After another long interval this is the longest chapter yet. Do leave feedback if you have the time. Enjoy.
For some time Joana had simply wandered the busy streets. She had marvelled at the many wares, at the traders from distant parts, at the foreigners. Tramir, being a border town, was often host to merchants from the east, from the remains of the Imperium, from the wild, uncharted territory that lay beyond even that. Here there was a taste of these in the air, a hint of spice, a smattering of tongues or a flash of colour. It was only once in a while that Joana had seen larger towns such as this one. Once of twice she had been with father to the seat of the king's reign, a large city of symmetric layout built out of stone by the Romans generations ago. Tramir was much more archaic than the well ordered Roman streets. There were occasional gaps between houses, which themselves were a mixture of wooden long houses like in Kremitz, houses seemingly cobbled together out of rough stone in imitation of Roman ones and crude shacks that were huddled between the other edifices. She passed the assembly hall, an imposing long house with figures carved into the wooden gables. During all this Vucara trotted quietly at her side. Her ears lay flat against her head and her tail was down. Never in her life she had been in a human settlement, the wolf confessed in a quiet moment. The strange smells and sounds, the absence of trees and the hard bare ground underfoot and, of course, the many humans were more than a little daunting. Still it was a lesson, she remarked later, one that no wolf before her had been able to learn and maybe none after her would again. Everything around her smelt of threat, of danger and yet nobody had pulled a spear on her. Was that how Joana had felt among her pack? The girl considered this for a while. She had been afraid, true, but she had trusted Vucara's promise - almost without giving it a second thought. That puzzled her.
Then Vucara said: "It's because you sensed that the ancient tongue is not fit for lies or deceit. Hence those cannot be uttered in it."
Joana did not understand. How was this possible? Surely it was possible to bend the truth using any words one pleased. Vucara shook her head in another human gesture.
"Can a mountain not be a mountain by not calling it that?", she asked mysteriously. "Can water flow against its course because you deny it? Or can rain be dry because you claim that it is? Nature does not deceive you. What you see, what you smell or feel is what you get. I've heard say that the ancient tongue and the utterances you make in it are just like that. You can call things what they are truly. The words cannot change their meaning or be false. That is why some call it True Speech. Innuendo and falseness, those were later introduced by languages that come only from the mouth and are beyond our capabilities. You may also call this Heart Speech."
Joana remained silent for a long while after this. Her thoughts were racing. She walked ahead aimlessly paying no heed to what happened around her.
"Animals and children tell the truth, they never lie", she eventually said dreamily. The wolf's words rang true and had stirred something deep inside her. "Only when they grow older and learn the intricacies of language they may tell falsenesses."
Vucara made no answer but a distressed whine made the girl turn. They were standing in front of a house - more a hut - that was backed against the town wall. In front of it wooden poles had been erected. Between each pair of them had been strung the hides of animals left out here to dry in the sun and wind. They were the grey pelts of wolves. Vucara was staring at them. Almost timidly she approached the pelts, sniffed them, and every now and again she uttered that pitiful high pitched whine. A man had was standing out side the hut probably waiting for customs. He was tall, lean, dark, bearded and scarred. And he would notice the wolf.
Joana swore under her breath. and hurried over. Hastily she grabbed the makeshift collar and tugged at it. That only produced a sudden yelp.
"Come", the girl hissed, "you cannot help them anymore." But the wolf would not move. The man had meanwhile taken an interest the pair. He was coming from the hut walking in heavy strides. Foreboding welled up in her.
"Vucara, please", the girl whispered imploringly, "let's go! Do you want to join them?"
Finally, the wolf gave in and let herself be dragged away.
"You interested in my furs?" The man's voice was harsh and hardly concealed his suspicion.
Joana shook her head and tried to smile. "My dog got upset. Silly thing", she added trying to make her voice sound more derisive than anxious.
The man studied her squinting out of clear blue eyes. She now noticed that he was holding a large skinning knife in his fist.
"That's no dog, lad." There was no doubt in his voice. "You better be careful ... before I add it to my collection." He laughed hoarsely and utterly without humour. His laugh rang in Joana's ears even as she hurried down the street and turned the next corner-
-just in time to hear a loud squeal. A man was desperately holding on to a rope around a pig's neck while another was fumbling with a long knife. The ground around them was darkened as if a certain liquid frequently settled into it. The pig was grunting and squeaking and struggling violently.
"Oi, lad", one of the men called in a strained voice, "give us a hand here." But Joana stood as if paralysed her gaze riveted to the knife. Suddenly the town that had seemed promising a few moments ago had turned into a nightmare's dream. Then the other man found a hold and brought the blade up. The pig gurgled and a dark flood erupted from its throat. And Joana just stared unable to avert her gaze.
"What's wrong, lad", panted the other man, "can't stand a bit of blood?" The two of them laughed loudly.
This time it was Vucara that pulled on her leash and dragged the girl away. The town seemed transformed now. Walking in a daze she only noticed the odd, suspicious looks the townsfolk were giving her and her companion. There were dead chickens outside one house, outside another a woman was chopping up a chunk of meat, more animal pelts were drying in front of yet another. Death seemed to be everywhere.
"You put them on display", she heard Vucara mumble at some point. "You put the dead on display." Joana had no consolation for her.
After a while of aimless wandering she calmed herself. Too long had been the time spent among animals. The sights of this town were not unusual for any human settlement and had certainly not been in Kremitz. Unusual for a human, that was.
Eventually she found the words: "I should not have brought you here, Vucara."
Without looking up the wolf answered quietly: "It's a valuable lesson to learn about human kind. Creatures fear you because you bring them death. For the same reason they fear us. There is no wrong in eating another creature's flesh. But I used to know some of those dead. They were from another pack, we were not friends but this was not the end I had wished for them. To see my fellows' skins on display with their smell still on them is ..." Words seemed to fail her.
Joana tried to explain speaking in a low voice ignoring the sidelong glances from passers-by. Tanning she knew a bit about. Warriors would wear the pelt of wolf or bear. Though she had to admit seeing this many at the same time was unusual. The wolf listened without interrupting.
Presently Vucara conceded: "There is still too much about humans that I do not know. Maybe Murmarn and Alefa were right, after all, and I was rash joining you on this journey. I made assumptions from knowing only you."
Joana nodded. Then a thought occurred to her that she had put out of her mind for a while.
"Murmarn mentioned something else, a debt you had to repay or a score to be settled."
Vucara stopped and looked up at her. Their gazes met but it was the wolf that looked away.
"I follow you, Speaker, to honour my life-debt to you, and because I believe that few among us now have the chance to walk with a Chosen One", the wolf said solemnly, "I have no secrets from you. Only here is not the right place or time to speak of such things. For now we should continue on our quest."
And leave this town behind. Joana could almost hear the words but she said no more. She had begun to share her companion's discomfort.
It was not difficult then to find the long, squat thatched timber-frame house with the low, iron shod door above which were carved the likenesses of a sleek cat pouncing on a fat mouse.
Joana pushed open the door to reveal a large common room with tables and stools and a huge fireplace probably big enough to roast a whole pig in. The small fire crackling there now did not do it justice. Several barrels were stacked on the other side of the room. Furs were still curled back inside the door and the little, square windows to keep out the chill. A vague smell of cooking and a much stronger one of beer wafted out at her. At this early hour before dusk there were only a few men seated at one of the tables. They had a rough cut look to them that Joana did not like. A fat man was leaning leisurely against the barrels holding a drinking horn. She caught a few words of the local dialect when she entered but they stopped and looked over a her.
"Tŷr's greetings, lad," the fat man called, "you lost?" Joana looked at him questioningly.
"Your dog", he barked, "does it drink beer or mead?"
Joana's expression still did not change. "No?" It was as much a question as a statement.
"Then it can wait outside and drink water. We don't serve that kind here."
Joana nodded. They were evidently a rough bunch. She grabbed Vucara by the make-shift collar and led her outside. There she led her around to the side of the house where a half filled wooden trough waited for horses. There the girl cowered in front of her companion so that their eyes were nearly level. She very nearly held Vucara's head in her hands or stroked her as she used to do with her dog. But only nearly. Despite their friendship there was something about her companion. Stroking her would have been like patting father on the head for holding his hammer right.
"They don't want wolves inside", Joana said apologetically. "They are ..." Somehow telling the wolf the truth was something she could not do. It seemed so degrading. Vucara looked at her out of two orbs of amber. Her voice was one of gentle reproach when she spoke.
"Do not try to hide the truth, Speaker. I would smell it though you said no word at all."
Joana nodded, defeated. "They said that ... dogs are not allowed inside."
"I understand", the wolf said gently. "They don't know me and don't want me in their territory. I can relate to that. What I do not like is you going in alone. Especially, since your - our - adversary may be nearby."
Joana tried to give her companion an encouraging smile. "With your senses you'll probably know trouble before anyone else does. And if you don't I'll just scream like a little girl."
