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Casca and Pagan stood at the edge of the docks, looking at the ship slowly pulling away into the open sea. They could see Marcos, Leonna, Aeneas and the girls standing by the rails, waving. Casca waved back, then slowly lowered his arm. He had the awful feeling he would never see them again.
Pagan could sense his friend's anguish. “I promise you this, my friend,” he said, his voice low. “I will do my best to make sure you see them again.” Casca nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out with a long sigh.
Both men stood gazing across the waters until the ship disappeared. All was silent except the cries of the wheeling gulls, and the sound of the waves lapping against the stone-base of the dock-front.
Finally, they turned and made their way back toward the city proper. They walked past a row of silent warehouses and approached the white-washed stone building that housed the offices of the dock master.
Nearing it, they were startled to see a huge figure astride a startlingly white, equally oversized stallion, watching them from the shadows beneath the building.
Pagan angled away from Casca and moved cautiously toward the figure, hand on the hilt of his scabbarded sword. The man in the shadows heeled his horse forward, allowing Pagan to get a better view of him.
He saw a shaven-headed, black-bearded bear of a man in a fur-trimmed sleeveless jerkin regarding him levelly with one eye. A black leather patch covered what would have been his other eye. A white bearskin robe lay across his saddle, and Pagan could see the black twin blades of an enormous axe poking from a saddle-holster.
“I seek Casca,” came a voice, low and deep, rumbling from a cavernous chest.
Casca swallowed and licked his lips in some trepidation. The one-eyed giant offered no threat, but he exuded an aura of elemental power that made Casca shiver. Though he looked as indestructible as a mountain troll, he was clearly a man and not a demon.
Casca stepped forward. “I am Casca. What can I do for you stranger?”
The black-bearded giant, nodded, then dismounted. “Met some friends of yourn back there,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the snow-capped mountains glistening in the far distance beyond the city. “Had some trouble with some hounds and yellow-eyed demons from the pit.”
Casca's heart sank, but the giant added: “They live, we fought the creatures off. Man named...Masrel, said I should ask for you. He also said you ran a tavern. I have travelled a long way and have a mighty thirst. Stand me a drink or two, and I'll tell you my story.”
“I can do that,” Casca replied. Glancing at Pagan who was standing a few paces behind him, he shrugged, and with the giant in tow, started walking.
Moon looked around with interest. The buildings near the seafront were mostly of white-washed stone or timber. They strode down a main thoroughfare. Branching off were narrower streets with one-and two-storey dwellings, and inns. Shadow-haunted alleys ran down the sides of these.
What struck the Axeman the most, was the silence. Though he had no experience of large towns or cities, he guessed such a place would normally be bustling with activity. Horses, carts, and wagons moving down the streets, traders hawking their wares, children playing, and whores plying their trade in the alleys. He could see discarded belongings left by the fleeing populace. An upturned old table there, a large chest with the door hanging open on broken hinges, broken chairs, pots and pans and various items of clothing.
Looking down from his eyrie, Krocus watched the three men walking down the street. He wondered who the stranger was.