“What the fuck were those things?” Felix asked as he climbed back onto his horse. It had continued running with the group after he fell. He swore under his breath.
“Diredogs. They’ve occupied those mountains for recorded history. I’ve never seen them cross the river before,” Jacob answered as he pointed out the formation to the other guards. “We’re pretty far south now. They should be gone, but it would be wise for us to keep moving.”
“What was that horn blast before they started on us?”
“That part concerns me more.” Jacob looked at his own horn, a handmade tool. “Something is up there.”
There were too many questions, and Felix could see from the faces of the others that they had no answers.
They rode in silence for the next several hours, stopping briefly to rest the horses and stretch. Dusk was setting in. As the party crested a tree-lined hill, a village came into view, substantially larger than the meager fishing village from that morning.
Tall, wood-trunk columns supported two-story buildings arranged in rows. Slate roofs topped the structures, many with chimneys. The buildings were fronted by balconies and signs.
The front of the small town was secured by a massive wall of heavy timber, topped with archers, lined with spikes, and illuminated by hanging lanterns. The wall, though less fortified away from the town, continued south and northeast toward the horizon. Opposite the wall were endless acres of rolling crops.
Moira’s party approached the gate, the opening of which could easily receive a herd of elephants. Felix marveled at the construction. A massive center post served as the hinge, upon which the entire gate rotated. It seemed to move effortlessly, a sound like rolling stone resonating from its base.
The archers watched the party as they approached, stopping twenty paces from the gate. Moira and Jacob removed their head coverings.
“Right, and who’s that one?” A woman’s voice sounded out, carrying a slight British accent.
Jacob sighed heavily, tilting his head to look up at the center archer.
“Do we have to do this every time?”
“Rules are rules. Come on, let’s hear it.”
“But I’ve forgotten my coconuts.”
“Improvise.”
The archers ducked behind the ramparts.
Jacob lowered his head and shook it, a smile forming on his face. He turned to look at Felix before sitting up tall on his horse, his right arm extended regally into the air.
“Hello!” Jacob shouted in a British accent.
No answer.
“Hello!” Jacob tried again.
The archers popped up again.
“Hello. Who is it?” the female archer called out in an awful attempt at a French accent.
“It is King Arthur. And these are my Knights of the Round Table. Whose castle is this?”
“This is the castle of my master, Guy de Loimbard,” the woman answered.
“Go and tell your master that we have been charged by God with a sacred quest. If he will give us food and shelter for the night, he can join us in our quest for the Holy Grail.”
“Well, I’ll ask him, but I don’t think he’ll be very keen. He’s already got one, you see.”
“What?!” Jacob tried to sound incredulous.
Felix couldn’t help himself.
“He says they’ve already got one,” he said, mimicking a horrendous British accent.
Jacob chuckled, and the woman atop the ramparts failed to stifle a laugh.
“Are you sure he’s got one?” Jacob continued the charade.
“Oh, yes. It’s verrrry niiice.”
“Oh, uh. Can we come up and have a look?”
“Of course not. You are English types.”
“Well, what are you, then?”
“I’m French. Why do you think I have this outraaaaaagous accent, you silly king?” the woman jested.
“What are you doing in England?” Felix yelled up.
“Mind your own business,” the woman chided.
“If you will not show us the Grail, we shall take your castle by force,” Jacob threatened.
“You don’t frighten us, English pig-dogs! Go and boil your bottoms, sons of a silly person! I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King. You and all your silly English k-n-i-g-h-i-t-s!”
The woman finished her acting tirade by blowing a raspberry. Together, the archers slapped the tops of their heads and howled with laughter.
Jacob just sat there, not mad, simply waiting.
“Okay, we’re even. Get your asses inside.”
Moira glared at Jacob with an expression of amused annoyance, lifting the hood of her robes back over her head. Jacob donned his helmet, and they rode through the gates.
“Well, that was, umm, unexpected,” Felix commented.
“We’ll stay here for the night. The tavern has food and drink. A suggestion: don’t make bets with the town guard.”
Felix chuckled.
“Say no more.”
Once inside, the group veered left to the gate stables and dismounted. The stablemaster and a stablehand came out to take their mounts.
Felix gaped at the scene.
It was like stepping into an actual Renaissance town. Cobblestone streets stretched between the buildings, and elderly ladies slapped rugs with sticks. A man in a spun tunic walked past with a pig on a leash. Carts were lined up in the courtyard by the gate, trading goods. Gentle music echoed through the streets, like a small harp or lute.
People seemed happy.
His head swam.
Where am I? When am I? he thought.
He was exhausted.
Jacob relieved his guards, handing each of them a small pouch.
“Apologies for the danger today, gentlemen, but we are fortunate that you all were with us. I hope that you may accompany us in the future if needed.”
They each peered inside their gifted sachets, pleased with what they found there. In unison, they snapped to attention, slamming their right fists against their chests.
Jacob returned the salute, then shook each of their hands in turn. They turned to leave.
“Don’t drink it all tonight!” Jacob called after them.
One of the dismissed guards turned, blew a raspberry, and slapped his head, playfully mocking the commander.
“They seem to like you,” Felix said to Jacob.
“They wouldn’t have if we’d gotten one of them hurt or killed. That was too close. Besides, diplomacy.”
Felix found himself admiring the commander. He served with rigor but humility—a rare breed.
“I’ll be at the guild. Find me in the morning?” Moira stated, dismissing herself.
She walked away without waiting for acknowledgment.
“She’s not a talker,” Felix joked.
“No, she’s not. But let’s mind the comments, especially the closer we get to Delta. You’ll be with me for the night. Let’s go find some chow.”
They crossed the courtyard to a large tavern. The sign out front displayed a fat goat holding a tankard of beer in one hand and a chicken in the other, with the word Gillet’s beneath it.
Felix and Jacob pushed through the door.
The inside smelled of food, alcohol, and the smoke of some tobacco-like herb. Gentle fiddle music played in the background over the lull of dozens of conversations.
They approached the bar.
The barkeep’s face lit up when he saw Jacob. His broad mustache angled upward in what Felix thought was a smile, even though he couldn’t see the man’s mouth.
“Ooooyyy… Looks like we have a royal bootlick in our midst,” the barkeep jested, extending a hand, which Jacob took amicably.
“Good to see you again, Joph.”
“Same. Will you folks be wanting a room?” Joph winked at Jacob.
Jacob laughed at the implication.
“Two beds, if you please.”
Artavus Quill 