“I am Baru, called the Serpentslayer, of Ordwinson’s family of the Iron Hills Clan. I am Hadati.” He spoke in the Hadati patois as he loosened his long bedroll and removed his tartan and swords.
The commander nodded. He answered in a language similar enough to Baru’s that the others could understand. The differences between the two languages seemed mainly to be pronunciation and otherwise trivial. “It has been many years since one of our Hadati kin has come over the mountains, Baru Serpentslayer, nearly a generation. This explains much. But men of the Kingdom usually come here to cause mischief and of late we’ve had more than our share of such men. I think you other than renegades, but this is a matter for the Protector’s wisdom.” He rose. “We shall rest here tonight, then tomorrow we shall depart. Food will be brought. There is a bucket for night soil in the corner. Do not leave this hut. Should you attempt it, you will be bound, should you resist, killed.”
As he reached the door, Arutha asked, “Where are you taking us?”
The man looked back. “Armengar.”
At first light they rode out, heading downward out of the highlands into a heavy forest, Blutark loping along easily beside Baru’s horse. Their captors again instructed them not to speak, but their weapons had been returned. To Arutha it seemed their captors assumed they would act as comrades on the road should trouble start. As the only likely encounters would be with Murmandamus’s servants, Arutha thought it a safe assumption. It was clear the forest had been logged in places, and the path seemed one used regularly. Coming out of a stand of woods, they passed a meadow where a small herd of cattle grazed, with three men standing watch. One was the Beasthunter, who had left the village the night before. The others were herdsmen, but each was armed with a spear, sword, and shield.
Twice more that day, they passed herds, one of cattle, one of sheep. All were tended by warriors, several of whom were women. They came at sundown to another village and were given a place to stay, again with instructions not to leave the building.
The morning of the next day, the fourth of their captivity, they entered a shallow canyon, following a river out of the mountains. They paralleled its course until past noon, then came to a long rise. The road circled around a large hill rather than follow the river, which cut its way through the rock, so their view of all below them was blocked for nearly an hour. When they cleared the hill, Arutha and his friends all exchanged glances in silent wonder.
The leader of the party, who they had learned was called Dwyne, turned and said, “Armengar.”
The city could not be seen in detail, but what could be seen was staggering. The outer wall was a full fifty or sixty feet high. Bartizans atop the wall were placed every fifty feet or so, allowing overlapping fields of fire for archers placed in them. As they closed upon the wall, more details emerged. The barbican was immense, fully a hundred feet across. The gates seemed more like movable sections of the wall than gates. The river they had followed out of the mountains became a moat that flowed along the wall, not giving more than a foot of ground between its bank and the base of the wall.
As they approached the city, the gates opened with surprising swiftness given their ponderous appearance, and a company of riders appeared from within. They rode at good pace toward Arutha’s escorts. As the two companies passed, the riders of each raised right hands in salute. Arutha saw they were attired in identical fashion. Men and women both wore leather coifs over their heads. Their armour was leather or chain, with no plate in view. Each wore a sword and carried a shield, and spears and bows appeared in equal proportion. There were no tabards or devices upon shields. Soon they were past, and Arutha’s attention returned to the city. They were crossing a bridge, which appeared to be permanent, over the moat.
As they entered the city gate, Arutha caught a glimpse of a banner flying from an outer corner of the barbican. He could discern only its colours, gold and black, not its markings, but something about that banner caused him to feel an instant’s disquiet. Then the outer gates were closing. They seemed to swing shut of their own accord, and Martin said, “There must be some mechanism that moves them from within the walls.” Arutha only watched silently. “You could have a full hundred, hundred fifty horsemen sally forth without opening the inner gates,” said Martin as he regarded the size of the killing ground in the barbican. Arutha nodded. It was the largest he had ever seen. The walls seemed an impossible thirty feet thick. Then the inner gates swung open and they entered Armengar.