EIGHTH INSTALLMENT FOR QUEST FOR THE RINGS
8. THROUGH THE CITY "What do we owe you for the stay, Master Norry?" Gandalf inquired as Rorimac made his way down the rail-less flight of stairs to the common room. Legolas and Tarrodwen were already down there with all their gear, waiting patiently as Gandalf settled their bill with the innkeeper.
"Owe? Umm, well, seeing as how you didn't end up staying even one full night, I'll cut your price in, umm, half. Does that sound agreeable?" the innkeeper was once more vigorously mopping at his streaming brow as he stuttered to Gandalf.
Rorimac leaned in close to me and whispered confidentially, "Cut the price in HALF? I've never come across an innkeeper who would willingly part with half his night's earnings, no matter what the circumstances. It's all rather strange, if you ask me." I nodded in agreement.
"Very agreeable, Master Norry," Gandalf answered. "You've been a most attentive host. I thank you for your hospitality. Now," after handing the innkeeper a jingling bag of coins, which he quickly pocketed, Gandalf turned back to us and rubbed his hands together. "We had better be heading out." Thankful to get out of the sight of the nervous, and suspicious Master Norry, we filed out the door and into the cool night air.
A strong, icily cold blast of wind swept in from the sea, billowing our cloaks and throwing my hair about my face. Pulling my forest green, wool coat around me tightly, I headed off down the street with the Legolas and Rorimac, Gandalf in the lead.
The Imperial City of Geldrion was not nearly as impressive from the street- side as it was from the docks. Because of the rocky soil on the island, little could be grown in great quantities, which became evident with the sight of the bedraggled street residents of the city. The main streets looked newly paved and well kept, and there were several street sweepers out at dusk, cleaning up the messes of the day's traffic. Women carrying small children walked quickly to their homes as dusk settled in, heads bowed, eyes never leaving the ground. An atmosphere of wariness permeated the streets; it was as if the entire city were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Gandalf led the fellowship down one of the main streets and past what must have been a guardhouse. Sitting outside of a set of cracked driftwood doors were a pair of armored men, both in the same gray, ill-fitting tunics as the guardsmen at the gates but with a layer of tarnished chain mail over the top. Their helmets were comical, dented metal with a short, straggly feather attached to the top. The men would have looked perhaps more at home as hired goons for a merchant's wares. Above them, a faded, wooden sign swung dejectedly in the wind. The words were unintelligible, but next to the writing an image of an immensely muscled man wearing a polished breastplate and helm was still clearly visible. He was unsheathing a heavy- looking broadsword and his face was set in valiant determination. It contrasted sharply with the picture of the two disheveled guards sitting below it.
"They must have been great once," Rorimac commented somewhat sadly as they passed the pair. "The City Guards Gild, I mean." The guards eyed the fellowship suspiciously as they walked by, trying to decide if it was worth the effort to stop and question them. Apparently it wasn't, because neither one moved from his seat at the door. "It's a shame to see fighting men just get lazy like that. Shows a corruption of morals and discipline," Rorimac shook his head in disgust. Being a fighter himself, he took great pride in the upkeep of his appearance and training, disdaining any who would shirk duties or in any way undermine what it meant to be a true swordsman.
"I think more than just morals have been corrupted here," Legolas added ominously. Nodding, Gandalf quickened the pace and abruptly changed direction, moving down a cramped alley. I nearly gagged as I stepped in; the smell coming from the piles of trash was stifling, making the bile rise up in my throat.
"Why the back alley, Gandalf?" I asked, trying to keep whatever was rebelling in my stomach down. "We're going to the Palace, there have to be main streets that lead there."
"For safety reasons, Tarrodwen. There is evil lurking in this city, we can all feel it. It comes from everything, even the people. They are cold, guarded, and distrustful of even each other. This is not the Geldrion I remember, I know something evil has taken over, and I'm not going to let it take us for lack of prudence." That being said, I looked uncertainly over my shoulder. A man wrapped up in a drab cloak hurried past the alley entrance, not even glancing in our direction.
We trudged from back alley to back alley, each one viler than the last. After finally stepping over the last dead and mangled cat, we emerged onto a wide, white paved street. Rising up grandly before us was the Imperial Palace of Geldrion. Glimmering in the last traces of the day's sunlight, its stark spires sparkled like the tips of menacing needles, ready to stab into the heavens with their poison. Great golden gates barred the entrance to the palace, looming over us as we approached with our invitation. The guardsman on duty straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin when he saw us coming, giving us an abrupt command as we slowed in front of him. "Halt, who dares to enter his majesty Emperor Melnion's Imperial Palace?" he asked imperiously, speaking to somewhere above our heads.
