The King's Grace

The road winding into the valley seemed too widened in relation to the volume of traffic. This far south, large cities did not exist. The peculiarity that was Modara attracted merchants, sell swords, farmers, holy-men, and a myriad of others to its high towers and thick walls. Different in more than one way, Modara had converted to the Path several generations ago. This had helped the town in a pagan land, first with Northern trade and then, prestige. And truth be told, the Northern religion was the real reason the city had grown beyond size of any other southern, hill town.

"So you really feel no sympathy for the Iverni?" Jasper asked, lounging easily against his high cantle. He rode slowly with the rhythmic sway of his horse. As their descent towards the city steepened, the sweeping vista of the Modaran Valley opened before them. Snow swirled about, but the wind was light, and the sun had been threatening the clouds for the better part of the afternoon.

"It's not that really." Harrig's eyes were distant as he considered his next words, "We Adria have always had slaves.” He paused again, running a hand over the braids in his beard. “Though, from before my father's father's time it has fallen out of practice. I can feel sympathy, but I also don't judge the other sidhe. Who knows if the Sundering would have happened if not for the Low Elves?"
Jasper snorted, "You speak of your father's father, but your greatfather's greatfather could not remember a time before the Sundering and neither could mine. I doubt very much an Iverni child or his mother riding the hull of a slaver could tell you their ancestor's role in an event so old it's merely legend to me; to you for that matter, and everyone else in this world!" Spent now the cascade paused and, for the next hour there were no more words.

Their discussion had gone much the same for the journey south and not just the topic of slavery. Conversations turned to verbal sparring, then fizzled out. Jasper had ridden with Harrig for over two years now, and the pattern had become routine. For all of it though, Jasper enjoyed the Adria's company. The big man was actually quite clever, very handy in a scuffle, and an uncanny judge of weather. Their discourse sharpened his wit, and on more than one issue Harrig had almost swayed him.

They had been riding behind a merchant caravan that left the Modaran sanctuary just ahead of them. The pace was slow, but afforded protection at night. A large fire with good food and company didn’t hurt either.

“Do you think we’ll need more than a night in Modara?” Jasper broke the silence, once again trying to sort out the schedule in his mind.

Harrig shrugged. “The message I sent said ‘early spring.’ My only concern would be that they waited too long and got bored.” He turned then and smiled, “I think we may have been taking it too easy on the horses though.” Tugging his reigns quickly, Harrig smiled as his horse leaped off the road and began to gallop towards the city.

Jasper was quick behind him with a smile of his own. Large clots of frozen ground were tossed up behind them. The merchants they had been riding with shook their heads in disapproval as they thundered down the line. Jasper laughed out loud; both men leaning over their mounts. For a few minutes they pressed their horses, letting them stretch their legs. They only slowed as the city walls came into view.

“There she is de Luc.” Harrig leaned over and gave his horse a pat on the neck, “I’ll be looking forward to a hot bath, a tankard of ale, and a saucy woman.”

“Not necessarily in that order?” Jasper asked, trying to hide his disapproval, and it must have worked for Harrig laughed.

“I’ll have to think of what order suites me best when we get there.” Then, out of the corner of his eye, he looked back at Jasper, “Don’t worry friend, there’s a Sanctuary down there would out do most of yours.”

They covered the final miles quickly. The horses took to the faster pace with seeming joy. Jasper too was looking forward to the famed bath houses of Modara. Never in his life, had he been this far south, and rarely had had he gone any further than the Midlands. A hot city in this frigid land intrigued him, as most things did this far south. He didn’t care for the snow over much, but it was a novelty that they saw once in a generation around the Shattered Sea.

Soon the gates towered before them, and traffic slowed to a crawl. Already in the half light of Sol’s setting, Isis was about to dip behind the rim of the valley leaving them in the shortened, but dark night of a southern spring. There were many people that needed to pass the scrutiny of the guards before entering the trade section. Jasper hoped Harrig’s clout would get them into High Town yet tonight. He had his doubt though. Harrig still worshipped the cold mountain gods, and this city was said to be gripped in a righteous fervor this time of year.

A half hour later, with only the spilling light from taverns and shops to light the road, Jasper and Harrig passed through the high arches of Modara. The cobbled streets were broad and clean, and Jasper smiled at this familiar setting in a foreign painting. Winding up the hill towards High Towne, Harrig called greetings to more than a few townsfolk. Jasper began to feel much better about their situation with each block they covered.

Harrig had surprised him many times before, and it seemed he would again. The short, high-arching bridge that lead to Hight Towne was guarded by two men in plate and mail. A grin split the face of one as they drew close.

“Harrig you old wolf, I’d thought not to see you again!” The men clasped hands after Harrig quickly dismounted. Jasper stayed mounted as he followed their conversation.

“What’s the talk this festival season Morrid? We’ve come far, and I travel with a brother of the Path.” He gestured back towards Jasper. For his part Jasper attempted to look as innocent as was possible with a lance and backsword strapped to his person.

“Not much happening this year. For some reason the Chosen has kept quiet about you pagans.” He smiled hugely again, “The festival goes on, but there have been no calls for Roundings. Some say a prophet visited the King last month. Me, I think all them lords just want the extra silver around.”

The other guard seemed to be uncomfortably ignoring the byplay. Jasper nudged his horse in between the man and the conversation. Swinging off his saddle, he offered his arm in greeting to the guard.

“Jasper de Luc, King’s Lance and Baron of Juleth.” The guard smiled, conditioned to respect nobility and accepted the sign of equals readily, “We can cross tonight I assume?”

He had never considered his heritage and standing in the Path would be a better way to get into High Towne than Harrig’s connections. It seemed either way would work tonight, but Jasper thought they should open every door.

Soon they were crossing the bridge; metal shod hooves making an eerie sound in the muffled silence. Once over though, they were again basked in the light of dozen massive inns, all of them with street-level taverns open to the night. The crowds were much less raucous than those in the trade quarter though, and the food smelled amazing.

“Brother, I’ll find you at the King’s Grace late tonight or tomorrow afternoon, that saucy girl I spoke of before is calling my name.” With that Harrig disappeared down a side alley, leaving Jasper to find the King’s Grace on his own.