The wagon jolted on the dirt road, and Rolo was almost thrown off the narrow seat.
"Roads aren’t what they used to be; of course, when the old Duke was around, they were so clean you could eat your stew right off em; things were better then," said Gerrard.
The wagon driver was probably not much older than Rolo, but he was weathered by years working outdoors and spoke with the air of an old gaffer. They had met at the Rimmer gate in Tajar when Rolo was looking for a ride to Fallow Vale, and the old fieldhand had chatted away amiably for the whole journey.
As they rumbled along, Rolo carefully scanned each side of the road for the hundredth time. His fight with the Fist of the Father under the coldest mountain had left him shaken and he was wracked with regret. A voice in his head berated him, telling him he should have killed the old fool, but there would never be a day when Rolo Dauska killed an unconscious man. It was possible that the cold killed him, but even so he half expected the fiercesome old arcanist to jump out of a hedgerow at any moment, magic surging from his hands.
Reaching a hand into his coat, Rolo touched the fine links of chain mail, finding the coolness of the metal on his skin reassuring. It was clear that the metal was able to resist magic somehow, but after hours spent examining the item, he was no closer to understanding how it worked.
Far behind them, the last glimpse of the great city of Tajar disappeared behind the rolling hills. Rolo had hoped to find allies in the city, but when he had arrived, the thin priest, Partick, wasn’t anywhere to be found, and Horace, the owner of the Cloven Shield, just shook his head when he asked for any news about the blond champion, Athir. He had even kneeled and prayed to Lyran for information on Konrad, but there was no response.
His hopes of finding Konrad and warning him that the Fist of the Father was hunting him down were dwindling. Deep down, he knew that visiting Konrad’s village was unlikely to yield any useful information, but he had promised to deliver Konrad’s gold, and for now, that duty gave him some sense of purpose.
In the back of his mind, he had a vague notion that he might try to contact Serena; she had used some kind of magic to speak to him on several occasions, so perhaps if he found a witch, he could reach her.
"Witches?" Gerrard replied when Rolo asked.
The farmer leaned back and stretched, a piece of wheat dangling from his teeth. "You’ll find witches up in the Castermere hills, they dance naked around the fires on the full moon, you know."
"You’ve been to watch this?" Rolo asked.
"Well, no, the wife at home; not something any honorable man would..." Gerrard trailed off, the wheat stalk drooping slightly, then he coughed loudly and turned his attention to the slowly trudging horse. "Not far now."
The road thinned, and thorny bushes scraped the sides of his wagon as Gerrard grumbled about overgrown hedgerows.
A cloud of dust ahead announced an approaching horseman, and Gerrard made a small groaning noise and pulled his cap lower.
"What’s the matter?" Rolo asked, squinting to identify the rider who was beating the horse furiously with a riding crop.
"Donkey Reed. Best keep your eyes down, mister; this boys best ignored," Gerard cautioned.
The horse skidded to a halt and reared up. The poor beast was sweating profusely, and flecks of spittle were foaming at the corners of its mouth.
The young rider's face was twisted into a permanent scowl, and he pointed the riding crop at Gerard. "Move out of my way, Clod."
"Not likely to be any place to move to, young master," Gerrard replied, indicating the thick hedgerow on either side of the track.
"Idiot Clod, back up and move over. I have to get past."
"Who is this fool?" Rolo asked Gerrard.
Gerrard groaned and pulled his hat even lower. "His name is Clayton Reed."
Clayton Reed’s face grew a shade of red that Rolo had not seen before. "You insolent, stinking northman. My father owns the town and everyone in it, I’ll have you beaten," Clayton spluttered.
The trapped horse was clearly panicking, and it tried to turn around in the narrow lane. Clayton Reed fought it, sawing at the reins and flailing out with the riding crop.
Rolo had been largely enjoying the show until this point, but he felt his anger spike as he watched the animals' mistreatment. He hopped off the wagon and reached up to seize the crop as it descended, the braided leather slapping into his palm. "You do not deserve this animal."
Rolo murmured quietly to the horse, and the animal stilled, its breathing becoming regular. "Do they call you Donkey Reed because you cannot ride a horse?"
Back in the wagon, Gerrard groaned and tried to melt into the wooden bench.
"You are a wretch; I’ll teach you some manners," Clayton spat. He tried to wrench the crop out of Rolo’s grasp, then gave up and kicked the horse with his heels to turn it around.
Rolo grabbed Clayton’s foot, pulled it neatly out of the stirrup, and called out to the horse. The grateful anumal bucked so hard that Clayton was tossed off into the air, landing with a howl in the thick, tangled thorns of the hedgerow.
Rolo pulled himself up onto the wagon and dusted off his hands. "I think I’m going to like this town."
For his part, Gerard kept his eyes fixed ahead and ignored the howls of pain as Clayton Reed thrashed around in the hedgerow.