The wolf gave her a stern look. "Do not trifle with danger and do not expect your opponent will do so. He has proven to be illusive. I reckon we will need cunning and patience and resourcefulness to bring down this prey."
The girl drew herself erect and nodded resolutely. Vucara seemed to smile at this when she spoke again: "Good hunting."
With that Joana returned to the front door and ducked inside. The men were talking again.
"I'm looking for someone", she announced at the innkeeper's questioning frown. The room was dimly lit and faces only seemed to emerge from the shadows occasionally.
"Found someone you have, methinks", he returned laughing hoarsely at his own joke. Some others joined in. Joana's heart sank. This way she would not even get her first question out. As she opened her mouth the burly man interrupted her again: "Are you drinkin'?"
Taken aback she stammered: "Sure."
"Good", the innkeeper nodded, "wouldn't want to send you out to the trough, too." Some chuckles. "What'll it be then?"
"A cup of ... goat's milk?" Again both question and statement. This time all patrons roared with laughter.
The innkeeper bellowed: "What are you? A little girl? Grow up, boy. Real men drink beer and real warriors drink mead. Gives yer hair on yer chest." He pounded his own breast.
Joana considered that her chest was about the last place she wanted hair on. On the other hand, with all the inn mocking her she would not get answers. She dug in her pouch, produced several of the copper coins and slapped them noisily on a table.
Trying to put some cool into her tone she said: "A mug of mead then. And no more of your daftness."
The innkeeper raised his eyebrows still smirking. "The wolf-boy growls but does he bite? Mead it is then."
"And some answers", Joana was about to add when the door was flung open.
"Speaker!" a shrill voice quavered. All heads turned to the entrance. A skinny old man with a stringy beard wearing grubby pelts was outlined against the grey light of the street. He was leaning on a short staff. He was waving his other hand in a wide, dramatic gesture.
She could hear the innkeeper rolling his eyes when he muttered: "'e's not a thinker, that's for sure." Some of the men nearby chuckled.
"A speaker has come", the old man proclaimed insitently waving his hand.
"This is not the market place, gramps", the innkeeper barked in return, "Sit yerself down and I'll bring you yer usual cup."
Some of the other patrons seemed content watching. The entertainment tonight was better than the occasional travelling bard. Joana stared at the newcomer in alarm. Had he just said what she had heard? Surely he could not know the legends, could he? After Vucara had told her the tales of the Speakers had all but been forgotten among animals it had not occurred to her that any human might know them. The old man was shifting excitedly on his chair as the innkeeper set a cup of something frothy in front of him. Then the old man beckoned her. She glanced around to see who he meant but there was only her.
"Beware", he croaked. "terrible the power of the Zmeuis. Sit with gramps and hear the tale." Joana took a hesitant step when a hand settled heavily on her shoulder.
"Don't bother with 'im", the innkeeper's voice said at her shoulder. "jus' an old fool is all 'e is. Lost 'is mind some winters ago. Now 'e just babbles nonsense."
After another lingering gaze at the figure cowering at a table by the door she let herself be lead away over the the table with the other men. They seemed engaged in their own private jokes about 'gramps'.
"Better ta sit with men that still 'ave their wits about them," he continued. "I can 'ear yer not from these parts. What brings you here then?"
Joana finally nodded. "I was - am - looking for someone. A man who's been to this inn no more than two weeks ago."
The innkeeper nodded sipping at her horn. Joana remembered her drink and followed his example. The mead was strong but sweet.
"And that man, 'e has a name, yes? And a face to remember 'im by?"
The girl took another sip and replied emboldened by the drink: "Tall and bald he is, with a face like a hawk's. His name is Grimrun."
"Grimrun." The innkeeper seemed to roll the name around his tongue, savour it like a strange spice. He took another swig of his drink. "Queer name for man. Never 'eard of 'im. 'ave you, lads?"
All other conversation had stopped, she realised, and she and the innkeeper had everyone's full attention. One by one they now shook their heads, a murmured negation here and there.
Joana was not prepared to give up yet. There was one more course to try. "He would have been here to raise some strong men for some sort of venture. Maybe the name he gave was another."
The innkeeper squinted at her. His eyes seemed small and pig-like. Somewhere outside dogs barked.
"Only the king's men call us to arms these days. And the king is a long way from here. What's your business with 'im anyway?"
The girl hesitated, then she set her jaw defiantly, saying: "I have ... a message for him."
"You don't look like a messenger to me", the big man observed coolly.
"My business is my own and none of yours", Joana countered but her voice did not sound as confident as she would have liked it.
"Got a score to settle, have ye", sneered one of the men at the table. A quick glace from the innkeeper seemed to silence him.
"-But ye don't look like a warrior neither", the latter continued slowly. There was a sparkle in his eyes now as he studied her. Joana made no more reply and eventually he shrugged and took a long swig.
"You will not find this ... Grimrun here."
With that the conversation appeared to be over for him. He barked a few words at the other men in some local dialect that Joana found hard to follow. She grabbed her mug that she had hardly touched and got up, turning toward the table near the door with the wizened figure. There was, however, no trace of the man the innkeeper had called gramps. The girl hesitated a moment confused. Then she went and set at his table anyhow. His mug had been drained. He must have slipped out quiet like a shadow. She took another sip from her own mug but she could already feel the strong drink going to her head. She was still hungry from the road had not eaten since the morning. Leaving the mug on the table next to the other one she left and was glad to step out into the cool evening air. The clouds hung low and heavy. It would probably rain that night.
Joana stood for a while trying to order her thoughts. If the trace of both her assailers and her mother's murderers lost itself here then what options had she left? Nearby a dog yelped sharply. These men did seem as if they were not completely honest but what of it? She was in no position to interrogate them. The whole town seemed more hostile than she would have expected but she could not expect every stranger from the road to receive a warm welcome everywhere. She could not simply give up. She could still ask around, address the town elders if she had to. If any of the men that had raided Kremitz had passed through here somebody had to remember it.
A series of vicious snarls from around the corner finally caught her attention. She hastened toward the source. Vucara was facing three large hounds the likes of which they had seen roaming the streets of Tramir. The wolf was still standing over one of them that was lying on its side. Its array of sharp teeth flashed in the evening light. Neck hair bristling, teeth bared the wolf slowly backed away. No less threatening the other two followed, fanning out, trying to flank her.
Joana sprang forward and noisily slapped the butt of her spear against the wooden trough. The sound made the third dog jump up with another yelp. It growled at her. The girl quickly rotated the spear around to bring its point between her and the dog.
"What's going on", she called to Vucara in True Speech.
Vucara was with her tail against the wall of the building by now snarling in each direction as the two dogs drew up in position on either side.
"Your dogs don't seem to like us here either", Vucara answered her voice strained. She snapped in one dogs direction and it retreated a little.
"You", Joana addressed the dog in front of her directly now, "go, leave us be. We don't want to fight you."
There was no reply. Then suddenly one of the dogs pounced. Vucara rose to meet it in midair and the two ended up on the ground snarling, all writhing bodies and snapping jaws. Joana jabbed the spear at the uncertain dog facing her. Then with two steps she was next to the other one that was circling the fighting couple. It whirled around but she still brought the butt end of the spear down square on its back.
"I said go", she shouted at the animal. The blow was received with a yowl of pain. The dog staggered back but was now facing her. She was dimly aware that the other one had not been cowed completely and was circling behind her. She brought the sharp end of the spear around in a wide sweep. Both of them leaped clear of the tip. Vucara and the other dog had broken up again. The dog was limping and bleeding heavily from its shoulder.
"Leave us alone!"
"This place", the dog in front suddenly answered in a hoarse, somehow crude voice, "your smell ... not welcome."
Joana circled around it until she was back to back with her companion. The girl slapped the spear down before its paws. The dog retreated a little always keeping its eyes on the weapon.
"Why", she demanded, "why are we so unwelcome?" She glanced to her side. The other dog had edged dangerously near. She brought the spear around slamming it against its side. It stumbled and finally turned tail whining all the way. But she had turned away from her other opponent. It sprang at her then as if released from a bow string. The momentum knocked her off her feet and she hit the ground painfully with her hip. Slavering jaws snapped at her face and she brought her arm up just in time. Jaws closed like a blacksmith's pliers around her bracers.
Then they abruptly opened again with a painful, high pitched whine and the dog fell off her, rolling over several times before it gained its feet and ran. Above her stood a figure wearing pelts that now leaned on his short staff again. A gnarled hand was offered to her. As the old man the others had called Gramps helped her up Joana looked around. Vucara had fought the third dog off flipping it on its back. Now she stood over it growling deeply. She also noticed that other townsfolk had begun to take an interest in the fight. Some were shouting in harsh tones.
"We'd better go", said Gramps tugging on her hand. "Follow Gramps, speaker. Hurry."
There was that word again. She had never heard it in human speech and it sounded strange to her. Even stranger still: how did he know? Could he know? Was he mad as the innkeeper had claimed? Then again, he had been the only welcoming inhabitant of Tramir so far.
"Come", she called to Vucara. "This man is offering his help."
