True to the farmer's word, the dark silhouette of the city walls appeared ahead after they passed the mill. To Lilia's disappointment, there had been no water wheel, only several large windmills and a mill house clustered on the plain. As they neared the city, they saw Dun Rigor away to the East. Like a black needle atop a small hill surrounded by dark, barren fields, it loomed starkly over the surrounding valley.
"Well, it looks like our partnership is almost at an end." Aiovel observed, as they stopped to survey the landscape.
"Huh? Oh, yeah," Mygdewyn said, nodding, though Gil thought he seemed disappointed about it.
Dylan glanced over at the other horizon; beyond, near the city's harbor, schooners, sloops, and cutters of various sizes sailed up and down the waters of a wide river. A bustling road hugged its banks; wagons swarmed in and out of the city's wide gates like tiny ants.
"You aren't going to confront Galadon today, are you, Aiovel?" Dylan inquired.
"No." Aiovel said, narrowing her eyes in curiosity.
"Well, then why should we be in a hurry to break camp?" He said, clearing his throat.
"Good point," Mygdewyn agreed. "I know I can't pay for anything until we sell some of the treasure we found. But I'll bet you anything the market has already closed for the day. I don't know of many that keep open long past mid-afternoon."
"Right. So what do you think that was about a tribute?" Ronan interrupted.
"Huh?" Mygdewyn's forehead wrinkled in confusion.
"You're right." Dylan said, picking up on Ronan's train of thought. "The farmer did mention something about a tribute. That doesn't sound good." He considered it a moment. "If there are guards waiting inside the gate to take tribute, we'll be in some hot water. They'll know we aren't from around here when we can't pay them in local coin."
"I have an idea." Lilia ventured with a conspiratorial wink, drawing their attention. "Why don't you let me go in and scout out some information?" she suggested. "They won't be able to see me with my shadow hood. I'll find out what's going on and come back for you when the coast is clear."
"How about it?" Gil said, brightening. "Lilia's got a point there. We should let her check things out, don't you think?"
"Well," Mygdewyn said, hesitating. "I don't know..."
Dylan nodded, agreeing with the dwarf.
"Don't try sparing my feelings or anything." Lilia said playfully. "Look, if I say I'll be back, I will." Lilia insisted. "Or do you have a better idea?" she added.
"When you put it that way..." Dylan said reluctantly.
"Agreed," Ronan added, affable.
"Don't forget," Aiovel warned. "We don't want to attract too much attention to ourselves, so no pickpocketing."
"'Bye!" Lilia chirped, already headed briskly down the rolling slope of the hill toward the city in the valley. Mygdewyn shook his head in exasperation, though with some affection mingled in.
"Are you sure it was wise to send her in there alone?" Dylan wondered, concern creasing his forehead.
"She'll be back," Gil said firmly, quashing his own doubts.
* * * * *
The afternoon wore on as they waited for Lilia; Dylan was about to give up on her when she returned in the early evening, maybe two hours before sunset and before the city gates closed for the night.
Mygdewyn jumped when she appeared suddenly in their midst, her hand on his shoulder. Lilia laughed gleefully at the dwarf's ashen face.
"Got you!" She tittered. Mygdewyn turned, scowling at her.
"What took you so long?" he barked, seeming to recover from the surprise, though Gil suspected Lilia's prank had inflated his ire.
"It took me a while to find the market place." She said, sitting down. "Actually, there wasn't a market today. There's a Great Market once a week; the next one's three days from now. We could try selling our treasures at a local guild, but it appears that the guilds have to report any unusual artifacts that come to their attention."
"So we'll have to wait around for a few days for the market," Dylan surmised. "How much will that cost?"
"Oops. I forgot to find out." Lilia said sheepishly, sprawling on the grass. "But it won't do to try any comparative shopping." She shook her head. "There's a large inn where most of the travelers stay, pretty much the only decent one in town to speak of, even though Gildorland seems to be quite a large city. Almost as big as Gyfen from the look of it."
"There's only one inn?" Gil asked, incredulous.
