The Kneeling Demon (4)
"Halt!"
A guard emerged from the hut, warming himself by the fire inside. He shouted at us in clear pronunciation. I stopped at a distance to keep them from panicking at the sight of the Hell Horse and doing something rash. Raising a hand to shield my eyes from the blizzard, I watched as the guards slowly approached. To prevent any mishap where they might thrust spears at the Hell Horse in shock, I dismounted first and walked toward them—hands raised empty, of course. The northern gale and snow whipped through the gap in my cloak, making me shudder involuntarily.
These poor bastards serving in this godforsaken hellhole—what crimes did they commit in a past life?
Approaching unarmed, they halted at a proper distance. At this range, the blizzard would obscure a clear view of the Hell Horse. Hoping it just looked like a big black horse to them, I greeted them cheerfully.
"What a shitty weather, huh!"
"Who are you?!"
True to a man from the northernmost pioneer city, the guard skipped the pleasantries and got straight to business. I wasn't in the mood for chit-chat either, freezing my ass off as I was.
"A mining businessman from Rosens!"
"State your purpose!"
"Here to check if there are any mines up for acquisition!"
The wind howled so fiercely, and with our fur hoods covering our ears and faces, we had to bellow even standing right in front of each other.
"You alone?!"
"With my wife!"
The first time I'd told Pelle to play the wife, she'd twisted around with a rare glare of fury. But there was no choice. A young man and woman riding one horse all the way to this remote north? Claiming to be husband and wife was the easiest cover.
Like I'd actually treat you like a real wife. Just bear with it a bit.
Pelle wasn't some hotheaded fool; she knew playing couple was the best disguise for our situation. So she just shot me a look instead of arguing.
"A human?!"
"What else, a troll?!"
"Dismount!"
I returned to the Hell Horse and extended both arms to Pelle. She leaned into them without hesitation, sliding down. To anyone watching, it looked like a doting husband helping his lovely wife. Not content with that, as she walked toward the guards, Pelle nestled into my arms to "escape" the blizzard, and I draped part of my cloak over her.
"That's my wife! She's a real beauty, but a shame her face is covered!"
The guard thrust a lantern close, scrutinizing Pelle. She perfectly played the shy wife burrowing into her husband's embrace.
"Sorry, but my wife's freezing! Let us through quick!"
"We had trolls sneak in wearing stolen human clothes once, so we check—just in case! Mount up!"
The guards waddled back to the outpost to open the gate. The moment they turned, Pelle shoved me away and pulled free.
"That that unpleasant?"
We'd passed the entrance, at least. The Hell Horse was so fast that even if we zipped by, they'd chalk it up to a speedy horse amid the raging snowstorm.
The palisade gate creaked open, and we slipped through swiftly. Sure enough, the guards noticed nothing amiss as the gate shut behind us.
Apenzel on that blustery evening was eerily quiet amid the blizzard. More precisely, nothing was visible or audible beyond the fierce whine of the wind and snow. Not a single rat stirred on the streets; only faint light leaked from the shutters of roadside homes. Apenzel buildings were mostly single-story to withstand the gales, with narrow windows, thick walls, and lower roofs than elsewhere. Topped with heaps of white snow, they resembled pound cakes piled high with whipped cream.
Not every structure in this sizable city—complete with a city administrator—was limited to one story. Farther off, light from a two-story building twinkled like a star atop its low roof. By my memory, that direction led to the city hall, temple, inns, and other downtown spots. There used to be a priest too, though who knew if one still remained. Priests always chased comfort, so they might've fled.
We tethered the Hell Horse in a suitable alley and headed to a downtown inn. The modest two-story building screamed "built solely to block the cold." Its hefty outer walls, long narrow windows, and ropes as thick as a man's arm crisscrossed the roof, anchoring it against the snow-hidden stakes in the ground to keep it from flying off.
Knocking brought the sound of a bolt sliding, and the door swung open.
"Get in quick! Shake off the snow!"
The middle-aged innkeeper yanked my cloak irritably as we entered. He slammed the door, bolted it, and muttered curses.
"Fuckin' hell... showing up at this goddamn hour..."
In Lithelm or farther south, I'd have snapped back and started a brawl. But here? I kept my mouth shut. No point picking a fight over pride and trudging back into that blizzard on my own two feet.
"Two single rooms."
"Thirty silver."
My hand froze mid-motion, removing my fur hat.
What the fuck...? How much?