"Can we trust him?" Vucara eyed Gramps suspiciously but after a last threatening snap at the dog she slowly backed their way. Gramps had already begun pulling Joana down one of the small roads away from the scene of the fight. He was mumbling - as much to himself as to her - about vicious dogs in town and even more vicious people.
"No more than anyone else", she Joana answered quietly and with a sidelong glance as they went. "He helped me. And he calls me speaker."
"Yet we don't know what his designs are", Vucara objected as she paced along. They were hurrying down the street - toward the edge of town.
"He seems to have something to say. Maybe he has some answers." After a few paces she added: "We'll keep our eyes and ears open."
Gramps was still mumbling to himself when they came up to a little hut with a high chimney that appeared to lean against the ramparts. It was surrounded by a garden of sorts. Joana spotted some vegetables but also a multitude of herbs and plants she had not seen before. The old man pushed through the low, narrow door and held it open for both of them. The girl noticed that he made no difference between her and the wolf following her.
"Inside", he just mumbled, "inside. Safe. Quiet."
Inside it was dark. He had covered all windows with skins. Only some cinders still glowed in a surprisingly large fireplace. As she entered a pungent mixture of smells assaulted Joana's nostrils and made her halt a moment. There was a dizzying combination of sweet, acidic and plain nauseating. None of it related to any kind of food or spice or animal she had ever encountered. It did, however, remind her of the strong scent of crushed herbs that she had smelled in the home of the village healer in Kremitz. Behind her she heard Vucara give a whine.
When the girl turned back to her the wolf had retreated from the door snorting and puffing. "I cannot follow you in there, Speaker. The place reeks like a hundred poisons."
"Do you think that man is brewing poison here", Joana whispered in alarm. Gramps had hobbled innocently over to the hearth and was stirring up the ashes with his staff. Then he added several fresh logs. He made no move to uncover any of the windows.
"I know not", the wolf sniffed, "but if you had a nose like we do you would know what I mean."
"I will go hear what he has to say", Joana told the wolf still whispering, "wait for me outside then. Keep out of sight and a watchful eye on the road."
The wolf hesitated for a heartbeat as if she were going to object. Then slipped quickly away and disappeared behind the hut. Joana now turned inside and closed the door behind her. With the fire rekindled a shifty light now filled the hut that only consisted of a single room. Joana gazed with wonder at the odds and ends that filled this room. She had seen the paraphernalia of the village healer but these were still stranger to her. On shelves and tables were stacked and lined up clay jugs and pots, some stoppered others covered with some cloth. There were little pouches and open bowls or loose, dried things Joana could not identify. Some bowls appeared to be filled with small animal bones. She could even see some phials of Roman glass filled with some liquid. A worm or small snake floated in one of them. On another shelf were stacked several scrolls of something even rarer: Roman vellum. Next to the fireplace waited a large iron cauldron and several smaller pots. On a heavy table in the middle of the room lay scattered bones with runes carved into them. She also noticed that each of the beams that supported the roof of the house had several runes carved into them. And suddenly with a cold shiver she remembered very similar runes that had been carved all over the remains of what had been Kremitz. Could this ... Gramps ... She dared not continue the thought.
Gramps was clearing away something more like old clothing from a stool at the large table.
"Sit, sit", the old man croaked. He was hanging a pot over the fire. Inside his hut Gramps had shed his furs and was only wearing a pair of woollen trousers. Joana could now see that his chest, back and arms were covered with complicated tattoos. On his wrinkled skin were drawn runes and other ancient symbols as well as the shapes of animals and other more obscure things. One marking even reached up the side of his neck and seemed to curl around his right eye. His shape was haggard and knobby but suggested a strong man in his youth. Once, when he turned into the light, Joana believed she also saw an array of scars on his back masked by the tattoos.
"I want to thank you for your help today", the girl said a little stiffly. "You probably saved our lives. We are in your debt."
Gramps made a discarding gesture. Then he settled onto a stool and studied her with a curious gleam in his eyes.
"So your companion the wolf is, not just your pet", he observed.
"It follows me", she replied cautiously, "this wolf is an exceptionally clever beast."
"Cautious you are. Good, good." He chuckled to himself. "Strong is our enemy, speaker, and everywhere he has ears and eyes. But rest assured, Gramps means you no harm. I wondering what brings you here."
"First of all, I want to make sense of you, Gramps." His strange accent and pattern of speech took some time to get used to. She tried to look him levelly in the eye across the table but found she could not. His gaze was piercing and undimmed by his age. "You seem to know me - or about me. What is it you know, and how did you come by this knowledge?"
"No", Gramps cackled. "Since in my house and in my debt you are first you should answer my questions before asking your own. Secure my help."
I'm not even sure I want your help. The thought crossed her mind but she did not utter it. Patience.
"I seek answers", Joana responded with a sigh. "I seek to make sense of things that have happened around me. And I seek to hunt down a murderer."
Why had she told him that?
The old man grinned. "Strip away the layers to come to the onion's core." More to himself he continued: "With no less a sacrifice would the Fates guide a Speaker to her destiny."
Her? This time she said it out loud before caution could stop her tongue. Gramps cackled again but then looked at her sternly.
"The drunkards at the inn you may fool or peasants busy tending their sheep", he grinned, "but I still know a maiden when I see one. Requires no sorcery, just attention to detail."
"You speak in riddles, ... Gramps."
Gramps actually giggled with glee and Joana fought down the sudden urge to slap him. "Patience, Speaker, patience. Tell me of this murderer."
"I know little of him. He is a tall man with a skalp bald as a skull and a face like a hawk's."
"No good", the old man murmured, "faces are no good."
Joana continued: "I know that he passed through Tramir maybe two weeks ago, though not from where. He gathered some armed men, maybe rested at the inn. And I know an odd name that he may go by: Grimrun."
At the mention of the name Gramps perked up. He was gnawing at his dirty fingernails. "The fox", he mumbled again, "the wolf you seek but hunt only the fox." Then he looked up with a twinkle in his eyes. "No offence to your companion intended, of course."
Joana shrugged her shoulders in exasperation. She got to her feet. "Gramps, I cannot make sense of any of your babble. Maybe you are as mad as they say of you."
"Sit, Speaker, and hear me out first." The gravity of his voice made her stop. Suddenly there was no madness left in his demeanour. Joana slowly settled back onto her stool. Gramps smiled approvingly. Some of his teeth were missing leaving dark gaps.
"You keep calling me 'Speaker'", the girl began again in a low voice, "what does that word mean to you?"
Gramps stared into the crackling flames for a few heartbeats.
"It's what you are, the name the old tales give people like you." He was speaking as if in a dream. Angry light danced on his face but his features were calm, pensive. "Druid in ancient times. Truthsayer. Speaker with Animals. Wyrdvoice. The Romans had a word in their tongue but I have forgotten it. The men of the north called you Wahrsager though that word now means something else. We of the Craft keep the ancient lore while minstrels only sing those sagas that please their lord or will earn them coin."
Joana shivered at all these names. It was hard to imagine that she should bear any of these titles. "Are there that many stories", she whispered.
He looked sad at that still not facing her. "Only few I know. My master ... he never finished my teaching." There was pain in his voice now.
"What do you know of my fate", the girl asked gently after a pause.
Gramps sighed. He got up and hobbled over the fire. With a piece of grubby cloth he lifted the cover off the pot hanging above the flames. Something bubbled inside. A new scent was added to the room. That of stew. It did not make the mixture appetising but it did remind Joana how hungry she was. Without further ado the old man filled two wooden bowls with steaming content and set one of them in front of her along with a wooden spoon. The other he kept in his hand blowing gently on it.
"I have some bones with a little meat on them for you friend to gnaw on if it eats what you give her", he said between breaths, "I am a poor man and do not have much myself but none shall say I do not know hospitality."
Joana gladly accepted his offer and quickly took the pieces outside. Vucara was resting behind the hut. After reassuring the wolf that there was no danger from Gramps, that he even knew of the Speakers, the wolf seemed to relax a bit and set to noisily devouring what was left edible on the bones. Soon Joana was sitting back opposite Gramps at the table and for some time the only sound was both of them slurping hot stew. When Gramps offered his guest what was left in the pot she bashfully accepted that, too. Despite her curiosity there was no denying that she had not had a hot meal in more than a week. And when she had wiped the bowl clean with a lump of hard bread Joana felt as if she had feasted at the table of the gods.
When she thanked him he just replied: "My master used to say: 'Great matters should not be discussed on an empty belly.' And you, little lady, looked like you were half starved."
For some time Joana basked in the contented glow of a full stomach while Gramps rinsed the bowls with some water and threw the used water on the street outside. It had almost grown as dark outside at in Gramps's hut.
Finally, her reason for being there came back to her and she asked: "Will you now tell me of my fate and what you meant by all the things you said earlier?"
Gramps nodded and sat back down on his side of the table, grunting and leaning heavily on his staff. He looked at her for a long moment. Again he fixed this clear gaze on Joana that she could hardly stand.
