Dragon Society

1 Strangers at the Gate Late one winter night, at an hour when all sensible folk were long abed, a man stood yawning atop the city wall beside the gates of Manfort, leaning against the gate tower and peering every so often into the darkness outside the city. He was wrapped in a thick coat and wore a broad-brimmed black felt hat, but still shivered with the cold, occasionally stamping his feet on the stone battlement. Then a dull, distant creaking drew his attention. The streets inside the gates and the paved square outside were dark, cold, and empty, but somewhere to the south, far down one of the roads leading out of the plaza, he could see a dim flicker of light. Suddenly alert, he stared at it, shuttering his lantern so that his eyes could adjust more completely to the darknessand so he would not be seen so easily. The light drew nearer, and the creaking grew louder, until at last the man on the wall could make out a wagon trundling up the road toward the city. The wagon was large and boxy, drawn by oxenthe sort of wagon used by the caravans that brought goods from all over the Lands of Man. A single lantern dangled from a long iron hook above the driver's seat, providing just enough light to let the tired oxen see where to set their feet. Caravans did not travel by night, of coursebut the man on the wall was not waiting for a caravan. He un-slung the bow on his back and strung it without ever taking his eyes off the approaching vehicle. The wagon drew steadily nearer, the oxen trudging stolidly up the street toward the plaza, through occasional patches of half-melted slush that had fallen from the roofs on either side; the wheels slipped sideways on the wet cobblestones now and then, but the wagon moved steadily forward. The two men on the driver's bench sat side by side, huddled against the cold. One, the driver, was a stocky, crop-haired man of indeterminate age clad entirely in black leather; he stared into the darkness ahead, as calm and stolid as the oxen pulling the vehicle. Beside him, alternately drowsing and starting into intense alertness, slumped a tall young man wrapped in a black woolen cloak piped with white; a scar marred this man's right cheek. He came alert as the wagon neared the gates and scanned the towers carefully. The man on the wall beside the tower ducked behind the parapet, out of sight, and drew an arrow from the quiver on his back. "We should have stopped at an inn," the driver said as the wagon bumped into the plaza. "Dawn can't be more than two hours away. You're exhausted, the oxen are exhausted, I'm tired myself, and we still have to get to the Upper City and get everyone inside." The young man shook his head sharply. "No," he replied. "I might still have enemies here. If we had arrived by daylight the news of our return would be everywhere in minutes, and they could have had assassins in the crowds on the street before we could get inside the gates, let alone reach the Old Palace." "They could have assassins on the wall or the rooftops right now, Ari, and we'd never know it in the dark." "Only if they knew we were coming," the other said, but he threw a quick glance at the stone parapet, which was little more than a black shape against the starry night sky. "Lord Toribor is a sorcerer, isn't he?" The young man snorted. "Lord Belly? Not much of one. He left the sorcery to Enziet and Drisheen." "You swore to kill Lord Nail, as well as Belly, and surely he knows some sorcery." "True. I suppose he might know enough to know we were coming." "Then wWatt-Evans, Lawrence is the author of 'Dragon Society' with ISBN 9780765340542 and ISBN 0765340542.