Rocalla's Saga: Arrival

21: Night Streets of Mandelbroggen —

1054 Kyabalaka 4

The alley is very dark, and the ground is uneven. Half-frozen muck squishes under the weight of my boots. We pick our way along, trying to keep as quiet as possible. My mind is full of questions. Will the priests expose the wizardry that is going on in the castle? Will Clavius betray our confidence? Will we make our way back to The Happy Pilgrim tonight, or end up in a jail cell? It takes us five minutes just to reach the end of The Warrior’s Den.

The snapping of brush to my right makes my heart jump. I spin around, only to see a large hog wandering loose along the street. Every sound, every image fills me with fear. I wonder at the events that have brought me to this point, and question whether I am doing the right thing. Clutching my chest for a second, I take a breath, and move on.

The side street is deserted, and we scurry across it. The alley on the opposite side is full of slush, and I slip a couple of times on the way to the next side street, silently cursing the weather for providing yet another distraction. Reaching the end of the alley, I am relieved to see that the space before us is also deserted. I can hear the gentle sound of moving water off to the right; apparently the river is nearby.

“Should we turn south here?” Dierdra whispers.

“Let’s go down to the main road and see.”

We walk side by side down the street. It is a warm evening, and the overcast skies block out any sign of the stars or moons. As we approach the main road, a farmer or trader rides by in a horse-drawn cart.

We wait for the man to pass, then step into the road and look toward The Warrior’s Den. The fires are still going in front of the building, revealing a small knot of men standing there. They are too quiet and stationary to be revelers, and I instinctively take a step back into the side street.

“What do you think?” Dierdra asks.

“I think they’re waiting for us to come out,” I say.

“What should we do?”

I lean out again, glancing left and then looking right. The city only extends another block or so west before transitioning into rural farms and fields.

“We need to cross here,” I say. “There isn’t enough town left to cover us farther out.”

“Will they be able to see us?”

“Yes, if they’re looking. We just need to not attract their attention. Walk across like we’re going to the market. Look straight ahead, don’t look down the street, and hopefully no one will even notice us.”

“And if they do notice?”

“Ignore them and keep walking, as if they weren’t even talking to us.”

“Sure,” says Dierdra. “That’ll be easy. Let’s get it over with. If you change your mind and decide to run, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Okay,” I say, taking a breath. “Let’s go.”

Together we walk into the street. As we reach the center of the road, I can hear the men in front of The Warrior’s Den talking to each other. My heart beats faster, but I force myself not to change pace. I am thankful that I cannot understand what they are saying.

We get across the main road and enter the side street on the opposite side. “Now what?” whispers Dierdra, still looking forward.

“Just keep going,” I say. “Don’t stop or change pace unless you hear feet running up behind you.”

“Can I look back?”

“Not yet.”

We continue walking south along the street for four or five blocks. Coming to a fork, we take the left side. As we are turning, I say, “You can take a discrete peek back now.”

Dierdra stops and takes a look, somewhat longer than necessary, then hurries up to join me.

“Anyone following us?” I ask.

“Not that I can see,” she says.

Relieved at our good fortune so far, we continue picking our way along the side streets, heading east or southeast as much as possible. It is very dark now, forcing us to walk slowly in order to avoid stumbling in a hole or running into anything.

After nearly an hour of walking, Dierdra asks, “Do you have any idea where we are?”

“The south side of Mandelbroggen,” I say. “I guess.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Back to The Happy Pilgrim. Without going into the inner city.”

“At least we haven’t seen any patrols.”

Soon after we come to a wide street. I spend a few minutes studying the surroundings before we cross. No one else is in sight. “Does this road look familiar?” I ask.

“No,” Dierdra says. “Except that it looks like every other dark street in Mandelbroggen.”

“You’re a big help.”

“Seriously, do you know where we are? We could be out here all night.”

“Come on, let’s keep moving.” With that we cross the road and continue to walk along, staying on each street as long as possible to avoid getting confused. I wish that the stars were visible, to provide me with a guide as to which direction we were traveling. Twenty minutes later, we cross another road. I attempt to discern where we might be, by considering how many gates there are through the city wall and where streets from them might lead, but I do not know the area well enough to convince myself that I know where I am. With an equal density of dwellings on either side of this boulevard, I decide we must still be somewhere directly south of Mandelbroggen’s wall. So we continue walking, and it is another thirty minutes of stumbling through the dark before we again reach a wide road. During that time only one old man passed our way.