"A great evil has come upon us", he began gravely. "It threatens not only us but all the lands ruled by King Baldrik and eventually all others, as well. It seeks to corrupt the hearts of men and seize possession of what is theirs. The ancients called this greedy, hateful and wicked thing a Zmeu."
Joana shivered as he uttered that word and for a moment even the fire seemed to die down before it surged up again hissing almost spitefully.
"What is a- this thing you speak of", the girl asked not daring to speak the word herself. "Where did it come from."
"I cannot say one or the other. My master and me first felt its influence less than a score years ago. It must have descended from the mountains in the north where no men live. Some say this creature can sleep for a man's lifetime only to awaken refreshed and hungry for power. Its will alone bent on a man's mind may break that man but it is mostly with its sweet lies and promises that it outwits its enemies. My master and I sought out this thing thinking he could banish it to return to its lair. We ... failed."
He paused, a look of remembered horrors crossed his wrinkled face. What does all this frightful talk have to do with me, Joana thought. The question was begging to be asked but a dawning realisation was creeping up on her.
"Gramps", she interrupted the silence hesitantly, "assuming I believe your story-"
"You must", Gramps exclaimed with sudden agitation. "What doubt is there? I have seen this thing with my own eyes. I have seen what it can do. You know I am not lying!"
She did. There was something in his words that had rang true. Still she deliberately began again: "Assuming that your story is true, I am in Tramir to find a murderer, not to fight this ... ancient evil. Please speak to me of a man named Grimrun. Was such a man in Tramir recruiting warriors?"
"You do not understand!" His brought his hand down flat on the table with a slap. "My master was a mere sorcerer but you, you are a Speaker. You ... have the power of words. Brought you here the Fates have. For what other purpose, do you think, than to do what we could not?" The words were pouring out of him but his voice had begun to sound again like the mad old man Joana had seen at the inn. "Defeat the power of the monster you must. Break its curse. Free us. Save us!" Gramps fell silent. His mouth was still moving but no more words issued from it. He was breathing heavily. His knobby hand lay trembling on the table. Joana looked at her host with pity now.
"Gramps", she began gently, "I have no power as what you speak of. I have escaped dangers on my journey here by pure luck, by the will of the gods maybe, and by faithful companion's help." Her host was staring at the fire almost defiantly. She went on: "You saw I was almost overwhelmed by a pack of dogs. What chance could I stand against such a monster?"
"You have not unlocked your power yet", he returned, "there is a way. Speak to your friends." His hand indicated the back of the hut. "They know the power of names."
Joana jumped up nearly toppling her stool. Her heart was pounding. She turned this way and that but there was nowhere to go. Clenching her fists she turned back to the old man.
"I am no warrior nor a sorcerer nor a hero like in the old sagas. I am the daughter of no king but a blacksmith. My mother was murdered by some foul men that probably came from Tramir. My only wish is to avenge her death and return to my father to tell him it is done."
Was that really it, she wondered even as she said it. Gramps waved his hand at her remark as if he was swishing at flies.
"But you have it all wrong, Speaker, everything", he croaked in exasperation, gesturing wildly, each word louder than the last. "You don't know half of it yet. You believe you seek only revenge but you are already part of a much bigger story. A man named Grimrun you seek? That was the name of the man my master and I confronted years ago. He it was that beguiled the townspeople so that they slew their respected sorcerer and he it was that made me ... what I am."
Joana's breath caught in her throat. Was it fright or excitement that made her heart pound in her chest? Gramps was almost shouting now and there was a mad sparkle in his eyes.
"Your fate and mine were entwined long before you knew it, Speaker. If you still wish to fulfil your quest then you must help me overcome my archfoe, too."
Just at that moment there was a growl from the side of the hut. It was low, a warning. Something was amiss. Joana quickly put a finger over her mouth but Gramps had talked himself into a frenzy. Finally, she clamped a hand over his mouth. There were hushed voices outside, footsteps crunching on gravel.
Then there was a sudden rap at the door and a loud voice rang out: "Oi, Gramps, are ye done ravin' yet?"
The old man's eyes grew wide in a flash of realisation. Pulling Joana's hand away he stared at her for several heartbeats.
"Gramps", the voice shouted again, "don't play mouse now. We know you're in there. And we know you got that girl."
"They've come for me", Gramps whispered in a tiny quivering voice, "this time they've come for me."
"Let her go", another voice called from out front. "You're not doing to her what you did to the others."
At that Joana had involuntarily taken a step back. But Gramps shook his head violently.
"No, no. It's lies. Lies! Stinking LIES!" The last word was a defiant cry. His eyes were darting back and forth around his hut like those of a trapped animal.
This time someone hammered his fist against the door. It remained shut. Joana had never noticed him pulling the latch. Her though from the beginning came back to her. The runes. Could it be this old man after all?
"Let her go, Gramps. Come out. Your deeds of blood are over."
"Have you told her the story about your master?" It was the other voice again. "Did you tell her that it was you who killed him?"
Gramps was whispering frantically to Joana: "They're lying, you must believe me. Please. I never meant to hurt you. You're the only hope I have." There were tears in his eyes. Then he suddenly laughed. "But they can't come in here. The house is warded."
Then a new voice sounded. It was not loud but it seemed to sound outside as well as inside.
"Berengar, I call you out. Come and face me."
At this Gramps's eyes filled with terror. He staggered the muscles in his cheeks clenching wildly.
"It's him", the old man gasped. "It's not for me. He is here for you. But I defy him." In one fast motion Gramps bit open the tip of his right index finger. As blood poured forth he brought his hand down and scrawled a shape on the dark table top. It was a rune. Then he slammed his fist onto it. To Joana he said: "That should buy us some time. But you can't stay here."
"Is that Grimrun?" The girl's whisper was a tiny squeak.
"Berengar." This time the voice seemed deep and resounding. The very beams of the hut seemed tremble and Gramps swayed and steadied himself on the table. The old man shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.
"You must leave", he continued without paying her any heed, "you are not prepared. When he breaks through he will destroy you."
"Is that him", Joana insisted. She tried to stand in his way to interrupt his thoughts but he just wound around her, unseeing.
"Mad old Gramps still has some surprises in stock."
There was a crazed grin on his face as he began hastily rummaging through his piles of odds and ends, mumbling to himself. He was carelessly dropping things right and left. Clay and precious glass shattered on the floor. Animal bones and dried herbs were scattered. Outside a long howl rose of the noise. Vucara! She was alone out there with their adversaries. But the sound was not coming from near the hut... Joana looked around wildly. She had grabbed her spear. Should she dive out the window and try her luck running?
"Berengar!"
For a moment his legs gave in and the old man fell to his knees. Several jugs crashed to the floor. The rune on the table drawn in the old man's blood had started to blister. Wisps of smoke curled from its outline. With mounting terror Joana noticed the same was happening to the runes on the beams of the hut. As if they were being burnt right out of the wood. The old man grunted with effort. When he turned back to her his face had changed. Deep lines had appeared. His eyes looked bloodshot. He was holding a round clay bulb of something in one hand. With the other he shoved a small leather pouch into her free hand.
"Take ... this. May help."
Another howl sounded outside. Then the fierce baying of many dogs approaching fast. Bewildered shouts could be heard. A man cried out in pain. Then all mingled in a cacophony of snarls, yelps, screams and shouts.
"Now!"
With that Gramps - Berengar - flung open the door and stumbled outside. Clinging to her spear Joana pushed through the low opening right behind him. The scene that unfurled before her was lit in patchy light from torches the men had brought. The street had turned into a battlefield. Joana could see a dozen men struggling with at least as many dogs. There was no telling how many exactly as bodies darted and jumped and rolled in and out of the flickering light. Vucara was nowhere to be seen.
Berengar had not taken a few steps when he stopped dead just as if he had walked into a wall. Again he collapsed and landed heavily on his knees. A single cloaked and hooded figure stood in the middle of the mayhem as if none of it was worth a second thought. Joana caught sight of him for an instant and her eyes met the gleaming specks underneath the hood. She felt trapped in that gaze like a rabbit staring down a hawk. Something like spidery fingers was questing for the fringes of her consciousness. What had Gramps said? "Its will alone bent on a man's mind..." You will die, she felt the eyes say, and your story will end here. The weight of the thought was crushing.
NO! You - are - not - my - master! With a furious scream she brought the spear up and about. With all her strength she hurled it at those eyes. There was a moment of surprise in them. The hold was broken. The missile had been badly aimed. It seemed to strike him yet at the same time pass by him. He staggered back a pace, then stood fast again. Berengar was up also, released from what ever thought had held him captive. He raised the bulb over his head and brought it crashing down at the cloaked man's feet. There was a blinding flash and resounding bang. The thing gave an unearthly howl - of anger more than pain. Thick smoke was rising from the shards of clay. Still Joana stood watching as if rooted to the ground.
"Run!" Berengar's cry finally tore through her trance.
Still half dazzled from the flash Joana turned and stormed wildly into the darkness of the night.