A little way further, a town slowly came into view. The buildings were made of solid timber with sturdy stone foundations, and the cobbled roads were well maintained. The shop signs were all freshly painted, and the well-dressed townspeople moved about with an air of quiet industry.
"This is Fallow Vale?" Rolo asked.
When Rolo first met Konrad, the boy had been wearing homespun clothing that had been mended so many times that it was more of a collection of patches, but none of these people here looked remotely like that. Every town had its beggars and street urchins, but everyone here seemed prosperous.
"This is Fallow Vale town; Fallow Vale village is a little further down a way towards the river."
Two roads lead out of the town, one made of well-structured cobblestones, the other a dusty, rutted track.
"Why don’t you take the road over there?" Rolo asked as Gerrard's horse instinctively chose the poorer road.
"This one we’re on is the Clod’s road, you see, that one is for citizens."
Gerrard tried again to explain the complexities of a land debt system to Rolo, and the Northman’s eyebrows went down further and further with every aspect that was pointed out.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
At the end of the road was the Clod village. Rolo had seen small settlements, but nothing quite like the proud poverty of the Clod village. Everything was well maintained; it was just crushingly poor. The buildings were clean and tidy, but you can’t clean cracked brick or broken roof beams that bent under the weight of straw roofs. The people around chatted amiably, but no amount of community spirit could heal bent backs and tired eyes.
"This is where Konrad is from," Rolo muttered.
"You didn’t say you knew Konrad; sad thing that, do you know how he died?" Gerrard asked.
Rolo searched Gerrard’s face but failed to see any indication he was joking.
"Konrad's alive and well, the last time I saw him he had completed a dangerous quest and was on his way to another."
"Still alive, you say?" Our Konrad, a champion of the gods, and friends with folk from the north to boot. Hard to believe. He was born and bred right here you know. I taught him most everything he knows, like brothers we are."
Rolo could sense that Gerrard was gearing up for one of his rambling sermons, and he quickly cut him off. "I need to speak to a man called Fra Dun."
"Fraydone? Never heard of him."
"Fra Dun," Rolo repeated, struggling with the unfamiliar pronunciation.
"Oh, Old Dun. Right you are, you’ll find him down there, last house in the row, red door. If you want to drop in and see Hera and Luca, that’s Konrad's ma and pa, and tell them he’s not dead, that might be nice. They live down that ways too; you’ll catch them right about now as the works all done. When you’re done you’re welcome to stick around, there’s a bit o party on tonight on account of a fancy wedding in the town."
Rolo paid Gerrard a few coins and made his way through the village. He drew a host of curious stares as he passed, mostly from children dressed in raggedy clothing; not rags, but certainly ragged.
The door of Fra Dun’s house was little more than a few planks of mismatched wood. Red was a generous description for the faded pink hue that remained on some of the surface, but like all things here, it had been cared for well enough. Someone had even taken the time to carve a simple design in the faded paint.
"Who’s that, then?" A voice called from inside when Rolo knocked.
The door opened to reveal an old man leaning on a stick that was barely thicker than his bony arm. He peered up at Rolo with rummy eyes.
"My name is Rolo Dauska, I am a friend to Konrad Colda, the champion of small gods."
"Well I’ll be," Fra Dun said, looking past Rolo. "Dead is he? Poor lad, to be expected through."
"No, he’s not dead. At least I hope not. He left the north some weeks ago to travel to the west. He asked me to bring you this."
The heavy bag of coins was held out for a moment until Rolo realized that Fra Dun would likely not be able to bear the weight.
"Would you look at that? Thirty bits of gold, is it? Put it on the table, then, and I’ll take you straight to Hera and Luca," Fra Dun said.
Konrad’s parents stood open-mouthed on the doorstep of their small house as Rolo confirmed that, contrary to what they thought, Konrad was indeed not dead, and more than that, he was a fine champion.
Hera welcomed Rolo in and fussed over him, insisting he take the only stool in the small shack. Rolo spent an hour telling the Clods about Konrad's adventures to the north, omitting only what he thought might make them worry for their son. When he described the gifts Konrad had received and the people he had helped, he could see the pride in their eyes.
"He’s a good lad, then?" Luca asked.
Rolo could see the question was important to Luca.
"He is the best young man I have ever known and one of my most trusted friends."
Luca was clearly someone whose emotions were buried so deep that his tear ducts had forgotten what to do, but at this news, his eyes crinkled and tears sparkled at the corners.
"He’s paid back the money for the whole village," Fra Dun explained.
"More than that," Rolo said, pulling out his purse and handing it to Konrad's parents. "Konrad wanted you to have this also."
He didn’t know how much money these people needed to be free of their debt, but he had enough Linium back in the coldest mountain to buy this entire village.
"Right," Luca said with a sniff. "Time for a drink, what do you say, Mr. Rolo?"
Rolo beamed. "There is nothing I would like more."