Lilia nodded. "Only one you'd want to see." She grimaced as though remembering others less desirable. "I gather there are few visitors to Gildorland, and those who come here are from the other eastern kingdoms. Let's see, there's Murmanek and Naemar, and a few others. Anyway, they all pay tribute to the Dark Wizard, or else he sends his armies of beasts against them. From what I gathered, he's pretty much in control of the entire eastern half of Daegoras and has been for ages.
"One of the traders from Murmanek told me that he's been trying to conquer the continent of Vilna over the ocean. That's where Murmanek and the other cities' wealth comes from. The people of Vilna have got an entire fleet of trading ships. But the Dark Wizard seems to want more than tribute now. There's talk that he's sent an army to actually depose his puppet, the King of Naemar."
"How did you find all of that out?" Ronan wondered.
"Money talks," Lilia said, shrugging.
"But we haven't got any local money," Mygdewyn protested. "You didn't give them any of your necklaces, did you?"
"Heavens, no!" Lilia exclaimed, horrified. She rummaged inside her cloak and pulled out a handful of leather pouches dangling by strings tied together in a large knot. Lilia shook the pouches lightly, making the coins inside jangle enticingly.
"Aiovel told you no stealing!" Ronan exclaimed.
"How were we supposed to pay for lodgings, then?" Lilia countered. "Anyway, I took these from the Dark Wizard's tax collectors."
"But—" Ronan started.
"Just relax. No one caught me." Lilia 's smile was anything but contrite.
"—you could have given us away!" the elf finished, flustered.
"But I didn't." Lilia said. "And now we've got enough money to last until Market Day."
"That isn't the point!" Ronan cried.
"As much as I'm enjoying this, we can't just stand around here talking all day." Mygdewyn said. "I haven't eaten since breakfast."
"What about the guards?" Gil interjected. Dylan and Aiovel looked anxiously at Lilia.
"I didn't see any near the gates," she said, shaking her head. "But then again, who needs guards when you've got an army of beasts keeping things under control?"
"Good point," Gil had to admit.
XVI: The Magic Gate
"Come on, are you going to take pity on a hungry dwarf and buy us a big dinner or not?" Mygdewyn said to Lilia as she led them through the narrow, bustling, cobbled streets of Gildorland.
"I suppose so," Lilia said at last, shrugging. "It won't do for you to starve in the street, now would it?"
Gil suppressed a smile; he had some idea that they had grown on Lilia, even though she didn't want to admit it. Of course, they would all be parting company soon. Gil didn't know what the others planned to do, but he had promised to stay with Aiovel. It seemed strange that none of them had spoken of their intentions yet; they had been so occupied in getting to Dun Rigor that they hadn't really considered what they would do when they got there.
Or how they would ever get back home.
"Here it is," Lilia announced as they reached the inn. The wooden lintel hung so low across the doorway that Dylan, Gil, and Ronan had to stoop under it, but Ronan still managed to bump his head.
Behind them, Mygdewyn snickered. He sauntered through the doorway under the low beam with overt pleasure. Aiovel pulled the door clos
ed behind them, cutting off the draft, and they sat down at one of the tables inside, a large empty one near the back.
The tavern was filling up this far toward evening but seemed less busy away from the bar. Several oil lamps hung from the dingy walls, casting pale shadows on the age-darkened floor. As Gil's nostrils were assaulted with the stench of beer, sweat, and other more offensive odors, he could hardly believe that this was the best inn that Gildorland had to offer.
Still, if the people of this city lived under the yoke of a tyrant, what incentive was there to aspire to live in any better place than this? This realization surprised Gil; a month ago he would never have thought to draw these conclusions.
A serving girl wound her way over to their table and set down a few tankards of ale, then made another trip. She was a pretty girl with raven hair and big green eyes, as Dylan quickly noticed.
"The first one's free." She offered amiably, returning again with more ale. Dylan smiled appreciatively, and the girl blushed.
"Free?" Gil echoed, confused. Marnat had never given anything away for free! Well, perhaps things here weren't as bad as he thought!
"Why, yes," the girl nodded, stealing glances over at Dylan. "But no one ever stops at one, and the others aren't cheap." She laughed. "Can I get you anything, sir?" she asked, looking at Dylan.
