Dark Winds by Christopher Patterson

Author:Christopher Patterson [Patterson, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC009000, FIC009100, FIC009020
ISBN: 9780578438542
Publisher: Rabbit Hole Publishing
Published: 2016-05-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

“WILL WE GO TO THE mayor’s hall first?” Turk asked.

“Aye,” replied the guard who was leading them through the city.

“I have missed this place,” said Turk, more to himself.

As they passed among them, almost as if he was seeing them for the first time, Turk took in the stone and wood shops, the artisan and fruit carts, the small homes with little, short-fenced gardens on either side of cobbled walkways. He saw a large fountain centered by a statue of some stately dwarf holding a bucket pouring water into the well around the fount. It sat in the middle of a large courtyard. Several dwarves—reading, courting, relaxing—sat around the well. They eyed the party and ceased their conversation as they passed but didn’t scowl or offer jests.

“Why did you leave?” the guard asked.

“It’s a long story,” Turk replied. “I forgot how large Thorakest is.”

They came upon a large market center with fountains at every corner and carts and half-permanent structures everywhere. A tall, square keep of dark-gray stone stood at the center of the market square.

“Here it is,” the guard said. “The keep of Fréden Fréwin.”

Turk turned to his companions and spoke to them in Westernese.

“We will ask the mayor for passage to the castle and freedom within the city.”

“Is not the king’s steward the person who would give us that leave?” Wrothgard asked.

“It’s a matter of respect,” Turk explained. “Just because you can eat whatever you wish in a host’s house, as an honored guest, doesn’t mean you do so without asking for permission.”

“Ah, I see,” Wrothgard replied.

The doors to the keep stood open, a steady flow of dwarvish peoples walking in and out. Turk walked through the doors and into a large foyer, a rectangular room with a number of vendors and carts lined along its walls, selling many of the same goods that a marketplace vendor might sell. Along with colorful banners, which hung from the ceiling, suits of armor lined the wall. They were clearly meant for decoration since most of the suits, with their elaborate fins and horns and spikes, would be worthless in battle.

Across from the entrance, Turk followed the guard through a set of huge doors and into the main hall of the keep. It was long and wide, and a carpet of red and gold led visitors to a raised dais, upon which lounged an older dwarf, many years past his middle years, with long, gray hair and beard. Dwarves that looked like dignitaries and business owners, aristocrats and minor nobles surrounded the older dwarf and his high backed, cushioned chair. He stroked the beard that reached to his chest as he listened intently to his guests, the large, open sleeves of his gold and silver embroidered, red robe flopping back and forth, making it look as if he only pretended to listen. He had emeralds sewn into his sleeves and sapphires sewn into the front of his robe, which he used as buttons.

“Fréden,” Turk muttered.

The guard looked over his shoulder and nodded.

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