Summary:
Unable to resist the wanderlust any longer, Dunstan
has robbed his father’s strongbox and set forth
on his quest of adventure and glory. In his naivete,
Dunstan has cast his lot in with a band of scurrilous
Cutthroats, believing them to be adventurers sharing
his noble pursuits.

CHAPTER THREE
Passing through the low portal, Dunstan blinked
his eyes to accustom them to the dimness. Despite the
high sun outside, once the heavy door shut, the
common room of the inn was murky, lit by a few
small diamond-paned windows and a smokey fire at
the far end of the hall. Hewn beams of oak crossed
crazily overhead, darkened by age and soot. A
wizened man appeared from behind the board to the
right. Franklin Theobald introduced him to Dunstan
as their host, Innkeeper Krell, and then drew the
proprietor aside in whispered conversation. Dunstan
and the others proceeded to a large table nearby, but
Dunstan noted that the innkeeper kept casting
furtive glances their way as Theobald continued to
speak earnestly to that worthy in low tones. Finally, a
dry cackling on the part of Krell signaled the end of
the conversation, and Master Theobald returned to
their company.

“Well, fair sir,” Theobald addressed Dunstan,
“I’ve related the tale of our meeting to goodman
Krell. He is most happy to welcome another —
chivalrous warrior — to fight against the wicked (you
can pay him, can’t you?); you undoubtedly heard him
laughing with merriment when I explained how your
aid would make the vile Baron doubly vexed.”

Before there was time to reply a buxom wench
began plopping tankards of foaming ale before them,
and while they thirstily quaffed the brew, trenchers
were added bearing great collops of roasted meat.
Stoups were set aside as the hungry men fell to. It was
some time until satisfied grunts and belches around
the trestle announced repast’s end. Dunstan’s head
was swimming with fatigue and the effects of the
strong drink, while the warmth of the food inside his
stomach made him most comfortably drowsy.

“Here! Meggin, show young Master Dunstan to a
bed. Can’t you see your new guest is swooning from
the exertions he has undergone?” The serving maid
clasped him with a well-rounded arm leading him up
the dark stairs to the rooms above. Although she
smelled somewhat of smoke, spilled ale, and sweat,
Dunstan found her soft breast rubbing his side most
enticing. Drowsiness fled, and he began to send his
hand from her shoulder to the low bodice of her
blouse. Meggin giggled, but the firmness with which
she removed his hand left no doubt that he would not
have an easy time of it.

“Sorry, young sir, but old Theo said you were to be
put abed, and he ain’t meaning for me to be
accompanying you. Just lay down there like a good
fellow, and go to sleep. I’m regretting this as much as
you — you’re a handsome piece, you are, sir — and
mayhap a bit later we can have a go at something
else.”

All the while she was talking, Dunstan had been
steered to a narrow pallet. Meggin relieved him of his
pack, placing it at the foot of the bed, and saw him
settled down. In a moment she returned with a flagon
of ale for assurance of restful slumber, and Dunstan
gladly downed it. Laying back upon the straw, the
inequalities of its distribution no longer troubled him
in the least, and soon he was snoring. His last
thoughts, however, were not of women’s charms, but
how he would settle matters with Aloward. Never
could these varlets expect anything from him now, for
their treatment of him during the journey to the inn
had been most demeaning. The whole baseborn lot
would soon learn not to discomfit their betters.
 

When Dunstan awoke it was to the slight sound of
rustling, coming from somewhere towards his feet.
All was pitch dark, and he knew not what to do for a
moment. Finally, seeing no other choice he simply sat
bolt upright and demanded, “Who’s about?!” in as
gruff and assured a manner as he could summon.
Meanwhile he groped frantically for his sword,
remembering with a flash of panic that it was still at
home.

A hand touched the bed: “Theo — Master
Theobald says that it is full dark outside; time you
were up and down for eats.”

“Who the hell are you? creeping about in the dark
. . . What were you doing at the foot of the bed?!”

“Me, sir, I’m Bertram. You know me. I wern’t
doing nuffink but trying to find where the ’ell you
were in this fryin’ black loft.”

