“Why are you helping?” he asked. “I mean, thank you for saving me, but why?’’
Caleb nodded toward Talon, who had taken up a position in the back of the wagon next to the wounded man. “My young friend there has a streak of decency in him, I fear. He objects to murder, it seems.’’
“Well, then thanks to the gods you both came along.’’
“Let’s get on to Latagore,” said Caleb. “You ride up front with me.’’
“I’m Dustin Webanks, merchant from Olasko. I was traveling to Latagore with my partner to purchase lumber.’’
“And those two you hired sought to rob you of your gold.’’
“Foolishly, yes. We carry no gold. We have letters of credit from the Royal Bursar in Opardum to make purchase on account.’’
“So, you represent the Duke, then?’’
Climbing gingerly up to the wagon, he said, “Yes. Duke Kaspar is building a new hunting lodge, and he likes some wood carvings he’s seen somewhere or another. Must have a particular wood for them, a wood that appears to be harvested only from the forests up here in Latagore. Hence, the journey.’’
Caleb shrugged, as if it was of no matter to him. “Your friend will send back the city guard for you, I expect.’’
“Most likely,” said Dustin.
“Then they can escort us to the city, friend merchant.”
They all fell silent, each considering the events of the last few minutes. Talon looked at the prisoner, who appeared to be lost in some dark reflection on his plan going bad, and wondered what had possessed the man to attempt to rob the merchant. Then he decided it might better serve him to discover what had caused him to act in such a rash fashion to aid a stranger.
LATAGORE
Talon gawked.
He had remained silent as they had approached the city, reaching one of the western gates an hour before nightfall. He had been astonished at the size of Latagore as they had drawn near, but as they reached the outer boundaries of the city, he was dumbfounded.
Nothing in his experience had prepared him for the sight of so many people living so close to one another. The bustle and noise threatened to overwhelm him at first, then he began to drink in the sights and sounds.
Peddlers hovered near the gates of the city, hawking a variety of wares to any within the sound of their voices—trinkets, good-luck tokens, items whose natures were unknown to Talon. Many who approached were ragged beggars, offering blessings to those who would aid them and curses to those who ignored them.
Caleb glanced over at the speechless lad and said, “Better close your mouth before a bird builds a nest in it.’’
“So many people,” Talon gasped.
Dustin Webanks looked over his shoulder at the boy. “Never been to a city before?’’
“No, sir.’’
The prisoner, who’d been content to ride along in sullen silence, except for an occasional grunt of pain when the wagon bounced especially hard, said, “This is nothing, boy. If you ever get down to Opardum or Kalesh’kaar, then you’d be seeing something. Latagore here is hardly big enough to rightly be called a city. More like an oversize town.’’
Caleb grunted. “Big enough city to have a guard and plenty of rope.” To Talon he said, “This gate’s the one you want when coming into the city. Most of the locals use it, because the other gates are used by travelers and caravans, so getting through takes time. That’s why it’s called the Locals’ Gate.’’
“How many gates are there?” asked Talon, thinking of the simple stockade around his village with its single gate.
“I believe this city has twenty . . . four? Yes, twenty-four gates.’’
They pulled into a queue of people waiting to be admitted to the city before night fell and the gates were closed. Only two wagons and a band of men on horseback were in front of them, so they quickly reached the portal.
“Ho, Roderick!” shouted Caleb as he reined in.
“Caleb!” cried a soldier in the deep forest green uniform of the city. “You here to sell or buy?’’
“Buying,” said Caleb. “We’re empty coming in.’’
The soldier motioned him through.
Caleb said, “Can we drop off a bandit?’’
A quick discussion with the soldier resulted in their prisoner being taken away. Dustin Webanks left them as well, to press charges with the magistrate, promising them a reward should they seek him out the next day at the Sign of the Running Footman.
Caleb drove the wagon through the city, heading to an inn where those from Kendrick’s stayed when they were in the city. As darkness fell, they reached a cheery-looking building with a large stabling yard on the right. The sign hung outside it showed a man throwing balls into the air while blindfolded. A young man of roughly the same age as Talon appeared at the sound of the wagon’s arrival.
“Ho, Caleb!” he shouted, upon seeing who was driving the wagon.