-
The news that Konrad had sent a mysterious stranger from the north to pay his debts ran around the village like wildfire, and it quickly joined with the tale of Clayton "Donkey" Reed encountering the same northman on the road. By the end of the evening, it was considered gospel that Konrad had taught Rolo how to call up the northern winds by name, and sent him here to throw Clayton around like a rag doll.
There were many toasts to Rolo, many to Konrad, and as the night went on, many to a soon to be bride called Alice.
"Who is the girl who is getting married?" Rolo asked.
"Alice is the sister of Donkey Reed, whom you froze in the hedgerow," one of the workers called Jasper said, draining his cup.
"The horse threw him into the hedge," Rolo replied, knowing it was fruitless.
"Alice’s getting married to a knucklehead in Talen Vale tomorrow. Funny, cause there was some that thought Konrad might come back, you know, put a stop to it or something."
"Why would Konrad stop a wedding?" Rolo asked. From what he knew of his friend, it seemed out of character.
"He was sweet on her, you see," Gerrard offered.
"More than a bit sweet, I’d say," Jasper replied.
"Course she helped him get away by offering the marriage," Gerrard concluded.
"She must be quite something," Rolo commented.
"She’s sharper than a barrel of knifefish, and there’s no doubt about that," Jasper replied.
In the late evening, Rolo stepped outside into the cool spring air and made his way to the well in the center of the village square.
It had become clear that no-one in this place had any idea where Konrad might be. He was struck by the thought that he was telling everyone Konrad was alive, when the Fist of the Father may well have caught up to him weeks ago. He felt defeated; Serena might have been his last hope, but the only lead he had was to head to the hills and look for some sign of Gerrard's naked dancing witches.
"Why did he send you?" said a voice behind him.
A girl with red hair wearing a long white dress stood a few paces away. Rolo was the first to admit that the customs in this region were quaint, to say the least, but he was sure that heavy walking boots and a full backpack were not traditional attire for a wedding.
The girl repeated her question, her lips set in a hard line and her hands on her hips in a stance that reminded him of Serena.
"Alice?" Rolo hazarded a guess.
"That's right."
"Konrad’s not dead."
"Of course he’s not dead; he’s a lot tougher than he looks. Though sometimes I think he’s so nice, he’d probably let someone stick a sword in him if they asked nicely. The question is why are you here and not him?"
Rolo couldn’t help but smile. Konrad had changed a great deal since he’d met him in Tajar, but the description was more than accurate. "He has duties that took him to the west. He wanted to come, but he asked me."
"He’s well, then, is he?"
"He is a hero to some, and he saved my life."
Alice chewed her lip and held the straps of her bag, looking back down the road towards the town where she had come from. Rolo thought he heard raised voices carried on the breeze. Angry voices.
"Are you going somewhere?" Rolo asked.
"I was. I mean, I thought he was in trouble, and perhaps he'd sent you to come get help. But if you say he doesn’t need it."
"I don’t think there will come a day when Konrad does not accept help when it is readily offered. But unless you are secretly a witch, then I don’t think there is much you can do."
"I’m not a witch. But I know where to find one."
"Where?"
Alice’ expression grew hard. "Take me with you, and I’ll tell you."
Rolo’s laughter evaporated in the face of Alice’s scowl.
"What’s funny?" She demanded.
"A stranger from the north comes to town, assaults the son of a prominent man, pays off the debts of a champion of the gods, and then kidnaps a girl on her wedding night. That tale will be told from Tajar to Portia."
Alice frowned. "When you put it like that."
"You seem resourceful. I’m sure that you can find a way out of your difficulties. Tell me where the witches are so that I can help Konrad."
"Twenty gold," Alice said, holding out her hand.
Rolo’s eyes narrowed, he liked to think himself a good reader of people, and for the most part he was, but he wouldn’t have imagined for a second that this girl would only be interested in money. At least it made things more simple.
"Twenty gold pieces," Alice repeated. "Give me that and I’ll tell you where you can find the witches."
"I don’t have any gold left, but I have something else. This is worth much more than twenty gold." Rolo pulled off one of his linium rings and held it up. Where it caught the light of the moon, it seemed to pull in some of the glow.
"Linium," Alice breathed.
"How do you know what Linium is?"
"I read it in a book, where else? You got yourself a deal. You can find a witch called Ethel in Wolledale; it’s three days north-east of here. You’ll go through Talen Vale and then the settlements at the end of the valleys. Then you’re past the marsh, and the town is over the dales. You can’t miss it; they like wool."
Rolo held out the ring, and Alice snatched it up, then she spun on her heel and marched down the cobbled road to the town without a backward glance.
Rolo breathed a deep sigh. He had never had a little sister, but he imagined that was a good indication of how the experience would feel.
The noise of the tavern behind him was tempting, but he couldn’t let this small corner of the world make him forget about his larger problems. He was sure that the Father's minions were out there somewhere, and they were on Konrad’s trail.