The Shattered Path

Chapter 11 - The Grove

The lack of recognition and respect bothered Theseus. The Draechai had been proud protectors of the people in ages past. Well, they still were in his lands. The sciences had progressed somewhat in recent centuries. He had noted complex irrigation channels on the way to the city. What other tricks had the common man learned on his own? Perhaps, they no longer needed the Draechai to call down rain for them or make their harvest ripen fuller and well before first frost.

"Can ye kind shepherds spare a cop or two?" A toothless man called out, sitting against the side of a shop, dressed in filthy rags, and no shoes covered his dirty feet.

"The Dark take you to your mother!" he shouted once they had passed.

Theseus didn't turn, but frowned nonetheless. Those who made no attempt to sustain themselves beyond the art of begging were pathetic. Such useless men were the real product of cities. All men worked, such as Nature required. There were no beggars in the forest. Only workers and food.

The Sharaen guided the small group across the city to the docks. Along the street, poor men begged for coins, scraps of food, or even ale. The inns and taverns were busy at the early hour, sailors and ruffians keeping them going day and night. Most of the men in the street either rode carts loaded with goods to and from the docks; or carried large sacks over their shoulders eyeing the carts with envy and the beggars with suspicion. A few children ran by, playing games that involved shouting and running into adults, such as pick pocketing and petty theft; typical children's games among commoners in the city. They would find little of value in his pockets, but his hand drifted into his pocket to clutch the wooden carving he had taken from Lasen's cottage.

"Inside here." Sharaen Ujal pointed to an inn that didn't stand out from any of the other old buildings. "The Shepherd's Wife. Not as bad as it looks."

The two-story building was composed of weather-worn wood, leaning slightly to the left. It looked old enough to have been the first inn built by the first settler of Lankhastaer, not seeming safe at all. Several shutters were missing or hung crooked by a single hinge. A few windows had a frame to suggest there had once been glass panes, but those had most likely been installed without the glass, unless this part of town had once been much cleaner, safer, and wealthier. Hanging on rusty chains from a bowed beam, a sign above the doorway depicted a faded green woman, but the writing beneath her was too worn to be read. A shepherd's crook had been painted next to her in fresh black, contrasting heavily with the other barely visible paint.

The common room of the inn passed for clean but the tables and chairs were all a bit rugged, having been repaired several times. There was a cold, unused hearth. A wide staircase led up and there was a wooden door in the back wall. A sleepy man wearing a brown shirt and pants sat at a table sipping dark soup and propping his head with one arm. He only stared at his spoon as he raised it to his open mouth, paying no heed to the four men entering.

Sharaen Ujal moved through the wooden door on the back wall, drawing a shriek from the hinges. A large pot hung above the red coals of a dying fire, but no cooks were present in the kitchen; only shelves, pots, pans, dishes, barrels, and sacks. The air was thick with the aroma of beef broth.

The elder Draechai moved to the back corner of the kitchen and pulled an iron ring, raising a trapdoor built into the floor. He let the heavy wood fall against the wall before proceeding down wooden stairs.

"Bring a lantern, Brother Hien," ordered the older man before disappearing into the darkness of the cellar.

Hien lifted a lantern from an iron hook on the wall and the wick burst into flame a moment later. Theseus allowed himself to be ushered down the stairs. The room below was crowded with barrels and sacks. The air was cool and musty.