Garinor looked at the man and didn’t feel comfortable enough to accept his offer. “No thank you,” he said politely, then stepped away.
“Methinks you’ll reconsider, boy,” the man hissed, grabbing Garinor’s arm and tugging. “I’m not one to be sayin’ no to.”
“Hold there!” called someone from across the room. “Unhand him, filth!” A fat, bald man waddled over, his face beet-red with anger. “Kunn, get your sorry scrappy self out of here. You know I don’t serve your kind. Go on, leave here now!” He snapped a towel at the man until he let go.
“So ye say, Varril, but one day—”
“Oh, stuff it and leave!” the innkeeper interrupted. “Go on before I call the guard.”
“Fine, ‘ave it yer way.” He gave the man a dirty look, which he then passed on to Garinor, and then he left.
The innkeeper wiped his brow with his towel and took a few deep breaths. “Sorry, lad, didn’t see him until too late. He isn’t allowed in here. Pesters people all the time. But come on, food is on me for my error. Sit over there, that’s a good lad.”
Garinor was ushered to a small table off to the side and practically forced into a seat by the meaty hands of the innkeeper. With food on the way, he didn’t mind. It was much better fare than he had gotten at the farm that day and he didn’t leave a morsel of it uneaten.
Varril came back over when he was done. “Was it to your liking?”
“It was exquisite,” he said quite honestly.
The innkeeper beamed and spent a few minutes prattling about how he took great care in his work and his food. Garinor listened politely, though his mind was racing. He needed other information than this.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, lad?” the innkeeper asked. He seemed keen to be exceedingly nice to Garinor.
“Actually, I’m looking for a way to reach the king.” Then he lowered his voice and added, “Without many people seeing me go.”
“Ah, yes, yes,” the innkeeper sputtered. “I see, yes. Well, there might be a way, you see.” He rubbed his hands together fretfully and then leaned close to Garinor. “My son, you see, he—er—knows a group of people who might have a way to help you.”
“Does he work for the prince?” Garinor asked hesitantly.
The innkeeper’s eyes went wide. “No, nothing as lofty as that, I assure you. But he can help you find your way and he’ll be more than glad to do it.”
“If you’re sure, I could use the help. But,” he added uncomfortably, “I don’t have any way to pay you or him for it.”
The innkeeper’s meaty hand clasped Garinor’s shoulder reassuringly. “Now, now, not all things in this world require the exchange of coins.” He leaned close again and whispered, “But don’t go telling people that or I’ll be out of business!”
Garinor promised and the innkeeper winked at him, then brought him upstairs to a small room to sleep for the night.
The innkeeper’s son barged into his room the next morning after dawn. He rousted Garinor out of bed and brought him downstairs for a bite to eat. It was early enough in the day that hardly anyone else was in the room yet. Breakfast was a smattering of jams on crunchy bread with some warm cow’s milk to wash it all down.
Ilion introduced himself and told Garinor they would travel rapidly that day. “There are many who would stop me from going, you see. But I will get you where you need to go.” He flat-out refused to explain any more than that, despite Garinor’s questions, keeping his hand on his sword hilt at all times.
The tall, gangly young man gave Garinor a short sword, which he tied to his left side. Soon after, they left the Winged Patron and were on the road toward the north.
It was a clear morning and Garinor was completely baffled by the mysterious nature of his companion. Ilion would at times drop low as if arrows were hurtling toward him, then jump up again and continue as if nothing had happened. It took all his self-control for Garinor not to laugh.
“Spies abound, you see,” he would say in a hushed voice each time.
Unable to help himself the eighth time Ilion said those words, Garinor asked, “How do you know I’m not one of them?”
Ilion bent down and swept Garinor’s legs out from under him. “Fiend!” he accused. “You would dare to spy on me under my own eyes?”
“No,” he gasped. “I was only… joking. Get off!”
“So you mock me then!” Ilion raged. “Perhaps I should end your discourtesy here and now!”
Garinor choked under Ilion’s arm, which found its way to his windpipe. “No! I’m sorry!”
Ilion stared at him for a while and then released him, pulling back and eyeing him critically. “Father said you were hearty to fend off the foul interloper in his inn. So it was I agreed to guide you. But I will not be mocked by a whelp like you.”
“I’m sorry,” Garinor repeated, rubbing his throat. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Ilion’s eyes narrowed and he tensed as if he was going to spring at Garinor again. “Then you were merely testing my powers of observation. I see.” He pounced to his feet and then extended a hand to Garinor. “Very well, wise one, test me all you wish, I will not fail.”
Garinor didn’t say anything, but Ilion would not move, as if he was waiting for an interrogation. Scrambling for something to say, Garinor opened with, “How did you learn to be so stealthy?”
Ilion growled and then turned away. “Of course you would ask about my secrets so you would be able to learn them too. No, I will not tell you. You will need to find another to train you. I will not guide you in that respect.” He paused then spun around to face Garinor again, his finger pointed toward Garinor’s eye. “Ah, but you ask a question dear to my heart, and I have not weakened. You see? I am strong. Come, let us continue.”
Garinor dared not respond or make any facial expressions at all. He followed his odd companion silently. They worked their way toward the north with a few dips to the west or east in order to keep concealed from enemy eyes. Garinor didn’t know how this helped, since the land was rather flat there, but he played along as if every suggestion was important.
After a few hours, the landscape changed. There were more hills in sight and a sliver of blue could be seen weaving in and out of the distant stream, Garinor thought. Here and there were patches of shrubbery and flowers. Off to the west was a copse of trees. But further to the north was something neither one of them expected.
On the wind came the sounds of battle.
Ilion seemed ready to jump out of his skin with excitement. He wanted nothing more than to run ahead and join the fray, regardless of which side he ended up on. It didn’t matter. He unsheathed his sword and would leap in to deliver justice to all those who would thwart his very existence.
Garinor wasn’t certain that joining in a battle was the best move.
“You are a coward to let men die and not defend them!” Ilion boasted.
“What of me? Aren’t you trying to protect me?”
Ilion looked all around and peered over Garinor’s shoulder. “I do not see you being attacked.” He stared Garinor in the eye. “Come, we fight!” And off he ran toward the sounds of war, sword waving wildly.