Dunstan thought a moment and then demanded,
“Why didn’t you bring a light?”

“Too close to the thatch for candles or for torches,
and that ol’ barstid Krell ain’t got but a couple o’
lanthorns. Rot ’im if ’ell part with enny for such as
me. Now why an’ ’ell don’t yer come down like was
arsked.”

Satisfied that he was perhaps too nervous, Dunstan
felt about until he’d located his dagger and scrip.
Nothing save his metal-studded brigandine and some
extra hose and linen were in the pack, so he left it
wherever it lay. Noise and laughter filtered up from
somewhere below. Off to the right a faint glow
seemed to indicate that the way lay in that direction.

“Well?” queried Bertram, “Yer ready yet?”

“Which way do we go, Bert?” The ex-soldier gave
directions, and they were soon creeping towards the
sound and light. Bert seemed to see very well in the
dark, and Dunstan wondered why he hadn’t located
him with ease. In fact —

“Bert, why didn’t you just call me, instead of
crawling around as you did?”

“What’s the difference? but if yer must arsk
questions it was so as not tet start yer none — Master
Theobald’s orders, it were.”

Hereupon they reached the stairs at the far end of a
narrow corridor, and the ruddy glow from below
made things seem well-lit after the obscurity behind.
Dunstan thumped down to see what was afoot in the
tavern, forgetting the preceding matter entirely. He
was refreshed and hungry and he remembered what
the comely wench had said regarding future sport.

It was evidently fairly early, for most of the patrons
of the Riven Oak were engaged in eating rather than
drinking — not that the latter was being neglected as
far as Dunstan could see. Several flambeau shed their
ruddy light on the room. Both the innkeeper and
Meggin were continually rushing back and forth
bearing food and liquids with which to wash it down
to the crowded tables. Steaming golden fowl of
various sizes and shapes appeared to be the most
popular item, although there was a whole pig turning
on the spit, and platters of other edibles were in
evidence. The sight and the aroma set the errant’s
mouth to watering, and assuming an air of bravado
he shouldered his way through the press towards the
board where the scullions heaped the victuals from a
kitchen off of the tavern room. Meggin passed just
then, and he scooped a pewter ewer of wine from the
tray. The girl laughed merrily at the gesture, but a
grimey ruffian nearby shot him a murderous glance
when the barmaid had to return to fetch him another
for himself. Dunstan deliberately savored the yellow
wine smacking his lips as he drained the container,
set it down at the fellow’s elbow, and swaggered away.
 

Just as he reached the laden bar, Krell appeared at
his side: “Ah, yer Worship, there’s a slight matter to
be settled before ye sup . . .” Dunstan looked puzzled,
so Krell went on, “The meat and ale which you and
Master Theobald’s company broke fast with comes to
one nob, and the bed is 15 coms — the wine just
drunk was on the house as ol’ Theo is standing many
a round tonight — but if ye wants to eat it’ll cost
another five coppers.”

"What!" Dunstan fairly shouted, “Am I to pay for
the company’s breakfast this morning?”

The innkeeper merely bobbed his balding pate in
agreement: “It is the custom that new members of
Master Theobald’s ga-- band stand the lot to their
first meal at the Riven Oak; ye should be glad that it
was morning, for tonight they’ll consume near ten
times that much, wot with drink and all.”

Dunstan paid the two silver coins with ill-concealed
bad grace. Another score to settle with that bunch, he
thought, and turned once more to selecting his dinner
with a new sauce added to his appetite. He had just
decided upon a fat capon with the juices still
runneling down its side where a fork had pierced it,
but as he was reaching for the savory bird his arm was
roughly pulled away, and he was half turned around
by the force. There was the fellow whose wine he had
taken, now evidently well into his cups and aiming
to make trouble.

“Yer the young cock-o-the-walk red Theo brung
wi’ him, ain’t ye?” Without waiting for a reply he
continued: “Being a gemman an’ all yer thinks ’at
doing as yer please, but ’round ’ere airs a different
way, an’ I aims ter show it ter yer.”

