Chapter 13: 13. Ganthe and Heric

Ganthe thrust.

The bandit shivered and collapsed.  Ganthe winced as he caught him.  The effort almost caused a groan of pain to escape.  That would be very bad.  They had made it this far without being detected.  Gritting his teeth, Ganthe lowered the bandit to the ground.  

The man was young, only a year or two older than Ganthe.  His grey eyes exhibited the usual shock and surprise, swivelling about trying to focus.  They locked upon Ganthe, imploring him for help.

“Sorry,” Ganthe mouthed, then twisted his knife.  The bandit shivered, and died. 

Carefully, Ganthe dragged the body over to where Heric waited in the shadows.

“Good work,“ Heric whispered into his ear.

Ganthe shrugged, and began to undo the straps of the bandit’s armour.  

They were in an alley, just off Grey Street. It was a run down area not far from the Dock Gate.

They had slipped into the town from the west, wading across the narrower of the two rivers. He had seen fish swimming past them, and had been tempted to grab one, but it might make too much noise.  

The river was called Patoto or something like that.  To Ganthe’s mind it was just another part of the Milardus River.  However the one time he had mentioned that thought to the locals they threatened to draw knives on him.  Apparently it was a delicate issue with them. But that was years ago.  Who knew how they felt now. 

Earlier when Ganthe and Ifonsa had scouted ahead, the Upper Docks had been strewn with guards.  Some patrolled amongst the long lines of barges, tied up against the piers, but most gathered in isolated groups of threes or fours chatting with one another.

This time, Ganthe couldn’t see any patrols.  The few guards he found were sprawled out on the barges, or anywhere else that looked even remotely comfortable, fast asleep.  They stole past them heading for the Dock Gate, the only access on this side of the town.

Ganthe offered the leather brigandine to Heric.  It looked more mangy than the ones he had seen before worn  by the bandits.  It was likely old, handed down to the bandit he had taken it from.

“Is this really necessary?” Heric asked.

“We need to look like them,” he told his captain.

Heric nodded.  Ganthe could tell he was disgusted by the thought of wearing a dead man’s armour.  As Ganthe knew, it took some time to get used to, but you did get used to it.  Just as long as you didn’t think about it too much.  Nearly all his former kit had been obtained this way during the war. Even his long knife which he had scored from the body of a goblin.

“Take his tunic and breeches too,” Ganthe said, “Yours are too wet.  They’ll notice.”

“So are yours.”

Ganthe shook his head.  “I changed mine a quarter hour ago,” he said grinning.

“I wondered what took you so long,” Heric said as he fumbled to remove the bandit’s clothing.   “Ugh!  They’re covered in blood.”

As they approached the Dock Gate, Heric called a halt behind a bundle of ropes.  He admitted to Ganthe he wasn’t certain how they could pass through without being noticed.

However, Ganthe reassured him.  He was an expert on guards. “Don’t worry.  It isn’t going to be a problem,” he told his captain.

Ganthe proved correct. The gates were wide open when they reached them, with no sign of any guards,  There were plenty of loud snoring coming from the gatehouse though. They slipped through into the town.  Not even a mouse noticed their passing.

Once inside however, sneaking proved more difficult. The main streets were lit, not especially well, but enough.  They would need to cross several of them to reach their destination.

Also the bandits were awake and patrolling the narrow streets.  They weren’t particularly diligent, nor in great numbers, but once again, it was enough to cause them problems. 

Ganthe realised their best option was to look like the enemy.  With so many of them, it was unlikely anyone would recognise them. They could pass through while pretending to patrol.  The three bandits he had killed didn’t even have passes.

“Don’t forget the sword,”  Ganthe said, once Heric was finished dressing.  Heric had left his sword and his armour behind, carrying only a dagger for protection. “And the ring too.”

“Why?”

That confused Ganthe. “That sword is better than your dagger?” he offered.

“I meant the ring,” Heric said, buckling on the sword.

“They all have them. It might be important.”

Heric held the ring up to the faint, flickering light leaking into the narrow alley.

“Snake cultists,” Heric said, almost like he was swearing.  The ring looked as though it was made from iron, shaped into a crude-looking snake, eating its own tale. “Lord Elwic was one.”

“That’s not good, right?”

“No.  Not good at all,”  Heric said, slipping on the ring.  “Let’s move.”

 

Heric paused.

It was all happening too quickly.  Yet not quickly enough.  He had no idea how long it had taken them to reach The Golden Raven, but he feared they were rapidly running out of time.  They needed to be out and away well before first light.

“What’s wrong?” Ganthe asked, whispering in his ear.

