Ironwood

A Shattered Peace

Outside Ironwood, the strangers nodded genially to the guards at the front gate. When asked to announce their business, the taller one explained that they meant to stay the night with a friend in town, then pick up some goods in the morning and be on their way. The challenge, though, was only perfunctory. Two unarmed men were no danger, and Ironwood was a trusting place. It had no real enemies to speak of, and boasted enough trained guardsmen to discourage most casual crime. Besides, this was a town built on trade: Margonians and clansmen traveled from dozens of miles around to visit its markets. It would not do to discourage visitors. The guard captain waved them in.

The first man to enter was a tall clansman, light of step but broad of shoulder. His scarred cheek was mostly hidden beneath a thick but carefully trimmed beard. His smile was easy, but his eyes were hard. Serren's side felt empty without his sword, though he knew he would not need it. His brother had been left outside of town with the three horses, and he didn't expect his business here would take very long. He was pleased to find that he drew few eyes, though. Not that any who saw him were likely to remember his face in the fading light: the tapestry of stars was beginning to unroll across the sky.

Today, Serren wore the tunic and trousers that the local villagers seemed to like so much, rather than the well-tailored robes he preferred. A guest should should make some concessions for his host, after all. He did not have an eye for all the gardening, but he did take a moment to admire the gate: it was skillfully made, even if it was a bit flimsy for the heavy frame.

He nodded over to his comrade, and then walked briskly down the main road. Khaz was a good man, never one to shirk his duty, although sadly he thought himself something of a wit. To say he was half right would have been generous in the clansman's opinion. But he was capable, and reliable, and that was all that Serren really needed. The two headed together towards the center of town, with the steady, purposeful walk of people who have somewhere to be, but not so soon as to worry about it.

Serren was the first to break the silence. Men who didn't want attention should engage in casual conversation. "It looks like an early Summer this year."

Khaz responded in kind. "Shakath send it is so. Spring rains are good for the farmers, but for travel, warm days and nights are best."

Serren snorted. "I didn't know Shakath controlled the weather. Ascribing too much blame to a God is as much sacrilege as giving too little credit."

"You are so very serious, my friend. I will be careful not to blame any God for the rod that was inserted to straighten your spine from below."

"Say the word, and I'll happily give you one of your own," Serren remarked pointedly.

The two continued their pointed banter, following their feet, and filling their minds as much as possible with only the cares of the moment, as they were taught. It was not long, however, before they skirted the broad, open courtyard of the keep, and neared the small chapel at its side. The streets were bare here, and the torches lighting the walkway were dim against the darkening sky. The strangers continued to speak as they approached the door, barely looking at the single guard who approached to let them know that the chapel was closed to visitors.

Serren did not even glance up until it was done, working only from the edge of his vision. The dagger shot from his sleeve to his hand in less than a thought, and the guard's throat was slit before he could even meet his killer's eyes.

~

Outside Ironwood, the strangers nodded genially to the guards at the front gate. When asked to announce their business, the taller one explained that they meant to stay the night with a friend in town, then pick up some goods in the morning and be on their way. The challenge, though, was only perfunctory. Two unarmed men were no danger, and Ironwood was a trusting place. It had no real enemies to speak of, and boasted enough trained guardsmen to discourage most casual crime. Besides, this was a town built on trade: Margonians and clansmen traveled from dozens of miles around to visit its markets. It would not do to discourage visitors. The guard captain waved them in.