Young as he was, Dunstan had dealt with many
such ruffians when serving with the Endstad Watch,
and he had dealt in only one way. As the fellow was
finishing the last of his windy spiel Dunstan drew his
blade and cut at the villin’s head. The horrified
fellow leaped backwards to avoid the blow, so the
blade cleaved the air where he had been a moment
before and went on to upset half a dozen tankards of
ale standing on the sideboard. One arced overhead,
landing in the midst of a nearby table, and showering
all beneath with its sticky contents in the passage.
Several of the men around the trestle jumped up,
upsetting it upon those less spritely. Someone swore
loudly. A platter and fowl flew in the general
direction of Dunstan, but whoever heaved the missile
had aimed badly, for it took an unsuspecting diner
full in the back of the head. This fellow managed to
remove his countenance from the mortress of brawn
he had been blithely supping from, hurled his late
meal towards the direction from whence the platter
had come, and with a roar brandished a wickedlooking
dagger. The challenge was immediately
answered, and in a trice the whole establishment was
a riot of brawling men.

Off to one side of the melee, Dunstan nevertheless
did his part, plying his blade at any likely target. This
soon cleared a space around him, for those who
survived were loath to offer another opportunity, and
those struck didn’t arise again. He noted that a knot
of men were stalking him, however, among them he
could see the red locks of Theobald. Pausing to
snatch up a likely looking sword, Dunstan
immediately began working his way to the door, and
someone shouted to stop him. A hefty kick sent a
table over before his attackers, and one of the
brawlers chose that moment to hurl himself upon the
group. Seeing them momentarily distracted, Dunstan
made the portal and effected his exit without
difficulty. Seeing that the door opened outwards, he
cast about for some means of barring it from the
outside. A chunk of wood caught his eye, and one
swipe of his sword served to splinter it to a convenient
size. Teeth set in a humorless grin, the youth shoved
several pieces of the kindling under the door,
effectively wedging it shut. “None too soon,” he
murmured to himself as the thick planks vibrated to
blows from within. Without glancing back, he set off
down the lane.
 

He had not progressed far however, before he
heard hoofbeats coming from ahead. Stepping
quickly off the track he saw two soldiers carrying
torches round a bend, lighting the way for a small
party of horsemen behind. From their appearance
they were Warders, so Dunstan shouted and made for
them.

“Halt!” commanded the lead Warder. Dunstan
stood stock still not wishing to be thought an enemy.
“State your business, and tell us why you are running
about the countryside with a bloody blade in your
hand!”

Damn! He’d forgotten he was still gripping the
weapon. No matter — “Sir Warder, I’m out seeking
help, and you must have been sent by Heaven as I
recently prayed! Just back there — waving back in
the direction of the inn — I was peacefully supping
when a band of rogues set upon me. Praise God they
were too slow about it, and I managed to draw my
blade and defend myself. By a miracle I managed to
escape the place, wedging the door behind me to
delay my pursuit, but I momentarily expect to see the
red-headed leader and his pack of cutthroats behind
me!”

The chief Warder looked closely at him for a
moment: “What’s your name, lad?”
 

“ . . . Kenelm, sir, Kenelm of — Edgewood. But
what matters that when there’s mayhem afoot?”

.

“We are on the track of a young runaway and thief,
close in description to you, in fact . . .” Here the rider
paused a moment intently considering Dunstan once
again: “But you are right, lad, one thing at a time.
Follow me.”

With that the footmen ran ahead and the Warders
set off at a brisk trot. Dunstan debated only a second
and then followed close behind. As they arrived at the
Riven Oak a body of men were gathering in the yard,
shouting and gesturing, with torches and weapons in
evidence. They were so engrossed in their own
business that the Warders’ arrival went unnoticed.
Dunstan heard Aloward shouting, “. . . and I tell you
he’s loaded down with gold! I felt the money belt
myself, hidden beneath his jerkin.” He got no
further, for at this moment the lawmen came close.