... to be continued ...
For some time Joana had simply wandered the busy streets. She had marvelled at the many wares, at the traders from distant parts, at the foreigners. Tramir, being a border town, was often host to merchants from the east, from the remains of the Imperium, from the wild, uncharted territory that lay beyond even that. Here there was a taste of these in the air, a hint of spice, a smattering of tongues or a flash of colour. It was only once in a while that Joana had seen larger towns such as this one. Once of twice she had been with father to the seat of the king's reign, a large city of symmetric layout built out of stone by the Romans generations ago. Tramir was much more archaic than the well ordered Roman streets. There were occasional gaps between houses, which themselves were a mixture of wooden long houses like in Kremitz, houses seemingly cobbled together out of rough stone in imitation of Roman ones and crude shacks that were huddled between the other edifices. She passed the assembly hall, an imposing long house with figures carved into the wooden gables. During all this Vucara trotted quietly at her side. Her ears lay flat against her head and her tail was down. Never in her life she had been in a human settlement, the wolf confessed in a quiet moment. The strange smells and sounds, the absence of trees and the hard bare ground underfoot and, of course, the many humans were more than a little daunting. Still it was a lesson, she remarked later, one that no wolf before her had been able to learn and maybe none after her would again. Everything around her smelt of threat, of danger and yet nobody had pulled a spear on her. Was that how Joana had felt among her pack? The girl considered this for a while. She had been afraid, true, but she had trusted Vucara's promise - almost without giving it a second thought. That puzzled her.
Then Vucara said: "It's because you sensed that the ancient tongue is not fit for lies or deceit. Hence those cannot be uttered in it."
Joana did not understand. How was this possible? Surely it was possible to bend the truth using any words one pleased. Vucara shook her head in another human gesture.
"Can a mountain not be a mountain by not calling it that?", she asked mysteriously. "Can water flow against its course because you deny it? Or can rain be dry because you claim that it is? Nature does not deceive you. What you see, what you smell or feel is what you get. I've heard say that the ancient tongue and the utterances you make in it are just like that. You can call things what they are truly. The words cannot change their meaning or be false. That is why some call it True Speech. Innuendo and falseness, those were later introduced by languages that come only from the mouth and are beyond our capabilities. You may also call this Heart Speech."
Joana remained silent for a long while after this. Her thoughts were racing. She walked ahead aimlessly paying no heed to what happened around her.
"Animals and children tell the truth, they never lie", she eventually said dreamily. The wolf's words rang true and had stirred something deep inside her. "Only when they grow older and learn the intricacies of language they may tell falsenesses."
Vucara made no answer but a distressed whine made the girl turn. They were standing in front of a house - more a hut - that was backed against the town wall. In front of it wooden poles had been erected. Between each pair of them had been strung the hides of animals left out here to dry in the sun and wind. They were the grey pelts of wolves. Vucara was staring at them. Almost timidly she approached the pelts, sniffed them, and every now and again she uttered that pitiful high pitched whine. A man had was standing out side the hut probably waiting for customs. He was tall, lean, dark, bearded and scarred. And he would notice the wolf.
Joana swore under her breath. and hurried over. Hastily she grabbed the makeshift collar and tugged at it. That only produced a sudden yelp.
"Come", the girl hissed, "you cannot help them anymore." But the wolf would not move. The man had meanwhile taken an interest the pair. He was coming from the hut walking in heavy strides. Foreboding welled up in her.
"Vucara, please", the girl whispered imploringly, "let's go! Do you want to join them?"
Finally, the wolf gave in and let herself be dragged away.
"You interested in my furs?" The man's voice was harsh and hardly concealed his suspicion.
Joana shook her head and tried to smile. "My dog got upset. Silly thing", she added trying to make her voice sound more derisive than anxious.
The man studied her squinting out of clear blue eyes. She now noticed that he was holding a large skinning knife in his fist.
"That's no dog, lad." There was no doubt in his voice. "You better be careful ... before I add it to my collection." He laughed hoarsely and utterly without humour. His laugh rang in Joana's ears even as she hurried down the street and turned the next corner-
-just in time to hear a loud squeal. A man was desperately holding on to a rope around a pig's neck while another was fumbling with a long knife. The ground around them was darkened as if a certain liquid frequently settled into it. The pig was grunting and squeaking and struggling violently.
"Oi, lad", one of the men called in a strained voice, "give us a hand here." But Joana stood as if paralysed her gaze riveted to the knife. Suddenly the town that had seemed promising a few moments ago had turned into a nightmare's dream. Then the other man found a hold and brought the blade up. The pig gurgled and a dark flood erupted from its throat. And Joana just stared unable to avert her gaze.
"What's wrong, lad", panted the other man, "can't stand a bit of blood?" The two of them laughed loudly.
This time it was Vucara that pulled on her leash and dragged the girl away. The town seemed transformed now. Walking in a daze she only noticed the odd, suspicious looks the townsfolk were giving her and her companion. There were dead chickens outside one house, outside another a woman was chopping up a chunk of meat, more animal pelts were drying in front of yet another. Death seemed to be everywhere.
"You put them on display", she heard Vucara mumble at some point. "You put the dead on display." Joana had no consolation for her.
After a while of aimless wandering she calmed herself. Too long had been the time spent among animals. The sights of this town were not unusual for any human settlement and had certainly not been in Kremitz. Unusual for a human, that was.
Eventually she found the words: "I should not have brought you here, Vucara."
Without looking up the wolf answered quietly: "It's a valuable lesson to learn about human kind. Creatures fear you because you bring them death. For the same reason they fear us. There is no wrong in eating another creature's flesh. But I used to know some of those dead. They were from another pack, we were not friends but this was not the end I had wished for them. To see my fellows' skins on display with their smell still on them is ..." Words seemed to fail her.
Joana tried to explain speaking in a low voice ignoring the sidelong glances from passers-by. Tanning she knew a bit about. Warriors would wear the pelt of wolf or bear. Though she had to admit seeing this many at the same time was unusual. The wolf listened without interrupting.
Presently Vucara conceded: "There is still too much about humans that I do not know. Maybe Murmarn and Alefa were right, after all, and I was rash joining you on this journey. I made assumptions from knowing only you."
Joana nodded. Then a thought occurred to her that she had put out of her mind for a while.
"Murmarn mentioned something else, a debt you had to repay or a score to be settled."
Vucara stopped and looked up at her. Their gazes met but it was the wolf that looked away.
"I follow you, Speaker, to honour my life-debt to you, and because I believe that few among us now have the chance to walk with a Chosen One", the wolf said solemnly, "I have no secrets from you. Only here is not the right place or time to speak of such things. For now we should continue on our quest."
And leave this town behind. Joana could almost hear the words but she said no more. She had begun to share her companion's discomfort.
It was not difficult then to find the long, squat thatched timber-frame house with the low, iron shod door above which were carved the likenesses of a sleek cat pouncing on a fat mouse.
Joana pushed open the door to reveal a large common room with tables and stools and a huge fireplace probably big enough to roast a whole pig in. The small fire crackling there now did not do it justice. Several barrels were stacked on the other side of the room. Furs were still curled back inside the door and the little, square windows to keep out the chill. A vague smell of cooking and a much stronger one of beer wafted out at her. At this early hour before dusk there were only a few men seated at one of the tables. They had a rough cut look to them that Joana did not like. A fat man was leaning leisurely against the barrels holding a drinking horn. She caught a few words of the local dialect when she entered but they stopped and looked over a her.
"Tŷr's greetings, lad," the fat man called, "you lost?" Joana looked at him questioningly.
"Your dog", he barked, "does it drink beer or mead?"
Joana's expression still did not change. "No?" It was as much a question as a statement.
"Then it can wait outside and drink water. We don't serve that kind here."
Joana nodded. They were evidently a rough bunch. She grabbed Vucara by the make-shift collar and led her outside. There she led her around to the side of the house where a half filled wooden trough waited for horses. There the girl cowered in front of her companion so that their eyes were nearly level. She very nearly held Vucara's head in her hands or stroked her as she used to do with her dog. But only nearly. Despite their friendship there was something about her companion. Stroking her would have been like patting father on the head for holding his hammer right.
"They don't want wolves inside", Joana said apologetically. "They are ..." Somehow telling the wolf the truth was something she could not do. It seemed so degrading. Vucara looked at her out of two orbs of amber. Her voice was one of gentle reproach when she spoke.
"Do not try to hide the truth, Speaker. I would smell it though you said no word at all."
Joana nodded, defeated. "They said that ... dogs are not allowed inside."
"I understand", the wolf said gently. "They don't know me and don't want me in their territory. I can relate to that. What I do not like is you going in alone. Especially, since your - our - adversary may be nearby."
Joana tried to give her companion an encouraging smile. "With your senses you'll probably know trouble before anyone else does. And if you don't I'll just scream like a little girl."
The wolf gave her a stern look. "Do not trifle with danger and do not expect your opponent will do so. He has proven to be illusive. I reckon we will need cunning and patience and resourcefulness to bring down this prey."