It is late, and I yawn with fatigue. My legs are starting to ache from the extended journey on the slippery streets. “What do you think of this road?” I ask.

“I wish it was right next to the inn,” Dierdra says.

“It’s probably the way the wagon took to the citrona grass fields. Shall we turn north and follow it?”

“What about patrols?”

“I don’t see any.”

We spend another hour walking northward. A pair of town guardsmen force us to leave the main road for a few blocks, but we manage to evade them easily. After a while, we recognize some landmarks and know that we are headed in the right direction. We are almost back to the inn and I begin to feel more at ease.

From the shadows of a narrow alley, two men step out. Their sudden appearance startles me, causing me to stop short. When I realize they are not town soldiers, I commence walking again.

“Not so fast, ladies,” the first one sneers. He is a huge ox of a man, carrying a club.

“Excuse us,” Dierdra says as we try to step around them. They move over to block our way.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“We’d like for you to come with us,” his scruffy short companion says. There is a dagger in his hand.

“Now why would we want to do that?” Dierdra asks.

“Because we don’t want to hurt you,” he says.

“We just want the reward money,” says the ox.

Dierdra pulls open her cloak and grabs her machete. The large man rushes toward her, but then steps back when he sees the large knife in her hand.

The other one starts toward me. I reach into my left sleeve for my dagger, only to grab empty air.

“Surrender quietly and I won’t have to cut you up,” my opponent says.

“We’re not going with you,” I say.

“Yes, you are,” he says, rushing at me with his dagger. I step aside from his blade and grab his knife arm with both my hands. He grabs my waist with his free arm and pulls me to the ground. As we fall, I twist so that I fall on him instead of his blade.

“Rocalla!” calls Dierdra.

The man grunts from the impact of my body, but doesn’t release the dagger. Despite his small size, he is tough and wiry. He rolls and pushes until I find myself on my back with him kneeling over me.

“Give up, or I’ll carve up that face of yours,” he says.

Using both my hands, I struggle to hold his knife hand away from me, as he starts to push his weight down on it.

“Dortël!” the large beast of a man warns, but it is too late. Dierdra spins around and slices the back of my opponent’s right thigh with her machete. Dortël grabs his leg and cries out in pain, while I roll out from under him and rush to my feet.

“Bezu!” screams the large man as he swings his club at Dierdra’s head. She manages to duck under it, but just barely. Dierdra scrambles backward as her opponent advances, swinging his club with every step.

While Dortël tends to his wounded thigh, I reach down and release my gyaphla knife from its scabbard along my leg. “Hey, stupid,” I yell at Dierdra’s attacker.

Hearing my voice, he turns to look at me. Dierdra and I are on either side of him, and he keeps shifting his attention back and forth. Meanwhile, Dortël is struggling to get to his feet.

“Now,” Dierdra says, out of breath, “We’re going to walk away from here, and you’re going the other way, and no one else is going to get hurt.”

“No, you’re coming with me,” the large man says.

“Drop the club now, or your friend is dead,” I say, walking toward the scruffy one.

Dortël stands shakily, holding his dagger in front of him. “Come and get me, dama anhteffalke udluë,” he says.

I lunge at him with my gyaphla knife. As he leaps back, his injured leg betrays him, and he falls to the ground, groaning in pain. I turn to face Dierdra’s opponent again.

“It’s over,” I say.

He looks at me, then tosses his club down in disgust. “Korplaak,” he says, then spits on the ground in front of me. Dierdra trots over to my side, giving both men a wide berth. As soon as she reaches me, we turn north on the road and start running toward the inn.

“Stop,” I say after a few blocks. “We need to stop and put our weapons away.”

Dierdra slows to a walk, turns to look behind us, and then stops. She nods, and we put away our blades.

We return to the inn soon after. Covered with dirt from my struggles with Dortël, I feel conspicuously filthy. I attempt to brush the grime off my clothes, to no avail. Despite our hunger, we do not stop to eat. Instead, we climb the stairs to our rooms, avoiding the half-dozen patrons still drinking in the tavern below.