"How much for a meal and a night's stay?" Lilia asked. To her credit, she attempted old Roste. The group had decided to try to safeguard their identities by speaking in the local dialect, though the serving girl seemed to puzzle over Lilia's strange accent a moment.
"Two gold each." The serving girl finally replied. "That includes another beer, too. After that beer is five silver coins each. But you don't get another one free if you go out and come back in." She warned.
"We'll take a room, then." Lilia said. The serving girl nodded and withdrew.
"You don't look like you're from around here." A tall, burly man sauntered over from the bar; Gil had the feeling that he had been watching them since they entered. He was dressed in what passed for ordinary peasant attire for these parts and had short, greasy hair that was near black.
No doubt a good scrubbing would have turned it back to brown. Though the man's half-smile was pleasant enough, Gil felt uneasy as the man headed toward them. Aside from the serving girl, the rest of the town's denizens had ignored them thus far. The stranger, however, seemed to harbor an ulterior motive. At least Gil thought so.
"What's it to you?" Mygdewyn challenged, trying to imitate the intimidating smile Galanor had always used so effectively.
The man laughed heartily, then sat down at their table, uninvited. "Peace, friend." He said, then turned to Dylan, eyeing the melted hole in Dylan's armor, the bare traces of his former family crest that now looked more like melted cheese. "It seems you've had a rough journey," he observed in amusement.
On closer observation, Dylan realized that this man was something above a peasant. His clothes were not roughly cut but were well-sewn; no doubt he was a merchant of some sort, and reasonably affluent. With dismay, Dylan realized his own cloak had long since gone past threadbare and was well into tatters, and that the gaping holes in his armor were hardly complimentary to either his sense of self-worth or his social position.
"Who are you?" Ronan asked suspiciously, wincing as he took a drink of dark, bitter ale.
"Omierdin Brae's the name." The man smirked crookedly. "And you are?"
"Ronan," Ronan answered reluctantly. It would have been rude not to answer, after all, since Ronan had asked the same question. Still, Ronan didn't much like the look of the man. A moment later, Omierdin turned to Aiovel, his eyes narrowing in a mixture of curiosity and vague recognition.
"I'm Gil." Gil offered, in an attempt to distract Omierdin's attention. Gil figured he at least had little to lose in revealing his identity. Omierdin nodded slightly out of politeness, then turned to scrutinize Dylan and Mygdewyn.
Dylan eyed Omierdin noncommittally; Mygdewyn glared at him with open hostility.
"Well, your friends seem to have lost their tongues, young Gil." Omierdin said with a farce of jocund laughter. "I'm sorry to offend. Just being polite, you know. And who are you, my lovely?" He turned to Lilia. Lilia vacillated, no doubt flattered by the comment. But she refused to answer. Pickpockets were generally loathe to declaring their identities; Lilia was no exception.
"Here you are," the serving girl interrupted, placing a platter in front of Dylan. She circled the table with dishes of bread, cheese, and gobbets of charred meat, then returned to Dylan. "Milea will be getting your room ready, sir," she said, holding out her hand for payment.
Lilia dug around for the gold and paid the girl. "And bring some water, please," she added.
The girl gave a slight bow. "Enjoy your meal," she said and scuttled back to the kitchen.
"Master Tattercloak can't even pay for his own meal, eh?" Omierdin guffawed loudly, clapping Mygdewyn on the shoulder. The dwarf appeared ready to sever it at the wrist if he didn't remove it. Luckily, Omierdin chose that moment to right himself in his chair. "Come now, sir, you'd let the lady pay? What kind of gentleman are you? Or are you a rogue?" He threw the last question in a challenging manner.
"I am most certainly not!" Dylan retorted. "I'll have you know I am the Prince of Dunlaith!"
"Are you indeed?" Omierdin said, considering that. His eyes narrowed to slits as he looked Dylan up and down; finally, his gaze fell on the telling signet ring on Dylan's right hand. "The Prince of Dunlaith?" Omierdin repeated slyly. "Hear that, fellows?" He shouted above the noise in the tavern. "We've got royalty here! Prince Tattercloak and his friends!" He howled, and the tavern erupted in derisive laughter. Omierdin stood abruptly, then returned to the bar.
