Jerrie followed them from a distance. He didn’t like the attention and said that it would be better to be able to surprise anyone who might attack them. Grundel had to admit Jerrie was good. Every once in a while he would turn around to look for him. Even in uncrowded areas, Grundel could almost never pick him out. When he did it was usually because he had somehow gotten ahead and was standing at some corner waiting for them to pass. They were close to one of the gates when they found the wagons. There was a rope around them and a small mud hut built up against the city wall. They walked toward the mud hut. An man probably close to fifty years old came out. He had a hunch in his back, and he was missing three fingers on his left hand. The man was old, but his body had obviously been through a lot. He had probably been a soldier. “Hello. You must be Grundel.” Grundel looked at him curiously. It seemed a lot of people in the city knew who he was, but how did this man know him?
