“Would you try to relax,” Calliope hissed as they neared the gate.

 

“Contrary to popular belief I haven’t exactly been laying back and drinking rum on the beach for the last couple of days,” he rejoined. 

 

 There was a shout from a sentry and then a brass bell began to ring. Within moments the gates of the place, stout wooden gates mounted in a palisade of pine trunks swung shut on their stone posts. Head began to appear on the parapet, marked out by red caps or long feathers that bobbed above the sharp points of the stakes. An arrow arced from a platform above the gate, wobbled slightly in the air and then plunged into the snow crusted ground a few feet from them. 

 

“Come no clozer,” a voice boomed from the gate. Neil obediently stopped and then sank to his knees.

 

“Help! We need help!” he called out in a credible distress. There was a long pause from the gate and Calliope could almost make out a conversation in half whispers.

“Who are you?” a gruff voice called.

“I’m Pete Galloway, please, we were attacked we need help!” Another long conversation of whispers occurred before the gate finally opened and five men, each carrying swords long enough to serve as polearms emerged, fanning out into a semi circle. Their leader, identifiable by a crested helm stepped forward.

“It is a strange name Sveet Kalloway,” the helmeted man declared, “does this one have a name?”

“I am called Dragoslava Grigoriev,” Calliope said in a theatrically weak voice. The leader cocked his head and his men shifted uneasily.

“You are from Sebrovna?” he asked in surprise, “how did you get passed the undead?” Calliope had no idea where Sebrovna might be or why this man thought she might hail from there, but this was more than enough information for her to work with.

“We thought we might slip passed them in the mountains, my gresni and I barely survived, the rest of our caravan were not so lucky,” she told him. Gresni was a word that combined some of the characteristics of both lover and bodyguard in this culture, but without mapping completely to either term. The leader nodded his head taking in her battered condition and the burns and other damage to her clothing. 

 

“Kalishni, bring them in,” he ordered, carefully lifting the massive weapon over his shoulder and slipping it down into a leather thong that was slung over her breastplate. The hilt projected above his shoulder like a cross. The men formed up and escorted them in.

“Where were you attacked Boyina?” the leader asked. Calliope mumbled something about hills and lolled in apparent exhaustion. It was an easy role given how completely rung out she was.

“The Gilded Bear has room, you have gold?” the leader asked. There was a slight jingle from Calliope’s belt.

“Ylga will take good care of you. Tell her that Gregor says to summon the witch woman to see to your wounds. When you are recovered we will talk.” They had reached the gate by now and pushed through, stepping into the muddy streets.

“Welcome to Jaliningrad,” he declared grandly.