Dylan sunk down in his chair, feeling less than regal. Would even Culan have recognized him now?
"Are you really a prince?" The serving girl ventured, returning with another round of ale and a large tankard of water for Lilia. She stared at Dylan, round-eyed. Dylan nodded weakly. Why not admit to it? No one here would believe him, anyway, Dylan thought ruefully.
But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Here, his deeds would matter more than his social standing; if people judged him, it was Dylan the man they saw, not a royal prince.
A minute later, the serving girl was called away. Gil stole glances to the bar where Omierdin sat; suddenly, the man got up. He headed to the side door of the tavern, then glanced back one last time at their table. He and Gil locked gazes. As the man departed, Gil felt a strange anxiety.
"That man just left." Gil said, pointing to the side door.
"You don't suppose he's working for the Dark Wizard, do you?" Lilia breathed, turning to Dylan. Gil shivered, hoping she was wrong. "Maybe he was looking out for strangers!" Lilia cried, working herself into a panic.
"Come on, Lilia. Why would Galadon need to rely upon human spies? This fellow is probably just some local tradesman," Dylan disagreed, taking a large bite of some bread and cheese.
"But he would need spies to keep an eye on things here in the city—" Gil began to protest.
"I'm also inclined to agree with the lady," a voice carried from the corner of the room, a few feet from their table. Gil turned around to get a look at the speaker, whomever he was. A man in a fine, oak brown linen cloak sat hunched over a plate of food regarding them. His eyes twinkled in the pale light, though his face remained in shadows. "It would have been better to say nothing at all, or at least wait until he left to confess your true identities to anyone." The stranger advised, shaking his head.
"And what's it to you?" Lilia asked hotly, picking up one of the dwarf's favorite expressions.
"Ah, well, you see, I've been waiting for Aiovel." The man explained with an airy wave. Dylan tensed, and his hand slipped to his sword. "Though I must admit, I expected yo
u days earlier than this." The figure added, then pulled back the hood of his cloak. Underneath it, a beardless man with keen blue eyes and full shock of reddish-brown hair peered forth.
"Master Myrddin!" Ronan cried, shocked. "How did you get here?"
"Myrddin?!" Dylan echoed, flummoxed. The High Priest of Bressilen? Why was he here? The High Priest wouldn't just abandon his temple for nothing. But if he'd wanted to help Aiovel, why hadn't he shown up before? And how had he known where to find them? More than that, how had he gotten here ahead of them?
"I'm still in my prime, boy!" Myrddin said, waving aside Ronan's questions. He stood abruptly, then came over to join them.
"How do you know Aiovel?" Mygdewyn inquired. Myrddin smiled at the dwarf affectionately as he settled into his chair.
"That is a long story, Mygdewyn." Aiovel said quickly. "But why are you here, Myrddin?"
"Ah." Myrddin paused, collecting his thoughts. "When I saw the city of Argolen crumbling in my crystal ball, I suspected something of a magical nature was afoot in the wilderness. At first, I thought I had to be mistaken, that one of my druids had cast an illusion spell over the ball as some kind of practical joke. I assured myself that whoever the culprit was, he was going to pay for it by cleaning out my stables for a month.
"But on close investigation, what did I see but Aiovel and that dragon friend of hers leading Ronan and Mygdewyn and a group of helpless innocents into the East!" Myrddin exclaimed. "I knew I had to do something to stop her from getting you all killed. I had a clear image of you outside Argolen, but then I lost you for a while. I reasoned that Aiovel would be guiding you here—and well, here you are!
"Do I suspect aright, Aiovel? You are, of course, planning to vanquish Galadon?"
Aiovel nodded.
"I thought as much. Well, I suppose I'll have to help you to defeat him." Myrddin sighed.
"Master Myrddin, you can't risk it!" Ronan cried, standing.
"And why not?" Myrddin arched a bushy brow.
"Galadon has an army of evil beasts. You could be killed, and then who would lead the Priesthood?" Ronan protested. "Let me go in your place!" He went on, without hesitation.