"We have an imperial invite," Gandalf responded cordially, handing the sneering guard the letter from the emperor's secretary. Taking a moment to read the letter, the guard finally gave the group one last hard look before spinning on his heel and stomping away. As his back receded into the guardhouse on the left side of the gate, his voice could be heard giving curt commands presumably to the guardsmen working the gates. Swinging silently inward on well-greased hinges, the golden gates parted to allow the fellowship to proceed.
"I have a REALLY bad feeling about this, Gandalf," I whispered fervently as we cautiously stepped inside.
"Me too, but this is where it's coming from," he responded grimly, leaning in so his words reached only our ears. "The evil is concentrated here. It, is here."
"A Ring?" Rorimac whispered. It was more of a statement than a question. "Then we've come to the right place."
We were being ushered up the great marble steps at the entrance to the palace. The enormous arch seemed to be an immense, gaping maw ready to devour our diminutive fellowship in a single gulp. A shiver passed through me as we stepped beneath it and entered the palace. Greeting us was a small, stick-thin man in red livery with the Imperial house sigil embroidered in gold on the lapel of his coat. He had a long, arching nose that reminded me of a hawk, and cold black eyes that seemed to see everything.
"Ah, you must be the esteemed Gandalf," the small man began in his nasal voice, giving Gandalf a small bow. "And an elf, what a great honor Master.?"
"Legolas. Legolas Greenleaf," he replied warily. He could smell the deceitfulness and guile in this man. Could read it in his posture, his expression, and the tone of his voice. Legolas decided right then that he did not like this man at all.
"Welcome to our Isle, Master Greenleaf," once more, that stiff, almost mocking bow. "I'm afraid I know not the rest of your group," he said looking at Rorimac and I sideways.
"Allow me to introduce Rorimac Ironhand and Tarrodwen Silvereyes. Both of the land of Krellon," Gandalf waved a hand grandly.
"Ah, a pleasure to meet you both," he said greasily. "And please, forgive me for not making my own introduction. I am Filiby Henchman, secretary to his Imperial Highness, the Emperor Melnion." Another bow. "And now, I believe there are rooms waiting for you, with hot baths already drawn," he looked us up and down and a slight twitch of his upper lip belied the disdain in which he viewed us. "You will be expected to dine with his Highness tonight promptly at eight-o'clock. I will personally return to your rooms to guide you to the Great Hall," with that, Filiby turned his back to us and started down a side corridor without looking back, obviously expecting to be followed.
With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Rorimac started after Master Filiby, his lengthy strides eating up the distance between them in no time. The rest of us shared a guarded glance before hurrying to catch up. "We'll have to keep our eyes and ears open here," Legolas warned. "It is watching us."
8. THROUGH THE CITY "What do we owe you for the stay, Master Norry?" Gandalf inquired as Rorimac made his way down the rail-less flight of stairs to the common room. Legolas and Tarrodwen were already down there with all their gear, waiting patiently as Gandalf settled their bill with the innkeeper.
"Owe? Umm, well, seeing as how you didn't end up staying even one full night, I'll cut your price in, umm, half. Does that sound agreeable?" the innkeeper was once more vigorously mopping at his streaming brow as he stuttered to Gandalf.
Rorimac leaned in close to me and whispered confidentially, "Cut the price in HALF? I've never come across an innkeeper who would willingly part with half his night's earnings, no matter what the circumstances. It's all rather strange, if you ask me." I nodded in agreement.
"Very agreeable, Master Norry," Gandalf answered. "You've been a most attentive host. I thank you for your hospitality. Now," after handing the innkeeper a jingling bag of coins, which he quickly pocketed, Gandalf turned back to us and rubbed his hands together. "We had better be heading out." Thankful to get out of the sight of the nervous, and suspicious Master Norry, we filed out the door and into the cool night air.
A strong, icily cold blast of wind swept in from the sea, billowing our cloaks and throwing my hair about my face. Pulling my forest green, wool coat around me tightly, I headed off down the street with the Legolas and Rorimac, Gandalf in the lead.
The Imperial City of Geldrion was not nearly as impressive from the street- side as it was from the docks. Because of the rocky soil on the island, little could be grown in great quantities, which became evident with the sight of the bedraggled street residents of the city. The main streets looked newly paved and well kept, and there were several street sweepers out at dusk, cleaning up the messes of the day's traffic. Women carrying small children walked quickly to their homes as dusk settled in, heads bowed, eyes never leaving the ground. An atmosphere of wariness permeated the streets; it was as if the entire city were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Gandalf led the fellowship down one of the main streets and past what must have been a guardhouse. Sitting outside of a set of cracked driftwood doors were a pair of armored men, both in the same gray, ill-fitting tunics as the guardsmen at the gates but with a layer of tarnished chain mail over the top. Their helmets were comical, dented metal with a short, straggly feather attached to the top. The men would have looked perhaps more at home as hired goons for a merchant's wares. Above them, a faded, wooden sign swung dejectedly in the wind. The words were unintelligible, but next to the writing an image of an immensely muscled man wearing a polished breastplate and helm was still clearly visible. He was unsheathing a heavy- looking broadsword and his face was set in valiant determination. It contrasted sharply with the picture of the two disheveled guards sitting below it.
