The Traveller

 The Traveller part 1

By M Cowley

The drizzle sifted down from the grey sky, the moonlight glinting off the damp grass at the roadside the trees rustling when they felt the gentle kiss of the evening breeze, gradualy another sound rose to compete with the rustling, hoofbeats. The traveller sat atop a shaggy roan horse, it's flat black eyes, vicious and untrustworthy gazed steadly at the road ahead, the rider made a minute movement of the hand and the roan came to a stop.
              Once stopped the horse snorted and shook itself, casting the drizzle from his coat, the rider took a deep breath and gazed at the valley ahead. Shrowded in the mist that lay across the valley floor like a blanket, the blocky watchtowers and high walls of a city sat, the streets and buildings illuminated only by the flickering of torchlight. The traveller shifted in the saddle the roan turned its head to look at the traveller a question held in its dark eyes the traveller nodded once and the horse long accustomed to the manner of its owner simply resumed it's walk along the road toward the city.
                    The city gates loomed ahead of the traveller, the drizzle hissing in the feeble torchlight which was fighting a vain battle to hold back the darkness of the night a guard in rust splotched breastplate and a damp maroon cape across one shoulder stepped out of the guardhouse to one side of the gate and looked up at the traveller, even from the top of the horse the traveller could smell the cheap wine upon the guards breath. The guard hesitantly raised a hand
"Late hour to seek entry to the city traveller, what is your business here?"
The traveller gazed down at the guard then a gloved hand reached across and pulled aside the front of the cloak revealing a silver and gold medallion hanging from a silver chain, upon seeing the medallion the guard visibly paled and stammered "Sorry, I didn't mean to inconvenience you, of course you may enter" and with a bow of his head he backed up toward the guardhouse. Suddenly another guard stuck his head out the hut
"who is it Fran?"
Fran the guard turned his head slightly
"It's a knight"
"Well what's his business here?"
Fran frowned, as he answered
"I don't question the knights Berg and niether should you" he turned back to the traveller "Sorry, new man"
The traveller mearly nodded while settling the cloak back in place he then reached into a pouch on his belt and flipped a coin to the guard Fran, then with a twitch of the reigns the roan moved on through the gates.