Their journey through the town proved uneventful.  None of the guards paid any attention to them.  Yet now they had reached the inn, Heric was conflicted.

The original plan had been for Heric and his group to reach Harnsey two nights before.  Then they were to meet at the inn with Burha, and her associate Orwic.  Burha had all their remaining gear. The next morning they’d ride out headed for Wombourne, Burha was supposed to barge back to Milardus and report to Rido.

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Now Heric needed to make a decision.  Should he still try to find Burha?  She was a very capable spy.  He’d  worked with her during the War of Liberation.  It was from her that a great deal of the information about their current mission had been obtained.  She might also provide an insight into why they had been ambushed and who was behind it.  

Yet tracking her down would take time, and Heric didn’t feel he had a lot left.  Also there was no guarantee they would have remained at the inn, or even if they were still alive.  Given how prepared the bandits were, there was a good chance they already knew about the two of them.

The alternative was to simply steal away with the mounts.  The inn had the only stable in the town so that would be far easier, and quicker.  However, Heric felt guilty about just leaving, and then there was the matter of just how were they going to get the horses out of the town without alerting all the bandits.

Ifonsa and Falduin were supposed offer a distraction to cover their escape, but maybe Rido’s people could help there as well.

“What’s wrong?” Ganthe asked again.

“Nothing,” Heric said.  “The stables are that way.”

 

If someone had asked Ganthe a day, or even an hour before, he would have told them that under no circumstance would Heric ever go crazy. And yet right before his eyes he had seen the undoing of a great man.  He had lost all control, even raising his voice so that any bandits wandering by the inn would undoubtedly hear him.  All it took was a missing horse.

The stables had been empty.  Mostly.  Only an old grey mare remained.  Even Ganthe could tell she had seen better days.

Silently, Ganthe was glad the horses weren’t in the stable.  He rode badly - barely at all - and horses always seemed to take a dislike to him.  He wondered if horses could talk to one another.  That would explain their attitude.  

He’d once had a run-in with a horse. More than once, but this was the first time.  

The local lord had found him and his mates larking around in a stream one summer.  They were catching salmon by hand and the lord took exception, claiming the salmon was The King’s, and he was confiscating them.  

“Stealing them for your own table, you mean” Sige had quipped.  Which made them all laugh.

That incensed the lord and he charged his horse right at them.  The others fled, but not Ganthe.  He waited until the last moment, then stepped out of the way and tripped the horse.  

The lord was thrown, landing face first into the stream.  His head must have struck a rock, because he never moved again. 

The horse ran away, but it must have told the other horses about him.   They started behaving badly whenever he was near after that.

He missed those days.  He missed his mates.

“How could you let them take my horse?” Heric asked again, for the third time.

“I didn’t have a choice!” Heric had said his name was Orwic or something like that.  He had a beard, not as long but much thicker than Ganthe’s own scraggly one.  Apparently he was a friend.

Ganthe was able to track him down fairly easily. He simply snuck in and stole the register, then returned to Heric so he could read it.  Ganthe could read a little, and write his name (if he needed to), but not much more. Orwic was listed as staying in a corner room.

Orwic received quite a surprise, waking up to find Ganthe’s knife at his throat.  

“Boo,” Ganthe whispered in his ear.  Ganthe could feel him shivering in fear and squirming under the coverings.

Of course, Heric ruined it by insisting Ganthe let Orwic sit up on the narrow bed so he could question him about the missing horse.

“And what happened to Burha?” Heric asked, pacing.

“I don’t know,” Orwic answered. “She went out a couple of days ago looking for you and never came back.”

“Did you look?”

“I haven’t left this room.“

“Why?”

“I don’t want to die!” Orwic shouted, standing up. “If they can take Burha, with all her skills, then they can easily take me.”

“Why haven’t they come for you?” Ganthe asked, nonchalantly cleaning his nails with his knife. He gestured for Orwic to sit back down on the bed.

“I’m friends with the innkeeper,” Orwic said, seating himself again. “Been coming here for years.”

Ganthe could believe that.  The room was filthy, with clothes littering the floor.  Ganthe could see two small wine barrels in one corner, and even a used chamber pot beside the bed. Only someone very friendly with the owner, or exceptionally grubby, could make such a mess room in a few days.

“So?” Ganthe asked, trying to understand how that mattered.

“He’s an important man in this town. Related to Lord Alcaf.  Cousin or uncle or something.”

“You lost the horses.  What about the gear?” Heric asked, finally returning to his old self.

“Saddles and all were taken.”

“Food?”

“Gone too.”

“What about the leather bag I gave Burha?”

“I think that’s still here. I’m not sure.  I’ll take you to it.”

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