“In the name of the Overking, I place this entire
assemblage under arrest!” A torch was hurled at the
speaker, and men scattered in all directions. Several
of the horsemen gave chase, while the remainder
dismounted and began to beat about the yard and
outbuildings. The chief and the two footmen made
for the inn itself. Dunstan hesitated not a moment,
grabbing the bridle of the nearest of the Warders’
mounts, he leaped into the saddle and kicked it to a
gallop, shouting to drive the other horses away. As he
fled past the startled lawmen, he saw that they had
nabbed Theobald trying to slip out a window, then all
was darkness as the horse thundered up the lane.

Upon reflection, Dunstan felt well satisfied. He
had brought justice to the criminal band, avoided
capture himself — for obviously the Warders had
been close on his trail, and was now mounted instead
of afoot. Too bad, though, thought he. He had missed
both his supper and Meggin.

CHAPTER FOUR
Sometime during the night he had dozed in the
saddle. The horse had evidently left the road to
graze in the fields and continued to wander thus.
Dunstan never noticed that they had left the track, it
being little different than the surrounding land, and
it was only at first light that he was alerted to the fact.
He dismounted to stretch. A quick look around
revealed no sign of human habitation, so he
remounted and urged the tired horse up a large, steep
hill. Rolling partly-wooded country stretched in all
directions, and far ahead the land seemed to rise. The
sun was on his right, so Dunstan decided he wasn’t
lost after all. Somewhere a few leagues ahead,
Dunstan mused, there would be a road parelleling the
base of the course to follow. There were maps of the
kingdom aplenty, and the young man had had many
opportunities t o s t u d y t h e m ; h i s f a t h e r h a d
encouraged a thorough knowledge of the Overking’s
land in order that Dunstan should have a better grasp
of the movement of goods from place to place.

There was more than a geographical problem
facing him, however. The appearance of the Warders
at the Riven Oak had shaken Dunstan more than he
would admit to himself. He had assumed that his
father would allow his absconding with the petty cash
to pass, and that Rodigast would never set the law on
him, but the error of Dunstan’s reasoning had been
brought home quite forcefully. Cursing his father, he
gave up all notions of journeying to Rauxes, for as
soon as he sought service with any lord his
identification would be required, and that would
mean immediate arrest. The question, then, was
where to go — and what to do. Well, thought he, if
the capitol of the kingdom is forbidden to me, there is
no choice but to seek my fortune as far away from the
court of the Overking as practical. How far was
practical? South were forbidding deserts — beyond
them who knew? There were the Monley Isles
eastward, but they were in too close proximity to
Endstad. To the west were the vast stretches of the
Silent Forest, farther still the outpost of Far Pass, and
then only arrid steppes. Where else, then, could he
journey save to the north? The realm of Eddoric IV
reached far in this direction, but the borders were
constantly in turmoil as the people of that region were
fiercely independent, resisting any attempt to push
the Overking’s sovereignty beyond the Arnn River.
Service in one of these marches could be obtained
with ease, and promotion would be rapid for the
opportunities of battle were common.

Having worked the matter out to his satisfaction,
Dunstan gave the flagging mount an hour’s rest and
then headed towards the blue Upplands visible in the
north. He knew that he had turned his back on
everything familiar, for he dared not return until he
at least could bear the pennon and acorn badge of
knighthood. Twilight was draping its long shadows
across the land when horse and man neared the
hamlet of Huddlefoot, and Dunstan purposely
allowed his mount to plod the remaining distance so
as to arrive at dusk.

Huddlefoot rested at the base of the Upplands on a
secondary lane which connected Forgel Road at
Dyrham to the Wild Road just above Edgewood-
Town. Thus it boasted a large inn, stable,
blacksmith, and several other businesses in addition
to the usual sprinkling of yeoman’s cottages.
Avoiding the public house, Dunstan made for the
stableyard. Once there he took care of the horse
himself, and sent a boy to fetch him a pasty and a jug
of beer. Claiming shortage of funds — a not
uncommon plight among travelers through
Huddlefoot or elsewhere — he arranged to sleep in
his horse’s stall at the cost of another copper. After
rubbing and currying the Warder’s former mount, he
ate a satisfying supper while the beast munched oats
and hay. Before burrowing deep into a mound of
straw, a few lead plumbs in the stableboy’s pocket
assured being awakened before sunrise.