By my memory, Apenzel inns topped out at ten silver max...
He snorted at my protest.
"What era you reminiscing about? You think we shovel snow for fun?"
Thirty silver... Stay tonight, catch an Asenaris tomorrow, one more night leaves ten. Sleep in Lithelm or camp farther south, then. If things went to plan, no big issue.
"Here."
I paid from my pouch; he counted each coin meticulously.
"Rooms upstairs. Meals downstairs."
Confirming the amount, he jerked a thumb at the stairs halfheartedly.
"We'll eat dinner. Got kasule?"
"Yeah."
"Two kasules."
"Deal with those clothes first."
The hearth's heat melted the snow from my cloak and boots, dripping water everywhere. The owner grumbled, mopping it up.
"Damn it... Shake it off outside at least..."
The few tables in the hall held two men eyeing us warily as they ate. We passed them and climbed to the second floor. The rickety stairs creaked ominously.
Before entering our rooms, I called to Pelle.
"Come down for food. Keep the hat on."
"Yes."
Her frostbitten-reddened face nodded, icicle melt dangling from her long lashes.
In the hall, we shook snow from cloaks, hats, and boots before heading in. The single room was cramped: a bed and tiny wardrobe crammed against the walls. Bare stone-and-plaster emitted a chill; wind whistled through the narrow shuttered window, fogging breath indoors. Lighting the candle, the draft made the flame flicker precariously.
Fifteen silver for this? Whatever. Scarcity sets value. Everything's short and pricey here. I'd price it the same running the place.
I stashed my bag, gathered my snow-soaked clothes, and descended. A drying rack stood by the hearth for snowy climes. Hanging my cloak, Pelle appeared, hanging hers—hat still on.
We took the table closest to the fire. Opposite me, Pelle rubbed her numb hands, blowing on her raw red fingers. It was kinda pitiful, dragging her unwillingly to this frozen wasteland.
"First time in the north?"
"Yes."
The surly innkeeper plunked down food and left. Kasule—white beans stewed with bone-in horsemeat—and pickled radish. The kasule looked decent, yellowish and hearty. A spoonful: beans soft enough, horsemeat falling off the bone from long simmering. Not delicious, but edible. Filled the gut with welcome warmth. The radish was lazy—huge chunks buried in brine, too big to spoon, so hand-gnaw it.
"Ugh, salty... Gotta eat this tiny bits..."
Pelle slurped steaming kasule hungrily. Warmth seeping into her frozen body, she sighed softly, eyes closed, then shoveled another spoonful. No booze forthcoming as we ate, so I asked the owner.
"No drinks?"
"Didn't say, figured you weren't drinking."
He spat curtly, heading to the kitchen.
"Warmed up!"
I yelled after him. Stays usually included food and booze; ignorant folks got stiffed like that. Shitty human.
He brought two mugs of hot red wine, cinnamon-scented—likely vin chaud. Sweet sip: pretty good.
"Try it. Sweet and tasty."
"I don't drink."
"Heated hot; booze taste's gone."
Pelle sipped skeptically, swishing. Mildly surprised, she sipped more. Suited her; she nursed it through dinner, emptying the mug. Kasule too—more than half gone, unusual after a freezing day.
Setting down her spoon, she didn't head up but waited as I finished—more for the hearth's heat drying her cloak, probably. We sipped vin chaud leisurely, staring blankly at the dancing flames. Warm amid the howling storm outside, the inn didn't seem half bad.
"Head up early; we'll hunt tomorrow."
The owner poked the fire irritably, eager to close.
Scratch that thought.
"Let's go. Out all day tomorrow too."
We grabbed our dried clothes and ascended.
"Night."
Pelle nodded curtly and entered her room.
Midnight brought low horn blasts echoing. Doors flew open amid curses and clashing arms.
"North gate! To the north gate!"
"Those troll bastards! I'll hack 'em to pieces!"
Peering through the shutters, I watched armed men plunge into the snow, charging toward battle. Grim northern men, steeling for death in a decades-old feud.
Next day, thankfully, the blizzard eased. We stopped at city hall for a Vurn Mountains map copy. Little changed from years ago: Apenzel vicinity detailed, beyond blank. The clerk warned to steel ourselves if heading north gate.
...What?
Apenzel kept palisade gates open daytime. Frequent miner traffic made constant opening impractical; trolls nocturnal, inactive by day. I blasted through before guards could spot details.
Outside, I finally grasped the clerk's warning.