and saw a small, folded piece of paper sitting beside it. He reached out tentatively and picked up the paper. He slowly opened it and saw that the note was written in the Shem language. The note told him to wait alone in Master Square at sunset and someone would contact him.
He fished out a few coins which he left on the table and calmly walked outside. He glanced both ways, but didn’t see anything of interest, before turning to head back to his room. He walked around to the side door, climbed a narrow set of stairs to the second floor, and walked across the creaky floorboards to the door to Tuff’s room. He took a quick glance down the hallway behind him before knocking on the door.
The door opened a crack, and he saw Tuff’s bald head staring at him. Tuff opened the door the rest of the way and motioned Donovan into the room. Donovan entered the room and saw that the heavy curtains were pulled over the windows, and Tuff hadn’t bothered to light a candle. Tuff closed the door behind him, plunging them into darkness.
“Why is it so dark in here?” asked Donovan.
A tiny light flashed across the room and a candle was lit. It took Donovan a moment to recognize the second figure sitting on the end of the bed.
“Where have you been?” asked Donovan.
“I’d ask you the same, but I’m not sure you’d tell us what mischief you’d gotten into,” said Osmont.
“Can we brighten things, or are you two trying to set a mood in here?” asked Donovan.
A ball of light appeared in the center of the room and he got a good look at Osmont’s face. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and his face looked more withered than his usual lean appearance. Osmont looked up and met Donovan’s gaze.
“What did Eamon have to say?” asked Osmont.
Osmont let out a chuckle. “If you believed that then I’ve got some shiny rocks to sell you.”
Donovan shrugged his shoulders. “Neither of you have shared everything with me, so why should I?”
“I have reasons why I keep things to myself, and none of them are out of spite.”
Donovan looked towards the closed door with Tuff standing in front of it. “Eamon wasn’t there. Someone will contact me in Master Square, but I have to go alone.”
***
The colorful balls whirled in the air in a frenzied pattern.
Donovan had been watching the juggler for the past fifteen minutes while he munched on his dinner, small balls of fried dough filled with a blend of soft, spicy meats. He’d bought his dinner from one of the vendors in the square. He pulled another out of the cloth sack and popped it in his mouth while he looked around the square. It was surprisingly civil, despite the number of people roaming the square. Vendors displayed a wide variety of wares, some had their wares laid out on a sheet on the ground while others had erected more permanent stalls. A handful of buskers juggled, tumbled or sung their way around the square. There were hundreds of conversations going on at once, yet they all were polite, and no one raised their voice.
It was easy to pick out Tuff in the crowd, his shiny head stood out against the sea of brightly colored fabrics wrapped around people’s heads to protect them from the soon to be setting sun. Donovan hadn’t seen Osmont, and was secretly glad because he doubted that he could resist the temptation of tracking his position in the crowded square.
Donovan looked up to see the sun sinking past the top of the building across the square. Right on cue, two boys entered the square carrying lit candles and began lighting lamps positioned on poles throughout the square.
A commotion drew his attention back to the square. A vendor was yelling and gesturing wildly at Tuff who stood in front of his stall. Tuff raised his hands in front of himself, palms facing outwards in a sign of peace, but the vendor grew even more animated. He picked up a small metal object from the table in front of him and Donovan saw a few sparks jump out of it. Tuff shook his head and continued to make slow, soothing gestures.