* * *

.

“Time ter be risin’, Sor,” the boy accompanied the
words by gently prodding the sleeping form buried in
the rustling straw. This is an odd one, he thought, for
his dress bespoke a person of means, but he claimed
his pockets to be empty. His hands were soft looking,
but the sword he wore and his eyes seemed to indicate
a soldier. Well, he was no mercenary — neither was
he esquire or knight. Perhaps . . .

“What the hell are you bothering me for in the
middle of the night?” the young man groaned.

“Sorry, Sor, but yer arsked ter be got up afore the
sun. It’ll be light in ard a —”

.

Still groggy, and aching all over, Dunstan pulled
himself erect: “I’m up. Here. Take these coms and
fetch me whatever they’ll buy in the way of
vegetables, cheese, bread and bacon. I’ll see to
saddling my steed in the nonce.” Dunstan feared that
the brand of the Overking upon the horse’s rump
would attract undue attention to him. So far it had
gone unnoticed, and he planned to keep it that way.
For the first time he delved into the saddlebags that
had come with the “gift” mount, finding a writ
signed by both his father and the Lord Mayor of
Endstad-Town for the apprehension of one Dunstan
of the House of Derodus which he quickly stuffed
back. The only other item was a well-used and travel
stained cloak, which he immediately appropriated as
the morning was chill. While it didn’t exactly make
up for the jack lost at the Riven Oak, it helped.

Dunstan was cloaked and waiting when Mellerd
the stableboy came back with a sack loaded with
various items of food, and he had another large crock
of small beer besides. Smiling broadly at the amount
his coins had purchased, the youth packed the bags
full, putting the beer in the sack and adding it to the
load. He’d eat on the way, but sparingly, for it was a
long journey and towns had to be shunned. Was that
everything? He got into the saddle and asked: “Was
there any change left?”

“No, Sor,” answered Mellerd, head down and toe
drawing an aimless pattern in the dust.

Swinging the horse close to the lad Dunstan
reached down and took him by the ear: “So, you’re a
little thief and liar, are you . . . perhaps I should
report you to your master.”

“Please don’t do it,” he pleaded, “He’ll whup me
sumpin’ fierce! I — I’ll give back your change, Sor. It
be two plumbs.”

“You’ll have to do better than that, boy.” As
Mellerd looked up helplessly, Dunstan said: “You
churl. I don’t want more money, I want to know how
well you know the country between here and Forgel?”

“Oh, Lord, Sor, I ain’t never been far as that. I
knows the hills right well, as my fambly lives up that
way, an’ me and my brother Taddy hunted ‘em lots
’for Pa ’prentised me to Master Grund.”

These words suited him to a turn. Dunstan smiled
now as he said: “Up you go behind me in the saddle,
and you can show me the way.”

“What? If I were to do that, I’d be breakin’ my
’prentisship, and I’d get beat real bad!”

“Take your choice: get whipped now for stealing
from me and then lying about it, or come with me
and get whipped later . . . No. Wait a moment, boy.
I’m going to tell you something that must be kept
absolutely secret — you can keep a secret, can’t
you?!” When Mellerd nodded assent, Dunstan
reached into the saddlebag containing the writ and
drew it forth. The boy’s eyes widened at the
important-looking document. “This is a Warrant
from the Overking himself, and I am his personal
courier. You see, I am a knight, but I must go in
disguise, as this business is most confidential. Look at
the horse’s rump; the mark of the Overking is there
to prove I speak true.” The stableboy looked,
nodded, and hesitated. “Tell you what: I shall furnish
you with a citation explaining you were on Royal
service, and I’ll trow your Master — Grund you said?
— will reward instead of beat you upon your return!”

“You’d do it for me, Sor? I ain’t worth such
trouble, but most honored I am. Course I guide,
forgive me for actin’ so bad . . .”

“Come, come. Of course I excuse your conduct.
The matter is settled.” So saying, Dunstan gave
Mellerd a hand up and they were soon riding
northwards into the Upplands.

