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As Mista steadily ascended the narrow road into the Old City, the tall towers closed over the streets so that riding through them was like riding through a tu
He considered going to see if the Sign of the Dreaming Dragon still stood on the very western edge of the Tor. He thought it likely he might find an old friend or two there. But Caledan was not certain he was ready for the memories that came with meeting old friends. Instead he guided Mista toward another i
Just then a shadowy form shambled from the dark maw of an alley, and Caledan's hand slipped to the knife in his boot. The form stepped into the dim circle of illumination below a sputtering torch. Seeing it was an old woman, Caledan relaxed. She was clad in tattered rags wrapped about her shapeless form, and her white hair was filthy and matted against her head. She didn't seem to see Caledan riding toward her, and she stumbled before Mista so that he was forced to rein the mare hard lest the old woman be trampled.
"Good evening, old mother," Caledan said as the haggard woman gazed up at him with dull, rheumy eyes. "Shouldn't you be home on as chill a night as this?"
The old woman shook her head, moving her lips silently, mumbling to herself as if she was trying to remember something. Then her eyes cleared for a moment, and her gaze met Caledan's.
"I have no home, sire," she said finally, her voice cracked and hollow. Caledan reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a gold coin, which he pressed into the woman's gnarled hand.
"Then find one with this, old mother, at least for tonight."
She looked at the coin for a moment as if puzzled by it and then nodded as she turned down the street. Caledan watched her as she shambled away, mumbling to herself. He shook his head as he nudged Mista onward. He didn't remember that the elderly had ever been turned out onto the city's streets before, either. It seemed there was a lot he didn't remember.
He soon found himself before the Wandering Wyvern. To his relief it looked much as it had on the day he left, a blocky, comfortable-looking building with the High Tower of the city lord looming above it. "I was begi
In the small courtyard Caledan called for the stable boy, who appeared moments later, bleary-eyed and with straw in his hair, apparently having been asleep in the barn.
"I'm sorry, milord," the lad said. "We don't usually have travelers after dark."
'Take this," Caledan said, flipping a copper coin to the boy as the lad led Mista toward the stable. "And if you tell her several times over what a lovely horse she is, it's likely she won't even try to bite you."
"Aye, milord!"
The interior of the i
"I'm sorry, milord," the i
"What?" Caledan said, completely taken aback.
"It's in the rules." The i
"Since when are there rules about drinking ale in Iriaebor?" Caledan asked with growing a
"Since that lout Cutter came, that's when," a rough voice growled next to Caledan. He turned to see a burly, red-faced man sitting nearby. The comment seemed to make the i
Cutter. That was the name the guards at the gate had spoken. Curious, Caledan moved over and sat next to the man, whom the other patrons seemed to be purposefully ignoring.
"Just who is this 'Cutter?" Caledan asked, trying to make his tone as sympathetic as possible. "Is Cutter the city lord?"
"Aye," the dockhand said glumly. "Ever since good old Bron disappeared a year or so ago. Wasn't so bad at first, but that didn't last long. Seems old Cutter never runs out o' rules, and all of them boil down to the same thing-there's nothing worth having or doing that's allowed no more. And you learn quick enough all right not to break any of 'em. You do that, and Cutter's guards haul you away, and no one ever sees you again." He paused for a moment, taking a reflexive pull on his mug and frowning when he realized it was only water. By the look of him, he must have swallowed as much ale as he could possibly hold before the sun had set. "You just come into the city?" he asked.
Caledan nodded. "I've been traveling for a long time."
"Well, you shouldn't 'ave come here," the dockhand said, and after that he fell into a gloomy silence. Caledan left him in peace.
The nervous i
The guard sca
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The i
Gradually, the conversation in the common room started up again, though now it was even more subdued than before. The nervous little i
"Friend," Caledan said softly, turning to the nearby dock-hand who was scowling at his mug, "you wouldn't happen to know who that cheerful-looking fellow in the corner is, would you?"
"Him?" the deckhand grunted. "He's one of Cutter's captains, he is. Let me tell you, stranger, you don't want to have no trouble with him. He'd gut you as soon as say good-day to you. You'd do best to keep out of his way, you would."
"Thanks for the advice. Here." Caledan slipped a few coins toward the fellow. "Wait until dawn, then buy yourself a mug or two."
"Say! Gods be with you, lordship," the dockhand said. His bleary eyes glimmered as he pocketed the coins, but Caledan had already moved away toward a shadowed alcove where he could watch the guard without risk of notice.
The guard's black leather jerkin was emblazoned with the traditional symbol of Iriaebor-a silver tower above an azure river. However, Caledan noticed that a crimson moon had been added to the insignia, rising behind the tower. No doubt that was Lord Cutter's touch. Caledan found he cared for it as little as the other changes which had befallen the city.