"Well, friend Allyn, you and yours are safe now in Jarn. I shall bid you farewell, and hope that your journey home is safe and speedy."
Allyn cleared his throat and looked up at the young man. "Thank you, friend Traveller. Speed your journey, too."
Gawain nodded his head respectfully at the two ladies, but neither would look at him. So he brought Gwyn to a halt on the busy cobbled street, and watched the cart and the girl with the flame-red hair until they were lost in the throng.
Lowlanders. Strange people, Gawain thought. His brother Kevyn had said so often enough when he'd returned from his Banishment.
"They call you 'friend' all the time," Kevyn had said, "Even though you've only just met. At first, I thought it was because they were friendly people! Then I realised that it was more of a prayer than anything else. Like, if they say it enough, you won't turn out to be an enemy. Strange people."
Strange indeed, Gawain acknowledged silently. For one thing, how could there be brigandry in Callodon? There had been no war betwixt the kingdoms since before Gawain was born. It was true that the Gorian Empire to the west was continuously testing the strength of its borders, but not even the empire would seriously risk conflict with the combined might of the seven kingdoms.
There were no brigands in Raheen. And so there shouldn't be any anywhere else, except perhaps in the empire. Everyone knew that the Emperor was a cruel tyrant, and taxed his people into early graves. Brigandry was understandable in the empire. But not in the lowlands, surely?
Gwyn ambled along the cobbled street, used to going her own way while her mount was lost in thought, but at a fork in the main road she stopped, and waited patiently.
Gawain awoke from his reverie and glanced around at his surroundings. There were people everywhere, it seemed, all going about their business quietly. No rushing, no bustling, no cries from the merchants advertising their wares. Just a muted sense of purpose as the lowlanders went about their way.
Which road to take? The left fork seemed to lead straight to a market square, and that was where most of the traffic was going to and fro. The right led off towards rows of buildings; inns, dwellings, and the more expensive shops.
"Make way!" a distant voice called above the general hubbub, and Gawain turned his head. Approaching the market from the other side of town, visible above the heads of pedestrians and riders and carts and wagons, a small symbol, atop a slender pole.
Gawain's face set, and Gwyn set off down the left fork.
"Make way!" he heard again, and as he entered the market square he noticed that the crowds of shoppers were indeed parting, giving way to a small procession striding towards them. Ramoths.
Gawain brought Gwyn to a halt to the side of a fruit stall, and watched, quietly.
There was no sedan chair in this procession. Just a group of white-robed shaven-headed Ramoths, the pole-bearer at the front. They were flanked, though, by six armed men, openly carrying curved swords which they used to shove animals and people further back from the procession.
In the distance, through the parted crowd, Gawain saw a wooden tower rising high above the trees from a clearing at the northern outskirts of the town…
The Ramoth procession came to a halt in the centre of the square, the pole-bearer planting the slender standard with an audible rap on the cobbles. The robed followers formed a circle around it, facing outwards, and began ringing tiny bells and chanting while the armed guards eyed the crowd with disdain, keeping their swords at the ready.
Gawain stared, eyes full of wonder at the strange spectacle. As people passed by, one or two of the robed followers would step forward, and accost them, speaking quietly and urgently. He couldn't hear what they were saying from this distance, and was just deciding to dismount and move closer when a voice from behind him said:
"Curse them all."
Gawain looked around and down at the man who'd spoken. It was a Callodon guardsman, the king's crest emblazoned in black and gold on his tunic.
"The Ramoths?"
"Aye."
Gawain dismounted, and moved closer to the guardsman. "I am a traveller, and have only seen these Ramoths once before, on the road this morning."
"Then you must have come from afar, traveller, not to have seen this scum more than once."
"A long way, in truth."
"You're lucky. Look at 'em. Tinkling their bells and accosting good folk in the streets with their ravings."
"Does Callodon permit this then?” Gawain asked, his eyes on the Ramoths.
"His majesty despises them, as all good men do. But the wizards at court, pox on their white beards, say that it is wisest not to offend."
"Why?"
The guard shrugged. "Who knows with wizards? I wouldn't give a dwarf's spit for any of 'em, but you know what they're like."
Gawain did. Wizards were practically a law unto themselves, even in Raheen. "Surely there's a reason why they'd advise such a strange course?"
"I'm just a guardsman in the protectorate of Jarn, friend traveller. I'm not privy to decisions of court at Callodon castle. But," the guard sighed and shook his head as more passers-by were interrupted by the Ramoths, "It's said that Morloch himself is involved with this lot."
"Morloch?"
"Aye. The dark wizard himself. I had it from a nobleman merchant some months ago. There was a meeting of the wizard's council, at which his majesty was present. The whitebeards say that Morloch yet lives, and that it is he controls this Ramoth creature these vermin adore so much."
Gawain shook his head sadly. "I heard that this Ramoth is an ancient god from beyond the Dragon's Teeth."
"The lies and rumours abound, and spread like disease. For myself, I believe the world is gone mad. All this talk of gods, and Morloch, and whitebeards advocating 'do nothing' while good people are accosted and assaulted. Look you there!"
Gawain had seen. An old man carrying a basket of cabbages on his back had attempted to pass by the Ramoths, and two of the robed acolytes had taken him by the arms and began talking at him. He was clearly alarmed, and wanted nothing but to be on his way, and began struggling. But he was too weak to break free of their grip, and ceased his struggles altogether when a Ramoth soldier approached and glared at him.
"I care not for this, nor for whitebeards and their advocation to turn a blind eye. I must do my duty by this good man, even if it cost my life.” The guardsman straightened his tunic, loosened his sword in its scabbard, and took a deep breath.
Gawain was touched by the honest officer's honour, and offended by the treatment of the old man he was witnessing. The world may indeed be going mad, but Gawain would never forget his father's instructions.
"I shall be glad to watch over your back, guardsman."
"Thank you, friend traveller! But I warn you, expect no help from these good people if it comes to a fight. Those Ramoths are vicious, and renowned for it."
With that, the guard stepped forward into the square, striding purposefully and with great authority towards the Ramoths and the old man they harried.
The Ramoth guards spotted the uniformed officer instantly, and Gawain saw their lips move, giving a quiet alert to the others.
"And you," Gawain patted Gwyn on the neck, "Watch my back too." and strode off after the guard.
By the time the guard reached the Ramoths, Gawain was a mere five paces behind him and the robed figures had dragged the old man into the midst of the circle of soldiers.
"Release that man," the guard ordered. "In the name of the king!"
A hush fell over the square, and two Ramoth soldiers advanced a pace. Gawain advanced two, making it clear that his arm and his weapons were ready to support the Callodon officer. His movement, and his smile, earned a curious stare from the Ramoths.