The Dragonwalk Highway: The Fellowship of Thirteen

6 - Mud Town and the Fields of Plenty

The slow trudge through the shanties and shacks of Mud Town was far less triumphant than the previous day's premature victory parade through The Marble Heartbeat. The road slowly devolved into patches of mud and stone littered with packs of stray dogs, orphans, and drunks—sometimes mangled together into one herd. This time Zelda allowed the Red Shirts to lead the way while she lingered behind the supply wagon with Oron.

"Don't get out to this part of the Inner Kingdom too much, do ya princess?"

She didn't answer at first, hoping that ignoring him would be enough, but then he repeated the question three more times.

"My duties at the castle rarely afford me the opportunity to venture this far from the castle. Not that I have to justify myself to the likes of you."

"Look around, Princess Fancy Pants. You're drowning in the likes of me right now."

He wasn't wrong. The previous day's exultation at her mere presence was a distant memory. The peasants who were out and about only gave the convoy a passing glance before returning to whatever menial task they were currently engaged in.

"Is this where you're from?" Zelda asked.

"Please," Oron answered. "It's a little too early for backstory, your highness. Now I suggest you get your royal derriere into the wagon. We're about to hit the marketplace."

It didn't take her long to understand the reason for his advice. When they reached the marketplace a flood of vendors mobbed the convoy hocking everything from fruit and vegetables to weapons to old stockings. The Reds did their best to hold back the peddlers, but there were too many to hold everyone back. Ruddiger had to slow the wagon to a virtual standstill as the mob closed in. Zelda spotted a particularly adorable (and filthy) orphan holding out an apple that was half rotten. The girl's big, brown eyes burrowed into Zelda's heart and laid eggs. Zelda reached instinctively for her purse strings. She had an entire chest of drecs (the kingdom's currency) in the wagon so dropping a drec or two along the way wasn't a concern.

Then Oron's hand was on hers. "Don't you dare. You shell out a drec to one of these little snot-nosed bastards and we'll be balls deep in this human garbage."

"Wait—didn't you just tell me these people are just like you?"

"Exactly! That's how I know they're nothing but stains on the knickers of the world. No worries. I'll get rid of these manky bog monsters."

Somehow Zelda's purse was now in Oron's hand. He dug out a fistful of drecs and held it high so everyone in the mob could see. The mob held their collective breath. Oron tossed the coins into the road behind the wagon. The entire mob surged forward and peasants trampled over each other to scoop up a drec or two.

Oron ran a hand through his hair and shot the princess a toothy grin.

She snatched her purse back. "I think I'll stay in front of the wagon from now on."

Ruddiger got the wagon up to a slow ooze through the tightly-packed marketplace. It was slow enough Oron finally had a chance to walk at his own pace instead of being pulled behind the wagon. He scanned the derelicts in the crowd. They were dingy, hungry, and desperate. They were his kind of people. The kind of people that made you feel better about yourself just by not being them. Of course, none of them were chained to the back of a wagon.

Then something caught his eye—or more accurately, someone. A man with a shawl covering his face moved through the sea of peasants shadowing the wagon. The shawl wasn't a red flag. Many lepers wore them (and the very, very ugly). No, it was the way the man moved. While everyone else in the marketplace appeared lethargic, their movements like those of someone covered in tar, this man's were deliberate. He moved with a purpose. He waded through the crowds never looking directly at the wagon but also not not looking at the wagon.