Episode 17: Doremus of the Mountain

The stranger drew nearer, holding up his lantern, and pulled back his hood. "I might ask you the same thing," he said affably. "You are on my land."

Gundar relaxed and slipped the dagger back into his sheath. The stranger's smile told him he had nothing to fear. This was no fierce warrior, but a somewhat portly elder with fine white hair and a beard to match. "I beg pardon," Gundar said, bowing slightly from the waist. "We are lost travellers, and have no desire to trespass on your domain. We will be on our way as soon as daylight comes."

The newcomer nodded. "You are not the first to find this place without meaning to."

"If you live nearby," Eric asked curiously, "how is it that the road does not lead to your dwelling?"

"Ah!" the man said, smiling, "I possess neither horse or carriage, only an old but sure-footed mule. I have no need of a road, and have never gone to the trouble of building one. A road is a great labour, you know, especially when the country is as rough as this."

"Indeed it is," Eric agreed. "It is a great mystery to me that this road should be here at all."

"Indeed," added Gundar. "We have travelled a long way without seeing a single dwelling."

"'Twas built many years ago by Gallagher the Terrible," the man said. "He took advantage of a sharp turn in the public road to build one of his own to lead travellers astray into the wilderness, where he and his band of brigands could ambush them at their leisure."

"Gallagher the Terrible?" Eric said. "I believe I heard tell of him. Most feared of all the highwaymen, and a dashing womanizer to boot. He came to a bad end some years ago, did he not?"

"So he did," the man said. "He was captured with all his henchmen and hanged with great ceremony. The king announced a three-day holiday for all, and donated a generous purse to the College of Augurs for their help. It was they who discovered the location of his hide-out."

By skilled augury, Gundar wondered to himself, or by the betrayal of a abandoned woman seeking revenge?

"We are fortunate indeed," Eric said, "that those bad days are gone." His eyes narrowed as he looked at the old man more closely. "Do you require some tariff from us? We can pay."

The old man raised his free hand as if to ward off such a thought. "Oh no -- I have everything I need except company. Will you stay in my hut for the night? It is not opulent by any means, but it is snug and warm, and I have two feather beds to spare."

Eric grinned with delight. "That sounds greatly preferable to freezing ourselves here. But before I can accept, I must know the name of my host. I am Eric Langedore, blacksmith. And my stalwart friend here . . ." He stumbled, trying to recall the name.

"Gundar Baldursson," Gundar interjected. "Your hospitality is very generous, but only one of us can avail himself of it. It is too dark and treacherous to take the horses any further, and someone must look to them."

"I am Doremus," the old man said. "Doremus of the Mountain. I had another name once, but that was so long ago that I have forgotten. Do not trouble yourself -- your horses will do very well on their own if you have staked them securely. There are no wild beasts larger than a fox in these parts."

No wild beasts, Gundar thought. But what about men? Something was not sitting right with him. He could not help suspecting that this chance encounter had been carefully planned. What if they came back in the morning to find horses and carriage gone?

Gundar shrugged. They are Eric's horses, not mine. If they disappear, he has the means to purchase more. He did not relish the thought of a long walk back to the highroad in the morning, but the prospect of a cozy featherbed was tantalizingly immediate.

Gundar smothered what was left of the fire with rocks and dirt, and picked up his sack. "Lead on."

Doremus set out confidently through the rocks. Eric and Gundar followed, staying close to the light help them find their way over the rough ground. They climbed gently upwards, following no discernible path. The gracious conversation of their host made the time pass quickly, and before they knew it, they were standing before a snug little dwelling made of logs.

"Welcome, welcome," Doremus said. "My door is always open."

Soon the three of them were sitting in front of a briskly burning fireplace, trading stories. Doremus served up some delicious honey mead which brought out the most sociable side of Eric's personality. In his profession, he heard a great deal of gossip, and he was not shy about passing it on. He knew more about the kidnapped princess than Gundar ever hoped to learn in a lifetime.

As Eric rattled on, Gundar's mind began to wander. First, he thought of the horses, all alone in the dark. Then, he began to wonder about Scaramouche, who was still stowed in Gundar's sack beside his footstool. There had not been a peep from him since Gundar had stopped briefly by the roadside to allow the mannikin to relieve his bursting bladder. Was he still sleeping? Or was he in hiding? Should he invite him to join the party, or would it be imprudent to let Doremus know of his existence?

" . . . follow my dreams on the open road," Eric was saying. "The owner of the carriage was killed in a duel the day after he left it at our shop for repairs, leaving his grieving widow with nothing. I saw my chance to do a good deed . . . offered her a fair price and she took it."

I hope he has the sense not to tell how he came by the money, Gundar thought. Even if Doremus' character was unimpeachable, it was best if he did not know. A magic purse was enough to tempt any man. Gundar knew that only too well, for he had given serious thought to the possibility of filching said purse from Eric while he slept. After all, it had been his, freely given to him by Scaramouche. If he had known its true nature, he would never have thrown it away.

" . . . follow my dreams on the open road," Eric said again. "Oh yes . . . see the world . . . find my true soul mate . . . a foreign princess, perhaps, with a magic . . . carpet . . ." His speech slurred and his head lolled to the side.

The fool is drunk again, Gundar thought. How could he get drunk so easily? He's barely finished his second cup. 'Tis powerful stuff, that mead . . . must ask Doremus for the recipe . . .

In his final moments of consciousness, Gundar realized, too late, that he and Eric had been drugged.