The Jongurian Mission by Greg Strandberg

the supplies we’ll need to see us to Baden.” He set the papers down into a pile on a table against the wall, a good amount of them spilling to the floor. Rodden came up behind him, stooping down to grasp the papers and rising again to throw them on the table with the rest. While he began to put some order into them Halam turned to Bryn.
    “Adjurian history, eh?” he asked, eyeing the book in Bryn’s hands.
    “I figured you’d want me to wait when I woke up, and this looked like an interesting book,” Bryn said, a trace of guilt in his voice.
    “Well, most would say that old politics are best forgotten, but I suppose there might be something of interest there.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. “And whatever will keep you from getting lost in the streets is also fine by me.”
    Halam seemed agitated and a bit on edge this morning, and Bryn felt that it was more than just the last minute arrangements of their departure which were causing him stress. He didn’t want to say anything that might increase his ill-will this morning, so he kept his mouth shut.
    “I think I can sort these and have them bundled while Bryn gets ready,” Rodden said as he began thumbing through the pages on the table, the pile now collected into a neat stack before him. “I don’t think there’s anything too important in them, but it’d still be good to double-check them to ensure we haven’t missed anything.”
    Halam grunted, and turned to Bryn. “So are you packed and ready then?” he asked.
    Bryn stood up and grabbed his bag, putting the book back in its place on the shelf. “I’m ready, uncle Halam,” he said, determination on his face.
    * * * * *
    Halam, Bryn, and Rodden rode their horses toward the South Gate, which would lead them to the King’s Road and south toward Baden. Bryn’s new horse was a dapple-grey dun with a flowing mane and a tail of darker black. His name was Ash, and he seemed much larger to Bryn than Juniper had, but that could simply be because he was now riding alone. Rodden rode a red-brown gelding with a large white nose named Brick.
    The streets were much more crowded this morning than they were last night. People dashed and shuffled every which way with no apparent motive to their hustle. The city looked a lot different as well. The early morning sun cast a bright sheen onto the buildings, the stone, brick, and plaster reflecting back into his eyes. They made their way from the government district in the center of the city south toward the gate. The markets were much more crowded, and they had trouble getting their horses through the crowds. Men and women were yelling at the top of their voices, crying out goods and prices in all manner of accents and dialects.
    “Get your Fallownian wool here, the finest wool from the south. Allidian woodcarvings for sale, only top-quality workmanship. King-size mackerel today only, fresh from the Duldovian Sea only yesterday.”
    There was so much noise that Bryn looked forward to getting back to the peace and quiet of the road.
    Somehow they managed to wend there way through the crowds of the marketplace to approach the city walls. They were larger this morning than Bryn had remembered them. Mighty rocks of all shapes and sizes were mortared together to form the wall, which towered over all the surrounding structures. Massive crenellations were spread out along the width of the wall, guards posted to look out into the surrounding countryside. Like the gate leading to the Tillata Road, the South Gate was also surrounded by a large square with many different stands set up, sellers yelling out their goods. It began to seem to Bryn that most of the goods were identical and wondered at the people scampering to buy them, having no use for any of them himself. Guards lined the gate on both sides, and like the gate the day before, this gate too had a mighty portcullis looming large overhead.
    When they rode near the gate a