When they arrived at Griffith, they not only found the gates dosed, they discovered the citizens erecting a barricade in front of them. Barrels, pieces of furniture, and other junk were being hastily thrown down from the walls by the panic-stricken populace.
Roland waved and shouted, and finally someone looked over the edge.
“Who goes there?”
“It’s Roland! Harald, you jackass. If you don’t recognize me, you must recognize Rega! Let us in!”
“Who’s that with you?”
“An elf, name’s Quin. He’s from Equilan and a dwarf, name of Blackbeard, from Thurn … or what’s left of it. Now are you going to let us in or stand here and jaw all day?”
“You and Rega can come in.” The crown of a balding head appeared over the top of an overturned barrel. “But not the other two.”
“Harald, you bastard, once I get in there I’m gonna break—”
“Harald!” Rega’s clear voice rang over her brother’s. “This elf is a weapons dealer! Elven weapons! Magical! And the dwarf has information about the … the …”
“Enemy,” said Paithan quickly.
“Enemy.” Rega swallowed, her throat gone dry.
“Wait here,” said Harald. The head disappeared. Other heads replaced it, staring out at the four standing in the path.
“Where the hell else does he think I’m gonna go?” muttered Roland. He kept glancing back, over his shoulder. “What was that? Over there?” All of them turned fearfully, stared.
“Nothing! Just the wind,” said Paithan, after a moment.
“Don’t do that, Roland!” Rega snapped. “You nearly scared me to death.” Paithan was eyeing the barricade. “That won’t keep them out, you know …”
“Yes, it will!” whispered Rega, twining her fingers with the elf’s. “It has to!”
A head and shoulders appeared, looking at them over the barricade. The head was encased in brown, highly polished, tyro-shell armor, matching armor gleamed on the shoulders.
“You say these people are from the village?” the armored head asked the balding one next to it.
“Yes. Two of them. Not the dwarf and the elf—”
“But the elf is a weapons dealer. Very well. Let them inside. Bring them to headquarters.”
The armored head left. There was a momentary delay, barrels and crates had to come down, carts had to be pushed aside. Finally the wooden gates swung open only far enough to permit the four to squeeze their bodies through. The stocky dwarf, encased in his heavy leather armor, got stuck in the middle and Roland was forced to push him through from behind, while Paithan pulled from the front.
The gate was swiftly shut behind them.
“You’re to go see Sir Lathan,” instructed Harald, jerking a thumb at the inn. Several armored knights could be seen pacing about, testing their weapons, or clustered in groups, talking, keeping themselves aloof from the crowd of worried townspeople.
“Lathan?” said Rega, lifting her eyebrows. “Reginald’s young-ger brother? I don’t believe it!”
“Yeah, I didn’t think we were worth that much to him,” added Roland.
“Reginald who?” asked Paithan. The three moved toward the inn, the dwarf following, staring around him with his dark, shadowed gaze.
“Reginald of Terncia. Our liege lord. Apparently he’s sent a regiment of knights down here under his little brother’s command. I guess they figure on stopping the tytans here, before they reach the capital.”
“It may not be those … those creatures that brought them,” said Rega, shivering in the bright sunlight. “It could be anything. A raid by the SeaKings. You don’t know, so just shut up about it!”
She stopped walking, stared at the inn, the people milling about, frightening themselves and each other. “I’m not going in there. I’m going home to … to … wash my hair.” Rega flung her arms around Paithan’s neck, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him on the lips. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said breathlessly.
He tried to stop her, but she left too quickly, practically running, shoving her way through the milling crowd.
“Perhaps I should go with her—”
Roland put his hand on the elf’s arm. “Just leave her alone. She’s scared, scared as hell. She wants time to get a grip on herself.”
“But I could help her—”
“No, she wouldn’t like that. Rega’s got a lot of pride. When we were kids, and Ma’d beat her till the blood ran, Rega never let anyone see her cry. Besides, I don’t think you’ve got a choice.”
Roland gestured to the knights. Paithan saw that they had ceased their discussions and were staring straight at him. The human was right, if the elf left now, they would think he was up to no good.
He and Roland continued their walk toward the inn, Drugar tramping noisily behind them. The town was in chaos, some hurrying toward the barricade, weapons in their hands, others hurrying away from it, families moving out, abandoning their homes. Suddenly Roland stepped in front of him, halting him with outstretched arm. Paithan was forced to either back up or run the man down.
“See here, Quindiniar, after we talk to this knight and we convince him that you aren’t in league with the enemy, why don’t you just head out for home . .
. alone.”
“I won’t leave without Rega,” said Paithan quietly. Roland squinted up at him, smiled. “Oh? You going to marry her?” The question caught Paithan by surprise. He firmly intended to answer yes but a vision of his older sister rose up before him. “I … I—”
“Look, I’m not trying to protect Rega’s ‘honor.’ We never had any, either of us; couldn’t afford it. Our ma was the town whore. Rega’s done her share of bed hopping, but you’re the first man she’s ever cared about. I won’t let her get hurt. You understand?”
“You love her very much, don’t you?”
Roland shrugged, turned abruptly, and resumed walking. “Our ma ran off when I was fifteen. Rega was twelve. All we had left was each other. We’ve made our own way in this world, never asking help from anybody. So you just clear off and leave us alone. I’ll tell Rega you had to go on ahead to see about your family. She’ll be hurt some, but not as much as if you … well … you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Paithan. Roland’s right. I shoukf leave, leave immediately, go on by myself. This relationship can come to nothing but heartache. I know that, I’ve known it from the beginning. But I never felt about any woman the way I fee! about Rega!
Paithan’s desire ached and burned inside him. When she’d said that about seeing him tonight, when he’d looked into her eyes and seen the promise there, he hadn’t thought he could bear it. He could hold her tonight, sleep with her tonight.
And leave tomorrow?
So I’ll take her with me tomorrow. Take her home, take her to … Calandra. He could picture his sister’s fury, hear her scathing, flesh-stripping remarks. No, it wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t be fair to Rega.
“Hey.” Roland punched him in the side with his elbow. Paithan glanced up, saw that they’d reached the inn. A knight stood guarding the door. His gaze flicked over Roland, fixed earnestly on Paithan, then on Drugar, standing behind them.
“Go on in,” said the knight, throwing open the door. Paithan walked inside, stared. He wouldn’t have recognized the inn. The common room had been transformed into an arsenal. Shields decorated with each knighfs device stood against the walls, each knighfs weapons stacked neatly in front. Additional arms had been piled in the center of the floor, presumably to be distributed to the general populace in time of need. Paithan noted some magical elven weapons among the knights’ retinue, but not many. The room was empty, except for a knight, seated at a table, eating and drinking.
“That’s him,” said Roland, out of the corner of his mouth. Lathan was young, no more than twenty-eight years old. He was handsome, with the black hair and black mustache of the Thillian lords. A jagged battle scar cut into his upper lip, giving him a slight, perpetual sneer.