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'Aros mae'r mynyddau mawr,
Rhuo trostynt mae y gwynt;
Clywir eto gyda'r wawr
Gan bugeiliaid megis cynt...'*
They took to the road and found it clear. The stony ground did not
lend itself to weeds or brush but Giannette had to stop and shake her head
in disbelief.
"Turstin, something is wrong here." she said.
"What? What is it?" Turstin looked about, he could see nothing but
the empty road, the forest behind them and the mountain peaks ahead.
"The road," she pointed. Turstin shrugged he could see nothing
wrong with it. "Look, wagon ruts."
The oerth was grooved with the trail of the supply wagons that
came and went, the gravel was pushed down into the sparse dirt atop the
road. One fresh rut had sunk in deep and formed a narrow channel of mud
dried beneath the mountain sun.
"I'd expect as much." said Turstin unconcerned. "The wagons are
always coming and going, especially from Draupnir's to the Keep, there
is little else to visit around these parts."
Giannette began to speak and voice an objection, but stopped
herself. What Turstin said made sense, but it seemed wrong, though she
could not say why. Some nagging doubt assailed her, but she could not
form the words to ask the question that sat behind her fears.
"That may be the wagon we have come to find, with Draupnir's
silver still loaded. We can escort it back to...to..." Turstin stammered.
He looked confused and took a moment to think of what to say. "To West
Town." He laughed at his confusion.
"I've never been there." said Giannette. She went back to walk
the road ahead of the others, the wagon ruts dwindled as the path became
more gravel than dirt, but every ridge and groove she passed sent a chill
up her spine and she knew not why.
Pelor's Keep, its highest tower dedicated to the god of sun and
light, glowed and sent out a sparkling brilliance reflected from its
crystal dome. The could see the crenellated battlements and from towers
set along the wall banners atop tall poles fluttered in the breeze.
As they neared, traveling along the curve of road beneath the
south then eastern walls, they could see the guards on patrol who waved
gladly to the party, eager for fresh news and fresh faces, it was a lonely
post out along the borderlands. One archer called out a greeting, his
voice drifted on the wind, faint, carried away to the west by the morning
breeze. The harsh rebuke from the sergeant of the watch rang out clear,
she would not tolerate laxness in her command.
The drawbridge was raised, visitors were few and far between,
better to have the Keep prepared for battle than have a careless welcome
that some enemy could exploit.
Turstin and the others stood near the edge of the crevice that
separated the road from the keep. He called out to the tower gates and
felt more than ever the sense of danger, bows and ballista were pointed at
them, he had no doubt, but like an insect bite with a broken stinger tip
buried deep, his senses throbbed and pained him with every glance up at
the well guarded keep.
"Ho travelers!" a deep voice cried. "What is your business here!"
Turstin opened his mouth to reply but no sound came out. He had
to think for a minute, it must be the mountain air that befuddled his
brain, he thought.
"We come looking for a lost wagon from the mine!" Turstin called
back at last. "Has it come this way?"
"You will need to speak with the commander about that!" the voice
called back. "Do you swear by Pelor's light that all you speak is true
and you are not wanted by the law of Geoff!"
"I swear!" Turstin yelled. "I swear by Pelor's holy light!"
"Do you all swear!"
A chorus of yeas replied.
* * *
(To Be Continued)
*The mighty hills unchanging stand,
Tireless the winds across them blow;
The shepherds' song across the land
Sounds with the dawn as long ago....
By John Ceiriog Hughes