Once they had left Huddlefoot well behind
Dunstan made his guide dismount and pace along
side. The horse would tire far too easily having to
carry double, and even considering how skinny the
boy was, and he was obviously agile enough to keep
up on foot. The noon halt was at the bank of the
stream that was the only major inlet to Lake Dyrn.
Dunstan grudgingly shared some of his provisions
while he questioned the lad about the lay of the land
ahead. His guide managed to recognize a
considerable portion of the surrounding area, so
Dunstan felt confident that his sudden inspiration to
make this yokel serve as pathfinder had been wise
indeed. That night they slept under the stars, Mellerd
under the saddle blanket and his new master curled
beneath the Warder’s cloak.

The next two days and nights passed in much the
same manner, although Dunstan relented
occasionally and allowed Mellerd to ride while he
worked the kinks out of his back and legs. The boy
seemed happy enough with his new lot, enjoying the
open and his freedom from the hard chores of the
stable. Despite his humble station, Mellerd was a
bright lad. This taste of freedom made him ever less
eager to return to Huddlefoot and service under
miserable Grund. He studied Dunstan carefully as
they traveled along:

“I be right happy, Sor, that we not be traveling
through the Upplands of Nyrn ‘stead o’ these good
hills of Dyrn.” Dunstan vaguely inquired what was
wrong with the former, so the boy went on: “Yer ain’t
heard ‘bout that terribul country? Why, airs most
slimey great beastswhatlives in the waters o’Nyrn, an’
the hills above the lake are cursed too! Ain’t no folks
lives there — only bad things like gnolls.

At this Dunstan recalled both maps showing the
area under discussion to be in fact uninhabited and
tales of the place told to him when he was a nipper to
keep him in his bed at night. He shuddered: “Well,
we are not thereabouts. Be quiet and save your wind
for walking.”

“Why air we takin’ to these hills, Sor, ‘stead o’ you
ridin’ the high roads? If the Overking’s business yer
upon, it’d be quicker to go as honest travelers do . . .”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut your mouth?” Dunstan
looked hard at his guide but could read nothing from
the lad’s face. Changing his tack with care, he went
on: “Sorry, boy, to be so sharp. This mission is most
secret and important, and I must not be seen by
certain enemies, for all would then be lost. You see,
my life is at risk here, and the hard journey and the
care I have to take have made me most ungentle.
Upon my knightly honor, I crave your pardon.”

Conversation ended there, and the pair continued
along in silence for a distance. Upon cresting a rise
they came to the cut of Crosshill Street, much to
Dunstan’s surprise. When he questioned Mellerd as
to why the lad hadn’t informed him that they were
near this passage, the boy admitted that he had never
traveled this far from his home.

“So! This ends your employment with me, boy. I
suppose that you served well enough — return to
Huddlefoot with my thanks and those of the
Overking.”

“Mayn’t I have a scrap o’ vittles to see me back
please?” Dunstan rummaged around and supplied
him with half a loaf, some onions, a lump of cheese,
and as a magnanimous afterthought, a pair of lean
sausages. Mellerd tucked the lot in his blouse: “An’
the writ ‘splainin’ hows I been on a mission . . .?

Dunstan cursed the boy roundly. The little bugger
hadn’t forgotten that promise as he had hoped. “I
haven’t time — let alone quill and parchment — you
churl! Be off with you! My word will serve as well as
writ.”

“Yer ain’t no knight!” shouted Mellerd. “I’d
thunk so for a long time. This here proves it —
knights keeps air word! Yer an outlaw or worst.
Soon’s I see someone I’ll tell ‘em ‘bout you sure!”

Should he run the little bastard through? Dunstan
wondered. It wouldn’t do to have him telling tales all
over the countryside . . . Then again, disposing of the
body would be troublesome, and it could be found if
not hidden carefully, which might lead to someone
putting two and two together. While Dunstan was
considering, Mellerd had backed off a ways and was
regarding him with caution. “You’ve divined the
truth, boy, but only a part of it. I’ll strike a bargain
with you . . .”