The Savage

Part 3: Chapter One: Rory

Aberthan, a small town all on it's own. To the east was the seemingly endless swamp of twisted trees and over abundance of undergrowth; the Lorals. Before the Lorals the Artis road stretched south into Camden and Kallistos. The Artis was older than any of the countries. It had originally been seven separate roads spaced across the Continent. Their individual names now long forgotten. Willamina enslaved millions into forced labor to connect all the pieces of roads, paving it with stone brick. Creating viable trade routes between what is now Daear, Kallistos and Ulke, dubbing it The Artis. The death toll of the indigenous had been in the thousands. Hundreds of years later, shrines to the dead were erected all along the seven thousand miles of the Artis in memory of those that lost their lives. Despite being a port city on the Artis, most ship skipped past to go onto Mynyth, leaving those that were traveling by foot to stop in Aberthan.

The river boat eased slowly into the slip as the sailors rushed about, the Captain shouting orders at them. Rory stood at the railing watching the locals on the shore as they watched him and the approaching boat. Behind him Fergus fussed over Rashad as the boy stacked the Diplomats belongings. He felt stronger. The fresh air, the food and being able to move about more had brought his strength back.

"Are you sure traveling the Artis is the wisest of ideas?" Rory asking, turning to face Fergus.

"We won't be taking the Artis, my boy." Fergus replied without looking at him. His attention still on the care of his things. "We'll be going through the Lorals."

Rory started, "the Lorals?"

"Yes, my boy. Rashad here, is a master guide of the Lorals. Although perhaps not the gentlest with delicate things."

Rashad made no reply to the compliment nor the critique, he didn't seem to notice at all.

Aberthan was made up of an Inn with a tavern, a farrier and a blacksmith, along with several timber houses. It was unimposing at first glance, but as the three men made their way down the packed earth street to the Inn it's atmosphere rapidly shifted. The towns people stopped to stare with dark expressions. It was obvious that they were unwelcome here.

The Inn was small, only hosting three, perhaps four, rooms, but it looked clean and whatever was cooking in the kitchens smelled delectable. The descendant Inn Keeper, however, gave little evidence that he wanted their business.

"How many?" he asked gruffly.

Fergus smiled at the other man, "that depends. How many beds per room are there?"

The Innkeeper frowned, "One. Which is as many as their ought to be."

"Of course, of course. In that case, we'll take two rooms."

Shaking his head the Innkeeper replied, "Only one available."

Fergus' face reddened, "Why then did you... never mind. You must have a large closet or something where a bed can be made up?" He stammered.

"Broom closet will cost you double." The Innkeeper replied, folding his arms across his chest.

Fergus smiled, "come now sir, I'm sure an arrangement can be made. What is your name?"

"Baglan." Replied the Inn Keep.

"We are just humble travelers, Master Baglan. Couldn't an exception could be made?"

"No." Baglan said flatly.

"Fine." Fergus replied, angrily tossing the coin onto the table between them.

"Don't see many of your kind around here." Baglan commented, eying Rory as he gathered the gold.

"You soon will!" Fergus said, sounding jolly again, "The Duthaichi are cheap slaves."