The girl drew herself erect and nodded resolutely. Vucara seemed to smile at this when she spoke again: "Good hunting."
With that Joana returned to the front door and ducked inside. The men were talking again.
"I'm looking for someone", she announced at the innkeeper's questioning frown. The room was dimly lit and faces only seemed to emerge from the shadows occasionally.
"Found someone you have, methinks", he returned laughing hoarsely at his own joke. Some others joined in. Joana's heart sank. This way she would not even get her first question out. As she opened her mouth the burly man interrupted her again: "Are you drinkin'?"
Taken aback she stammered: "Sure."
"Good", the innkeeper nodded, "wouldn't want to send you out to the trough, too." Some chuckles. "What'll it be then?"
"A cup of ... goat's milk?" Again both question and statement. This time all patrons roared with laughter.
The innkeeper bellowed: "What are you? A little girl? Grow up, boy. Real men drink beer and real warriors drink mead. Gives yer hair on yer chest." He pounded his own breast.
Joana considered that her chest was about the last place she wanted hair on. On the other hand, with all the inn mocking her she would not get answers. She dug in her pouch, produced several of the copper coins and slapped them noisily on a table.
Trying to put some cool into her tone she said: "A mug of mead then. And no more of your daftness."
The innkeeper raised his eyebrows still smirking. "The wolf-boy growls but does he bite? Mead it is then."
"And some answers", Joana was about to add when the door was flung open.
"Speaker!" a shrill voice quavered. All heads turned to the entrance. A skinny old man with a stringy beard wearing grubby pelts was outlined against the grey light of the street. He was leaning on a short staff. He was waving his other hand in a wide, dramatic gesture.
She could hear the innkeeper rolling his eyes when he muttered: "'e's not a thinker, that's for sure." Some of the men nearby chuckled.
"A speaker has come", the old man proclaimed insitently waving his hand.
"This is not the market place, gramps", the innkeeper barked in return, "Sit yerself down and I'll bring you yer usual cup."
Some of the other patrons seemed content watching. The entertainment tonight was better than the occasional travelling bard. Joana stared at the newcomer in alarm. Had he just said what she had heard? Surely he could not know the legends, could he? After Vucara had told her the tales of the Speakers had all but been forgotten among animals it had not occurred to her that any human might know them. The old man was shifting excitedly on his chair as the innkeeper set a cup of something frothy in front of him. Then the old man beckoned her. She glanced around to see who he meant but there was only her.
"Beware", he croaked. "terrible the power of the Zmeuis. Sit with gramps and hear the tale." Joana took a hesitant step when a hand settled heavily on her shoulder.
"Don't bother with 'im", the innkeeper's voice said at her shoulder. "jus' an old fool is all 'e is. Lost 'is mind some winters ago. Now 'e just babbles nonsense."
After another lingering gaze at the figure cowering at a table by the door she let herself be lead away over the the table with the other men. They seemed engaged in their own private jokes about 'gramps'.
"Better ta sit with men that still 'ave their wits about them," he continued. "I can 'ear yer not from these parts. What brings you here then?"
Joana finally nodded. "I was - am - looking for someone. A man who's been to this inn no more than two weeks ago."
The innkeeper nodded sipping at her horn. Joana remembered her drink and followed his example. The mead was strong but sweet.
"And that man, 'e has a name, yes? And a face to remember 'im by?"
The girl took another sip and replied emboldened by the drink: "Tall and bald he is, with a face like a hawk's. His name is Grimrun."
"Grimrun." The innkeeper seemed to roll the name around his tongue, savour it like a strange spice. He took another swig of his drink. "Queer name for man. Never 'eard of 'im. 'ave you, lads?"
All other conversation had stopped, she realised, and she and the innkeeper had everyone's full attention. One by one they now shook their heads, a murmured negation here and there.
Joana was not prepared to give up yet. There was one more course to try. "He would have been here to raise some strong men for some sort of venture. Maybe the name he gave was another."
The innkeeper squinted at her. His eyes seemed small and pig-like. Somewhere outside dogs barked.
"Only the king's men call us to arms these days. And the king is a long way from here. What's your business with 'im anyway?"
The girl hesitated, then she set her jaw defiantly, saying: "I have ... a message for him."
"You don't look like a messenger to me", the big man observed coolly.
"My business is my own and none of yours", Joana countered but her voice did not sound as confident as she would have liked it.
"Got a score to settle, have ye", sneered one of the men at the table. A quick glace from the innkeeper seemed to silence him.
"-But ye don't look like a warrior neither", the latter continued slowly. There was a sparkle in his eyes now as he studied her. Joana made no more reply and eventually he shrugged and took a long swig.
"You will not find this ... Grimrun here."
With that the conversation appeared to be over for him. He barked a few words at the other men in some local dialect that Joana found hard to follow. She grabbed her mug that she had hardly touched and got up, turning toward the table near the door with the wizened figure. There was, however, no trace of the man the innkeeper had called gramps. The girl hesitated a moment confused. Then she went and set at his table anyhow. His mug had been drained. He must have slipped out quiet like a shadow. She took another sip from her own mug but she could already feel the strong drink going to her head. She was still hungry from the road had not eaten since the morning. Leaving the mug on the table next to the other one she left and was glad to step out into the cool evening air. The clouds hung low and heavy. It would probably rain that night.
Joana stood for a while trying to order her thoughts. If the trace of both her assailers and her mother's murderers lost itself here then what options had she left? Nearby a dog yelped sharply. These men did seem as if they were not completely honest but what of it? She was in no position to interrogate them. The whole town seemed more hostile than she would have expected but she could not expect every stranger from the road to receive a warm welcome everywhere. She could not simply give up. She could still ask around, address the town elders if she had to. If any of the men that had raided Kremitz had passed through here somebody had to remember it.
A series of vicious snarls from around the corner finally caught her attention. She hastened toward the source. Vucara was facing three large hounds the likes of which they had seen roaming the streets of Tramir. The wolf was still standing over one of them that was lying on its side. Its array of sharp teeth flashed in the evening light. Neck hair bristling, teeth bared the wolf slowly backed away. No less threatening the other two followed, fanning out, trying to flank her.
Joana sprang forward and noisily slapped the butt of her spear against the wooden trough. The sound made the third dog jump up with another yelp. It growled at her. The girl quickly rotated the spear around to bring its point between her and the dog.
"What's going on", she called to Vucara in True Speech.
Vucara was with her tail against the wall of the building by now snarling in each direction as the two dogs drew up in position on either side.
"Your dogs don't seem to like us here either", Vucara answered her voice strained. She snapped in one dogs direction and it retreated a little.
"You", Joana addressed the dog in front of her directly now, "go, leave us be. We don't want to fight you."
There was no reply. Then suddenly one of the dogs pounced. Vucara rose to meet it in midair and the two ended up on the ground snarling, all writhing bodies and snapping jaws. Joana jabbed the spear at the uncertain dog facing her. Then with two steps she was next to the other one that was circling the fighting couple. It whirled around but she still brought the butt end of the spear down square on its back.
"I said go", she shouted at the animal. The blow was received with a yowl of pain. The dog staggered back but was now facing her. She was dimly aware that the other one had not been cowed completely and was circling behind her. She brought the sharp end of the spear around in a wide sweep. Both of them leaped clear of the tip. Vucara and the other dog had broken up again. The dog was limping and bleeding heavily from its shoulder.
"Leave us alone!"
"This place", the dog in front suddenly answered in a hoarse, somehow crude voice, "your smell ... not welcome."
Joana circled around it until she was back to back with her companion. The girl slapped the spear down before its paws. The dog retreated a little always keeping its eyes on the weapon.
"Why", she demanded, "why are we so unwelcome?" She glanced to her side. The other dog had edged dangerously near. She brought the spear around slamming it against its side. It stumbled and finally turned tail whining all the way. But she had turned away from her other opponent. It sprang at her then as if released from a bow string. The momentum knocked her off her feet and she hit the ground painfully with her hip. Slavering jaws snapped at her face and she brought her arm up just in time. Jaws closed like a blacksmith's pliers around her bracers.
Then they abruptly opened again with a painful, high pitched whine and the dog fell off her, rolling over several times before it gained its feet and ran. Above her stood a figure wearing pelts that now leaned on his short staff again. A gnarled hand was offered to her. As the old man the others had called Gramps helped her up Joana looked around. Vucara had fought the third dog off flipping it on its back. Now she stood over it growling deeply. She also noticed that other townsfolk had begun to take an interest in the fight. Some were shouting in harsh tones.
"We'd better go", said Gramps tugging on her hand. "Follow Gramps, speaker. Hurry."
There was that word again. She had never heard it in human speech and it sounded strange to her. Even stranger still: how did he know? Could he know? Was he mad as the innkeeper had claimed? Then again, he had been the only welcoming inhabitant of Tramir so far.
"Come", she called to Vucara. "This man is offering his help."
