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The bridge led directly into the enormous fortress through a huge gate that was guarded by dozens Deolan warriors. They watched with wary eyes as the companions passed into the courtyard beyond the gates, but did not try to prevent them from entering the city.
The enclosed courtyard was lined with vendors who were busy selling their wares to the endless stream of people who bustled by. Thousands of people packed the worn cobblestone streets, hurrying from place to place as they went about their daily business. A surprising amount of those people were foreign merchants that had obviously traveled many thousands of miles to reach the massive city. Damion spotted several groups of elves, numerous dwarves, and many other strangely garbed foreigners as they shuffled from vendor to vendor, selling, haggling, trading, and buying merchandise which they could take back to their homelands for resale.
“Where do we go from here?” Dar asked, seeming a little overwhelmed by the sheer immensity of the fortress city.
“We need to replenish our supplies.” Sly grunted. “We can do that at almost any of these merchant stands.” He gestured at the main corridor that led to the heart of the fortress. “That road will take us to the livestock arena, where all of the Deola bring their herds to sell at market. Merchants from all over the world come here to purchase cattle and horses. The amounts of gold that change hands here are staggering. Once we are past the arena, the main corridor leads out through to the southern gate, where the trade road picks back up.”
“That doesn't sound too bad.” Kariah said, her eyes darting from shop to shop, admiring the many trinkets that merchants were trying to sell.
Sly snorted humorlessly. “It will take us two days reach the arena, then another two days reach the southern gate.”
Kariah frowned for a moment, then suddenly shrugged. “At least we can spend a few nights sleeping in a proper bed.” The thought of a bath and a good night's rest put a dreamy smile on the elf maiden's face.
The little man rolled his eyes, then sighed. “We may as well find a suitable inn for the night, and get an early start in the morning. Besides,” He licked his lips eagerly. “I could really go for some well-brewed ale.”
They slowly made their way through the crowded streets with Storm and Damion leading the way, parting the sea of people quite easily due to their sheer size. Many of the people they passed stopped and stared openly at the enormous warrior and his even larger warhorse as they moved through the crowd, but no one saw fit to try and bar their way. They soon found a suitable inn, and took the horses to the adjoining stables where they could be tended to by the stable hands.
The stable boy, a husky young fellow with a shaved head and the customary Deolan tattoos, nearly fainted when he laid eyes on Storm, who stared back at the young boy aggressively. The huge warhorse tossed its head back and bared its teeth every time the boy tried to approach, until Damion finally led the stallion to its own spacious stall at the rear of the stables and tended to his new steed himself. After he finished rubbing Storm down thoroughly, and making double sure there was plenty for the big stallion to eat and drink, he tossed the frightened stable boy a few copper pennies and went next door to rejoin the others.
The inn was a cozy little place built directly into the wall of the fortress. The rooms were all surprisingly large and well-tended, each containing its own fireplace and bathtub. The common room was open and brightly lit by dozens of lanterns that hung from the low ceiling, and by a large fire pit that stood in the center of the room. There were a number of well-polished tables lining the walls, and ornately carved wooden chairs that had been covered in soft fluffy cushions.
The companions chose a table in the far corner of the room, and sank wearily into the soft cushions. Sly motioned to one of the serving girls, and ordered food and drink for everyone, then settled back into his chair with a comfortable sigh.
Damion and Snowfeather caused quite a stir among the other patrons when they entered the common room, and many of them watched him with suspicious expressions as he made their way towards the others. The large snow owl continued to perch sedately on his broad shoulder, unaffected by the open stares, but all the attention was making Damion a little nervous, and he hurried towards their table and took his seat, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself.
As they waited for their meals, Damion began to look around curiously. Most of the patrons in the common room were foreigners, obviously in the fortress city on business, although there were a few Deola warriors lounging near the fire pit, talking quietly amongst themselves. A group of boisterous dwarves were sitting nearby, laughing uproariously as they swayed back and forth drunkenly, while a pair of prosperous-looking elf stood nearby, sipping at their goblets of wine.
As he continued to look around, Damion noticed several large burly men with strangely slanted eyes and dark swarthy skin who were sitting at a nearby table, staring at the companions with unfriendly eyes. They began to grumble back and forth to one another in a peculiar singsong language, gesturing angrily at Snowfeather.
“What’s their problem?” Damion asked, staring back at the men with a belligerent look.
“They’re Jaghern.” Sly grunted, draining his ale and beckoning to the serving girl to bring another. “From the eastern continent. Drunkards and thieves, the entire lot. I have never met a Jaghern that wasn't at least a little intoxicated.”
“Why do they keep staring at us like that?” Kariah asked nervously.
“Well, I'd say after a few more drinks, they will probably come over and try to start some trouble.” The little man took a long drink from the fresh tankard the serving girl brought him, looking completely unconcerned.
A few moments later, Sly's prediction came true. The dark-skinned men rose unsteadily to their feet and lurched over towards the companions, swaying dangerously as they walked. “What do we 'ave 'ere?” The apparent leader of the group, a tall, grizzled-looking man who was missing one eye, slurred as his cronies snickered drunkenly. “It looks like we 'ave us a freak wiff a pet parrot!” The drunken man's companions guffawed stupidly, while the leader continued to stare at them hatefully.
Snowfeather squawked in indignation, and fluffed his feathers, while Sly restrained Damion with a hand on his shoulder. “Not yet.” The little man murmured.
“And what’s this?” The one-eyed man asked Kariah, leering at her disgustingly. “The freak wiff the pet turkey 'as 'imself an elven slut, does ‘ee?” He leaned closer, his breath rancid with stale spirits. “Ow's about givin' me and my friends a roll, eh?”
Sly released Damion's arm. "Now.” He said simply, his eyes dancing with mischief.
Damion's hand suddenly shot out and enclosed around the man's throat in a vise-like grip. He jumped up from his cushioned chair, effortlessly lifting the drunken Jaghern off his feet, then turned and slammed him face first into the unyielding stone wall with a sickening crunch. When he released his grip, the man collapsed to the floor in an unconscious heap. Two of the man's cronies suddenly seized Damion from behind, while the third charged towards him with a long dagger.
“Aren’t you going to help him?” Kariah cried in fear.
Sly shook his head. “He can handle it.” The little man took another drink from his tankard, then sat back in his chair to watch the action with an amused expression.
Damion snarled in rage, then kicked the man with the dagger on the point of his chin, sending him somersaulting backwards where he crashed into the table occupied by the dwarves. They roared in anger, then fell upon the man, pummeling him with hammer-like fists. One of the men restraining Damion rushed over to aid his fallen comrade, but was immediately swarmed under and pummeled into unconsciousness by the dwarves.
The remaining Jaghern suddenly found himself airborne as Damion, moving quicker than the eye could follow, spun in place and seized him by the back of his tunic. Heaving with all his might, Damion sent the man flying through the air, where he crashed into the group of Deola tribesm
en that were still lounging near the fire pit, sending them all crashing to the floor.
Sly applauded the performance as he beckoned the serving girl to bring more ale. “Well done! But you allowed two of them to grab you from behind. If one of them had pulled a knife, it would be buried deep between your shoulders right now.”
Damion shrugged, returning to his seat. “I noticed that only one of them was armed, so I thought I would have a little fun. Besides, they needed to learn a lesson that it isn't polite to speak to a lady in such a manner.”
“And that it isn’t polite to call me a turkey!” Snowfeather squawked indignantly.