Free A Templar's Apprentice by Kat Black Page B

into the shadows of a copse of trees, and the Templar shrugged into his boots. A thin, curving track snaked through the dense woods. The rain dripped from the branches onto my head. I huddled waiting, wondering what lay ahead. And then we were off.
    Beyond the trees, the visual similarity to home disappeared. A long, wide road stretched ahead, tamped solidly by those who had traveled and continued to traipse along its length. It was muddy and pocked with rain-filled ruts. I avoided them as best I could, but my boots were soaked in moments.
    The town was surrounded by an enormous stone wall and appeared to have grown upward in a spiraltoward the crest of a hill. Approaching the gates, I was stunned by its bulk. The wall seemed as tall as a mountain. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” I said.
    The Templar laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. “Aye. ’Tis awe-inspiring, but no more than the manor within. Let us not tarry. A warm room an’ hot food await.”
    He shoved forward and I stumbled along staring gap-jawed. How such a feat as building it could have been accomplished, I could not imagine. It stretched above our heads and to our left and right beyond sight.
    â€œThe wall surrounds the whole o’ the city,” he said, nearly reading my thoughts. “There are towers built at regular intervals all around. An’ there—he pointed upward—are walkways between that guards patrol. Look up as we enter.”
    I did as he suggested, though the rain drizzled in my eyes and down my chest. Amazed, I let out a hissing breath. A fearsome iron-studded gate hung suspended above our heads. If it were suddenly let loose, we would be skewered and crushed by the sharpened points of its base.
    â€œâ€™Tis called a portcullis. ’Tis lowered at night or in case o’ emergency when the city needs to be sealed off. There are two with a small passage between. Beyond the first ye’ll see holes in the roof beams above. If an enemymakes it through the first gate, the second is dropped, an’ hot oil or pitch is poured from above.”
    I shivered at the horrific image and moved quickly inside. The noise and smell hit me immediately, and a wave of travelers entering behind threatened to bring me to ground. Jostled and elbowed, I lost sight of the Templar. In a panic I spun around. A hand clamped my arm, and I was jerked roughly aside as a group who had come in behind us nearly plowed me down. “Stay with me, Tormod.”
    I didn’t have a chance to argue as he tugged me along. A variety of shops lined the road’s edge, and an open market was being held against one length of the great wall. We hurried through the rain, dodging the crowds that did business no matter the weather. I tried to absorb everything at a glance as I trailed. Merchants, with tarps staked and strung in a succession of low-hanging shelters, had arrayed their wares on wooden tables against the wall. There were vendors of fish and vegetables, booths of earthenware, jewelry, and weapons. Voices were raised in barter as customer and vendor argued over the best price. Bairns in wet homespun ran and played amid the booths as business went on around them. It was familiar to our trips to market. Chaos reigned, and yet it was life as usual for those involved.
    â€œThis way,” he said, taking off along a road that snaked between two rows of shuttered houses. “Stay close and keep pace. We’ve a walk ahead to the manor and some o’ these roads attract a rough sort o’ traveler.”
    The smell in the alley made my throat close tight. I had often complained about the air belowdecks. Though open to the morning sky, this smelled worse, if that could be believed. Urine and refuse mingled beneath the onslaught of the rain and wafted up my nose, lingering in the folds of my plaid, which I held to my face. The Templar paid little attention to me as we walked, save to occasionally make sure I