"Can we trust him?" Vucara eyed Gramps suspiciously but after a last threatening snap at the dog she slowly backed their way. Gramps had already begun pulling Joana down one of the small roads away from the scene of the fight. He was mumbling - as much to himself as to her - about vicious dogs in town and even more vicious people.
"No more than anyone else", she Joana answered quietly and with a sidelong glance as they went. "He helped me. And he calls me speaker."
"Yet we don't know what his designs are", Vucara objected as she paced along. They were hurrying down the street - toward the edge of town.
"He seems to have something to say. Maybe he has some answers." After a few paces she added: "We'll keep our eyes and ears open."
Gramps was still mumbling to himself when they came up to a little hut with a high chimney that appeared to lean against the ramparts. It was surrounded by a garden of sorts. Joana spotted some vegetables but also a multitude of herbs and plants she had not seen before. The old man pushed through the low, narrow door and held it open for both of them. The girl noticed that he made no difference between her and the wolf following her.
"Inside", he just mumbled, "inside. Safe. Quiet."
Inside it was dark. He had covered all windows with skins. Only some cinders still glowed in a surprisingly large fireplace. As she entered a pungent mixture of smells assaulted Joana's nostrils and made her halt a moment. There was a dizzying combination of sweet, acidic and plain nauseating. None of it related to any kind of food or spice or animal she had ever encountered. It did, however, remind her of the strong scent of crushed herbs that she had smelled in the home of the village healer in Kremitz. Behind her she heard Vucara give a whine.
When the girl turned back to her the wolf had retreated from the door snorting and puffing. "I cannot follow you in there, Speaker. The place reeks like a hundred poisons."
"Do you think that man is brewing poison here", Joana whispered in alarm. Gramps had hobbled innocently over to the hearth and was stirring up the ashes with his staff. Then he added several fresh logs. He made no move to uncover any of the windows.
"I know not", the wolf sniffed, "but if you had a nose like we do you would know what I mean."
"I will go hear what he has to say", Joana told the wolf still whispering, "wait for me outside then. Keep out of sight and a watchful eye on the road."
The wolf hesitated for a heartbeat as if she were going to object. Then slipped quickly away and disappeared behind the hut. Joana now turned inside and closed the door behind her. With the fire rekindled a shifty light now filled the hut that only consisted of a single room. Joana gazed with wonder at the odds and ends that filled this room. She had seen the paraphernalia of the village healer but these were still stranger to her. On shelves and tables were stacked and lined up clay jugs and pots, some stoppered others covered with some cloth. There were little pouches and open bowls or loose, dried things Joana could not identify. Some bowls appeared to be filled with small animal bones. She could even see some phials of Roman glass filled with some liquid. A worm or small snake floated in one of them. On another shelf were stacked several scrolls of something even rarer: Roman vellum. Next to the fireplace waited a large iron cauldron and several smaller pots. On a heavy table in the middle of the room lay scattered bones with runes carved into them. She also noticed that each of the beams that supported the roof of the house had several runes carved into them. And suddenly with a cold shiver she remembered very similar runes that had been carved all over the remains of what had been Kremitz. Could this ... Gramps ... She dared not continue the thought.
Gramps was clearing away something more like old clothing from a stool at the large table.
"Sit, sit", the old man croaked. He was hanging a pot over the fire. Inside his hut Gramps had shed his furs and was only wearing a pair of woollen trousers. Joana could now see that his chest, back and arms were covered with complicated tattoos. On his wrinkled skin were drawn runes and other ancient symbols as well as the shapes of animals and other more obscure things. One marking even reached up the side of his neck and seemed to curl around his right eye. His shape was haggard and knobby but suggested a strong man in his youth. Once, when he turned into the light, Joana believed she also saw an array of scars on his back masked by the tattoos.
"I want to thank you for your help today", the girl said a little stiffly. "You probably saved our lives. We are in your debt."
Gramps made a discarding gesture. Then he settled onto a stool and studied her with a curious gleam in his eyes.
"So your companion the wolf is, not just your pet", he observed.
"It follows me", she replied cautiously, "this wolf is an exceptionally clever beast."
"Cautious you are. Good, good." He chuckled to himself. "Strong is our enemy, speaker, and everywhere he has ears and eyes. But rest assured, Gramps means you no harm. I wondering what brings you here."
"First of all, I want to make sense of you, Gramps." His strange accent and pattern of speech took some time to get used to. She tried to look him levelly in the eye across the table but found she could not. His gaze was piercing and undimmed by his age. "You seem to know me - or about me. What is it you know, and how did you come by this knowledge?"
"No", Gramps cackled. "Since in my house and in my debt you are first you should answer my questions before asking your own. Secure my help."
I'm not even sure I want your help. The thought crossed her mind but she did not utter it. Patience.
"I seek answers", Joana responded with a sigh. "I seek to make sense of things that have happened around me. And I seek to hunt down a murderer."
Why had she told him that?
The old man grinned. "Strip away the layers to come to the onion's core." More to himself he continued: "With no less a sacrifice would the Fates guide a Speaker to her destiny."
Her? This time she said it out loud before caution could stop her tongue. Gramps cackled again but then looked at her sternly.
"The drunkards at the inn you may fool or peasants busy tending their sheep", he grinned, "but I still know a maiden when I see one. Requires no sorcery, just attention to detail."
"You speak in riddles, ... Gramps."
Gramps actually giggled with glee and Joana fought down the sudden urge to slap him. "Patience, Speaker, patience. Tell me of this murderer."
"I know little of him. He is a tall man with a skalp bald as a skull and a face like a hawk's."
"No good", the old man murmured, "faces are no good."
Joana continued: "I know that he passed through Tramir maybe two weeks ago, though not from where. He gathered some armed men, maybe rested at the inn. And I know an odd name that he may go by: Grimrun."
At the mention of the name Gramps perked up. He was gnawing at his dirty fingernails. "The fox", he mumbled again, "the wolf you seek but hunt only the fox." Then he looked up with a twinkle in his eyes. "No offence to your companion intended, of course."
Joana shrugged her shoulders in exasperation. She got to her feet. "Gramps, I cannot make sense of any of your babble. Maybe you are as mad as they say of you."
"Sit, Speaker, and hear me out first." The gravity of his voice made her stop. Suddenly there was no madness left in his demeanour. Joana slowly settled back onto her stool. Gramps smiled approvingly. Some of his teeth were missing leaving dark gaps.
"You keep calling me 'Speaker'", the girl began again in a low voice, "what does that word mean to you?"
Gramps stared into the crackling flames for a few heartbeats.
"It's what you are, the name the old tales give people like you." He was speaking as if in a dream. Angry light danced on his face but his features were calm, pensive. "Druid in ancient times. Truthsayer. Speaker with Animals. Wyrdvoice. The Romans had a word in their tongue but I have forgotten it. The men of the north called you Wahrsager though that word now means something else. We of the Craft keep the ancient lore while minstrels only sing those sagas that please their lord or will earn them coin."
Joana shivered at all these names. It was hard to imagine that she should bear any of these titles. "Are there that many stories", she whispered.
He looked sad at that still not facing her. "Only few I know. My master ... he never finished my teaching." There was pain in his voice now.
"What do you know of my fate", the girl asked gently after a pause.
Gramps sighed. He got up and hobbled over the fire. With a piece of grubby cloth he lifted the cover off the pot hanging above the flames. Something bubbled inside. A new scent was added to the room. That of stew. It did not make the mixture appetising but it did remind Joana how hungry she was. Without further ado the old man filled two wooden bowls with steaming content and set one of them in front of her along with a wooden spoon. The other he kept in his hand blowing gently on it.
"I have some bones with a little meat on them for you friend to gnaw on if it eats what you give her", he said between breaths, "I am a poor man and do not have much myself but none shall say I do not know hospitality."
Joana gladly accepted his offer and quickly took the pieces outside. Vucara was resting behind the hut. After reassuring the wolf that there was no danger from Gramps, that he even knew of the Speakers, the wolf seemed to relax a bit and set to noisily devouring what was left edible on the bones. Soon Joana was sitting back opposite Gramps at the table and for some time the only sound was both of them slurping hot stew. When Gramps offered his guest what was left in the pot she bashfully accepted that, too. Despite her curiosity there was no denying that she had not had a hot meal in more than a week. And when she had wiped the bowl clean with a lump of hard bread Joana felt as if she had feasted at the table of the gods.
When she thanked him he just replied: "My master used to say: 'Great matters should not be discussed on an empty belly.' And you, little lady, looked like you were half starved."
For some time Joana basked in the contented glow of a full stomach while Gramps rinsed the bowls with some water and threw the used water on the street outside. It had almost grown as dark outside at in Gramps's hut.
Finally, her reason for being there came back to her and she asked: "Will you now tell me of my fate and what you meant by all the things you said earlier?"
Gramps nodded and sat back down on his side of the table, grunting and leaning heavily on his staff. He looked at her for a long moment. Again he fixed this clear gaze on Joana that she could hardly stand.
