The Iron Hound

7.1

They arrived at Halcaston's east gate shortly before midday. Breaking camp had been a lesson in military precision for all but the two veteran soldiers. It wasn't often Ahn travelled with such a small retinue. Her hands were usually put to quill and not tent lines. The tutelar had woken in a foul mood it seemed, and it hadn't abated by the time they reached the walled town. He peered at the world beneath a scowling brow, daring any living soul to even look his way.

The column of companions came to a stop before the arched stonework known as Hafsgate. The walls were thick, the gateway tall, and wide enough to fit two wagons abreast. Great, jutting haunch stones framed the arch, drawing the eye, leading it to an engraved plaque. The numerals of the town's founding. Halcaston boasted history and heritage, and its people were not of the ilk to forget it.

Ahn counted six guards in total manning the gate. Sky blue brigandine over off-white gambeson and dark breeches had them all uniformly matching. Four of the men stood rooted to their spots, head forwards, facing the opposite wall of the arch. The two in front met in the centre of the thoroughfare, exchanged quick words before the shorter one broke into a sprint for the town. The remainder, a man in his middle seasons with a full head of thick brown hair, stepped forwards to greet them.

The guard had kind eyes and Ahn smiled as she turned Steren to allow her a better vantage.

Sergeant Elder claimed the initiative, however, his grey Dunland taking two solid steps forwards. Einion wore a composed expression, stern, but not dour like the tutelar a head behind him.

He leaned down to catch the guards' words.

"The captain's been sent for. He'll escort you personally."

The sergeant nodded brusquely. "Will he be long?"

The kind eyes widened. "No, sir." He seemed at a loss for words, his mouth struggling to form anything further for a good few moments before clamping shut.

Einion settled back into his saddle and peered over his shoulder. The tutelar met his gaze. It seemed hardly possible, but his brow furrowed further.

Clattering footsteps echoed from beyond the arch, interrupting any potential unpleasantness that was bound to ensue. The guard who had dashed off returned with equal haste, cheeks puffing. He took his position at the wall with a nod to his colleague.

Rounding the far end of the gate came a man Ahn easily recognised as the guard captain. His tanned skin and green emblem of office made sure he stood out from his fellows. She had met him on several previous visits to Halcaston, although had never exchanged words directly.

He was perhaps more advanced in age than he looked, gentle features making it difficult to judge exactly. The greying hair at his temples hinted at the general region. He raised a hand as he approached, acknowledging the group's presence, but not hastening his step in response.

As he neared, he veered directly for the tutelar and Sergeant Elder manoeuvred his horse to intercept him. Speaking over the stallion's neck, he ignored the soldier.

"Lord tutelar, welcome to Halcaston."

The man's accent held an oddly nostalgic charm to it, a strange mixture of Morvalan, eastern Tirgodh and somewhere Ahn had yet to identify, even after all these summers.

He squinted at Idris, awaiting a response that wasn't coming. After a while, he seemed to realise, and continued on.

"You're expected at the Black Mast coaching inn. That's just up The Wark." He leaned back, pointing up the road, past the archway.

The path forked as it met the town proper and Ahn noted it was to the right he gestured.

"You'll not miss it," he went on. "I'll send one of my lads with you to make sure you arrive undisturbed."