"They must have been great once," Rorimac commented somewhat sadly as they passed the pair. "The City Guards Gild, I mean." The guards eyed the fellowship suspiciously as they walked by, trying to decide if it was worth the effort to stop and question them. Apparently it wasn't, because neither one moved from his seat at the door. "It's a shame to see fighting men just get lazy like that. Shows a corruption of morals and discipline," Rorimac shook his head in disgust. Being a fighter himself, he took great pride in the upkeep of his appearance and training, disdaining any who would shirk duties or in any way undermine what it meant to be a true swordsman.
"I think more than just morals have been corrupted here," Legolas added ominously. Nodding, Gandalf quickened the pace and abruptly changed direction, moving down a cramped alley. I nearly gagged as I stepped in; the smell coming from the piles of trash was stifling, making the bile rise up in my throat.
"Why the back alley, Gandalf?" I asked, trying to keep whatever was rebelling in my stomach down. "We're going to the Palace, there have to be main streets that lead there."
"For safety reasons, Tarrodwen. There is evil lurking in this city, we can all feel it. It comes from everything, even the people. They are cold, guarded, and distrustful of even each other. This is not the Geldrion I remember, I know something evil has taken over, and I'm not going to let it take us for lack of prudence." That being said, I looked uncertainly over my shoulder. A man wrapped up in a drab cloak hurried past the alley entrance, not even glancing in our direction.
We trudged from back alley to back alley, each one viler than the last. After finally stepping over the last dead and mangled cat, we emerged onto a wide, white paved street. Rising up grandly before us was the Imperial Palace of Geldrion. Glimmering in the last traces of the day's sunlight, its stark spires sparkled like the tips of menacing needles, ready to stab into the heavens with their poison. Great golden gates barred the entrance to the palace, looming over us as we approached with our invitation. The guardsman on duty straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin when he saw us coming, giving us an abrupt command as we slowed in front of him. "Halt, who dares to enter his majesty Emperor Melnion's Imperial Palace?" he asked imperiously, speaking to somewhere above our heads.
"We have an imperial invite," Gandalf responded cordially, handing the sneering guard the letter from the emperor's secretary. Taking a moment to read the letter, the guard finally gave the group one last hard look before spinning on his heel and stomping away. As his back receded into the guardhouse on the left side of the gate, his voice could be heard giving curt commands presumably to the guardsmen working the gates. Swinging silently inward on well-greased hinges, the golden gates parted to allow the fellowship to proceed.
"I have a REALLY bad feeling about this, Gandalf," I whispered fervently as we cautiously stepped inside.
"Me too, but this is where it's coming from," he responded grimly, leaning in so his words reached only our ears. "The evil is concentrated here. It, is here."
"A Ring?" Rorimac whispered. It was more of a statement than a question. "Then we've come to the right place."
We were being ushered up the great marble steps at the entrance to the palace. The enormous arch seemed to be an immense, gaping maw ready to devour our diminutive fellowship in a single gulp. A shiver passed through me as we stepped beneath it and entered the palace. Greeting us was a small, stick-thin man in red livery with the Imperial house sigil embroidered in gold on the lapel of his coat. He had a long, arching nose that reminded me of a hawk, and cold black eyes that seemed to see everything.
"Ah, you must be the esteemed Gandalf," the small man began in his nasal voice, giving Gandalf a small bow. "And an elf, what a great honor Master.?"
"Legolas. Legolas Greenleaf," he replied warily. He could smell the deceitfulness and guile in this man. Could read it in his posture, his expression, and the tone of his voice. Legolas decided right then that he did not like this man at all.
"Welcome to our Isle, Master Greenleaf," once more, that stiff, almost mocking bow. "I'm afraid I know not the rest of your group," he said looking at Rorimac and I sideways.
"Allow me to introduce Rorimac Ironhand and Tarrodwen Silvereyes. Both of the land of Krellon," Gandalf waved a hand grandly.
"Ah, a pleasure to meet you both," he said greasily. "And please, forgive me for not making my own introduction. I am Filiby Henchman, secretary to his Imperial Highness, the Emperor Melnion." Another bow. "And now, I believe there are rooms waiting for you, with hot baths already drawn," he looked us up and down and a slight twitch of his upper lip belied the disdain in which he viewed us. "You will be expected to dine with his Highness tonight promptly at eight-o'clock. I will personally return to your rooms to guide you to the Great Hall," with that, Filiby turned his back to us and started down a side corridor without looking back, obviously expecting to be followed.
With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Rorimac started after Master Filiby, his lengthy strides eating up the distance between them in no time. The rest of us shared a guarded glance before hurrying to catch up. "We'll have to keep our eyes and ears open here," Legolas warned. "It is watching us."