"A great evil has come upon us", he began gravely. "It threatens not only us but all the lands ruled by King Baldrik and eventually all others, as well. It seeks to corrupt the hearts of men and seize possession of what is theirs. The ancients called this greedy, hateful and wicked thing a Zmeu."
Joana shivered as he uttered that word and for a moment even the fire seemed to die down before it surged up again hissing almost spitefully.
"What is a- this thing you speak of", the girl asked not daring to speak the word herself. "Where did it come from."
"I cannot say one or the other. My master and me first felt its influence less than a score years ago. It must have descended from the mountains in the north where no men live. Some say this creature can sleep for a man's lifetime only to awaken refreshed and hungry for power. Its will alone bent on a man's mind may break that man but it is mostly with its sweet lies and promises that it outwits its enemies. My master and I sought out this thing thinking he could banish it to return to its lair. We ... failed."
He paused, a look of remembered horrors crossed his wrinkled face. What does all this frightful talk have to do with me, Joana thought. The question was begging to be asked but a dawning realisation was creeping up on her.
"Gramps", she interrupted the silence hesitantly, "assuming I believe your story-"
"You must", Gramps exclaimed with sudden agitation. "What doubt is there? I have seen this thing with my own eyes. I have seen what it can do. You know I am not lying!"
She did. There was something in his words that had rang true. Still she deliberately began again: "Assuming that your story is true, I am in Tramir to find a murderer, not to fight this ... ancient evil. Please speak to me of a man named Grimrun. Was such a man in Tramir recruiting warriors?"
"You do not understand!" His brought his hand down flat on the table with a slap. "My master was a mere sorcerer but you, you are a Speaker. You ... have the power of words. Brought you here the Fates have. For what other purpose, do you think, than to do what we could not?" The words were pouring out of him but his voice had begun to sound again like the mad old man Joana had seen at the inn. "Defeat the power of the monster you must. Break its curse. Free us. Save us!" Gramps fell silent. His mouth was still moving but no more words issued from it. He was breathing heavily. His knobby hand lay trembling on the table. Joana looked at her host with pity now.
"Gramps", she began gently, "I have no power as what you speak of. I have escaped dangers on my journey here by pure luck, by the will of the gods maybe, and by faithful companion's help." Her host was staring at the fire almost defiantly. She went on: "You saw I was almost overwhelmed by a pack of dogs. What chance could I stand against such a monster?"
"You have not unlocked your power yet", he returned, "there is a way. Speak to your friends." His hand indicated the back of the hut. "They know the power of names."
Joana jumped up nearly toppling her stool. Her heart was pounding. She turned this way and that but there was nowhere to go. Clenching her fists she turned back to the old man.
"I am no warrior nor a sorcerer nor a hero like in the old sagas. I am the daughter of no king but a blacksmith. My mother was murdered by some foul men that probably came from Tramir. My only wish is to avenge her death and return to my father to tell him it is done."
Was that really it, she wondered even as she said it. Gramps waved his hand at her remark as if he was swishing at flies.
"But you have it all wrong, Speaker, everything", he croaked in exasperation, gesturing wildly, each word louder than the last. "You don't know half of it yet. You believe you seek only revenge but you are already part of a much bigger story. A man named Grimrun you seek? That was the name of the man my master and I confronted years ago. He it was that beguiled the townspeople so that they slew their respected sorcerer and he it was that made me ... what I am."
Joana's breath caught in her throat. Was it fright or excitement that made her heart pound in her chest? Gramps was almost shouting now and there was a mad sparkle in his eyes.
"Your fate and mine were entwined long before you knew it, Speaker. If you still wish to fulfil your quest then you must help me overcome my archfoe, too."
Just at that moment there was a growl from the side of the hut. It was low, a warning. Something was amiss. Joana quickly put a finger over her mouth but Gramps had talked himself into a frenzy. Finally, she clamped a hand over his mouth. There were hushed voices outside, footsteps crunching on gravel.
Then there was a sudden rap at the door and a loud voice rang out: "Oi, Gramps, are ye done ravin' yet?"
The old man's eyes grew wide in a flash of realisation. Pulling Joana's hand away he stared at her for several heartbeats.
"Gramps", the voice shouted again, "don't play mouse now. We know you're in there. And we know you got that girl."
"They've come for me", Gramps whispered in a tiny quivering voice, "this time they've come for me."
"Let her go", another voice called from out front. "You're not doing to her what you did to the others."
At that Joana had involuntarily taken a step back. But Gramps shook his head violently.
"No, no. It's lies. Lies! Stinking LIES!" The last word was a defiant cry. His eyes were darting back and forth around his hut like those of a trapped animal.
This time someone hammered his fist against the door. It remained shut. Joana had never noticed him pulling the latch. Her though from the beginning came back to her. The runes. Could it be this old man after all?
"Let her go, Gramps. Come out. Your deeds of blood are over."
"Have you told her the story about your master?" It was the other voice again. "Did you tell her that it was you who killed him?"
Gramps was whispering frantically to Joana: "They're lying, you must believe me. Please. I never meant to hurt you. You're the only hope I have." There were tears in his eyes. Then he suddenly laughed. "But they can't come in here. The house is warded."
Then a new voice sounded. It was not loud but it seemed to sound outside as well as inside.
"Berengar, I call you out. Come and face me."
At this Gramps's eyes filled with terror. He staggered the muscles in his cheeks clenching wildly.
"It's him", the old man gasped. "It's not for me. He is here for you. But I defy him." In one fast motion Gramps bit open the tip of his right index finger. As blood poured forth he brought his hand down and scrawled a shape on the dark table top. It was a rune. Then he slammed his fist onto it. To Joana he said: "That should buy us some time. But you can't stay here."
"Is that Grimrun?" The girl's whisper was a tiny squeak.
"Berengar." This time the voice seemed deep and resounding. The very beams of the hut seemed tremble and Gramps swayed and steadied himself on the table. The old man shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.
"You must leave", he continued without paying her any heed, "you are not prepared. When he breaks through he will destroy you."
"Is that him", Joana insisted. She tried to stand in his way to interrupt his thoughts but he just wound around her, unseeing.
"Mad old Gramps still has some surprises in stock."
There was a crazed grin on his face as he began hastily rummaging through his piles of odds and ends, mumbling to himself. He was carelessly dropping things right and left. Clay and precious glass shattered on the floor. Animal bones and dried herbs were scattered. Outside a long howl rose of the noise. Vucara! She was alone out there with their adversaries. But the sound was not coming from near the hut... Joana looked around wildly. She had grabbed her spear. Should she dive out the window and try her luck running?
"Berengar!"
For a moment his legs gave in and the old man fell to his knees. Several jugs crashed to the floor. The rune on the table drawn in the old man's blood had started to blister. Wisps of smoke curled from its outline. With mounting terror Joana noticed the same was happening to the runes on the beams of the hut. As if they were being burnt right out of the wood. The old man grunted with effort. When he turned back to her his face had changed. Deep lines had appeared. His eyes looked bloodshot. He was holding a round clay bulb of something in one hand. With the other he shoved a small leather pouch into her free hand.
"Take ... this. May help."
Another howl sounded outside. Then the fierce baying of many dogs approaching fast. Bewildered shouts could be heard. A man cried out in pain. Then all mingled in a cacophony of snarls, yelps, screams and shouts.
"Now!"
With that Gramps - Berengar - flung open the door and stumbled outside. Clinging to her spear Joana pushed through the low opening right behind him. The scene that unfurled before her was lit in patchy light from torches the men had brought. The street had turned into a battlefield. Joana could see a dozen men struggling with at least as many dogs. There was no telling how many exactly as bodies darted and jumped and rolled in and out of the flickering light. Vucara was nowhere to be seen.
Berengar had not taken a few steps when he stopped dead just as if he had walked into a wall. Again he collapsed and landed heavily on his knees. A single cloaked and hooded figure stood in the middle of the mayhem as if none of it was worth a second thought. Joana caught sight of him for an instant and her eyes met the gleaming specks underneath the hood. She felt trapped in that gaze like a rabbit staring down a hawk. Something like spidery fingers was questing for the fringes of her consciousness. What had Gramps said? "Its will alone bent on a man's mind..." You will die, she felt the eyes say, and your story will end here. The weight of the thought was crushing.
NO! You - are - not - my - master! With a furious scream she brought the spear up and about. With all her strength she hurled it at those eyes. There was a moment of surprise in them. The hold was broken. The missile had been badly aimed. It seemed to strike him yet at the same time pass by him. He staggered back a pace, then stood fast again. Berengar was up also, released from what ever thought had held him captive. He raised the bulb over his head and brought it crashing down at the cloaked man's feet. There was a blinding flash and resounding bang. The thing gave an unearthly howl - of anger more than pain. Thick smoke was rising from the shards of clay. Still Joana stood watching as if rooted to the ground.
"Run!" Berengar's cry finally tore through her trance.
Still half dazzled from the flash Joana turned and stormed wildly into the darkness of the night.
... to be continued ...