by Lee LaCroix
The sun had fallen beyond the horizon before the fisherman had finished devouring his recent catch, and the western sky painted a flowing scene of orange, red, purple, blue, and then the black of night. The fisherman licked his lips a final time, wiped his hands on his trousers, and then motioned for his visitors to follow him over to the boat.
“Take this. We’ll need this to cross the river safely,” the man explained as he lit a torch from the smouldering campfire and passed it to Garreth.
Designed for a single fisherman and his catch, the boat was almost too small for four people and their travelling gear, but the man managed to keep the boat balanced and afloat. As the old man pushed off the shore with his oar, he kept a steady eye on the current and the waves that flickered in the moonlight beyond the fire’s reach. To Garreth’s surprise, the ride was smooth considering the dark of night and the speed of the river; regardless of its wider body, this section of the Fenross still rushed on with intensity.
“How long have you been on these waters?” Garreth inquired.
The sailor’s balanced stance, ease with the oar, and apparent knowledge of the river’s ways made his breadth of experience apparent to Garreth.
“For years now, it seems. More than I care to recall. I came here from Amatharsus where I was born long ago and settled with a community of river folk who lived upon this stretch years before. There used to be more people who frequented the basin, but they have disappeared with time,” the man rasped as he continued to peer into the surrounding waters.
Garreth nodded in response and fell silent and looked to his son and Kayten. Novas’ tired head bowed forward and nodded along with the rocking of the ship against the waves. Kayten peered off towards the shore and let forth a silent but gaping yawn. The day had tired them. Had not the constant heat and the flaming light of the torch been at his side, Garreth would have been dozing all the same. The sudden jolt and the scraping of the boat against the shore brought Novas out of his snooze with a lively bounce, and he caught the edges of the boat with a frantic reach before almost falling overboard.
“Here we are, travellers. The northern shore,” the navigator cackled from his seat on the boat where he enjoyed a chance to stretch and rest his legs.
“Thank you for your help. Take these in return,” Garreth commanded as he held forth a large chunk of bread with two tetra wedged inside.
Like a starving person, the boatman leapt to meet him and take his reward. The colourful glint of the coin caught his eye, and he bowed his gaze and his head low as he clutched the prize close. The sailor pushed off from the shore led by the torch mounted on the mast, and a lighthearted whistling was heard from the river as the trio moved on into the night.
Garreth, Novas, and Kayten climbed the top ridge of the Fenross to find a wooded glade on the slopes beyond. Garreth was no stranger to travel at night as some of his expeditions called for urgent haste and would require travelling through the darkness. With caution, they avoided moving towards the Great South Road. He led the group across the grassland, passing bogs and soggy lowlands. The trees shot into the sky like great, dark clouds, which blacked out the stars with their lush silhouettes. On a hilltop with a cluster of trees, Garreth stopped and threw his pack down.
“We can rest here for tonight. We’re far enough from the road to be disturbed by men, and I will watch for the beasts,” Garreth declared, grateful to be free of his pack and at an end to the day’s travels.
With a tired sigh, Novas unequipped his pack and lounged against the sloped, deep roots of one of the trees. He clutched the sides of his cloak and drew up his hood to keep in the heat. Like always, he was soon asleep. Kayten sprawled out on a smooth patch of grass, which to her luck was not entirely drenched in chilling dew. She propped her head up against her pack and fluffed its contents to achieve some comfort. Before she fell asleep, she watched Garreth disappear behind the trees nearby. He walked to an opening where the landscape opened up and had a long vantage. With heavy eyes, Garreth peered off into the northern distance. For the first time since the Fenross, he could see light. The frenzied orange-red of flame caught in the wind replaced the constant white of stars on the horizon and was held up high by lofty towers that marked the jewel of the people, the capital city of Amatharsus.
Chapter Eight
When Kayten awoke the next morning, Novas and Garreth were nowhere to be found. She sat up and peered around the leafy hill before collapsing back against the forest floor. As their packs were lying nearby, she was assured that they had not continued on without her. Kayten had felt very tired after yesterday’s expedition, and she credited her deep and renewing sleep to that exhaustion. Rising from the patch of grass, she was surprised by its untamed lushness, which was more comfortable than she had assumed. Kayten scanned the trees around her, and she saw Garreth’s silhouette in the same area he disappeared into the night before. As she approached, she found him stood against a tree in the clearing on top of the wooded hill. Garreth turned his head to her and put his finger to his lips in a request for silence.
Down the hill, Novas stood concealed in some tall brush with his bow was drawn, aiming out towards the plains. Kayten shielded her eyes from the sun, rising in the sky, and peered out onto the grassy field. Seeing nothing, she turned to Garreth and shrugged. Garreth smiled and pointed down the hill to a set of large ears that stood above some longer plains brush. A jackrabbit was gnawing on the grassy shoots that sprung up over the meadow. The three were silent and still until the jackrabbit hopped into the open, raised its head, and smelled at the air. From the position on the hill, the rap of the bowstring was silent, and the arrow moved faster than any birds of prey Kayten had ever seen. The jackrabbit flipped over and tumbled across the ground as the arrow met its mark, but both soon became silent and still.
“Breakfast is served,” Garreth announced.
Kayten noticed that the caution and worry that had concerned him earlier had left his voice, and she thought he was proud of his son or was at ease at the end of their journey.
“Yesterday was a much longer day than I expected. I hope you enjoyed your undisturbed rest. I know Novas did,” Garreth informed as he waved to his son.
“Yes, I did. Thank you. But you need not to coddle me. I am sure I manage just as well,” Kayten replied as she shook out the sleepiness from her bones.
Garreth only nodded in response and returned his vision towards Amatharsus. Towards the northwest, the capital could be seen in full clarity under the illumination of the sun. The Great South Road led through the plains to a wide arch of stone that housed the city’s southern gate. The arched entrance was bordered by the city’s outer walls, which surrounded Amatharsus from the southern entrance to multiple gates near the harbour and the Royal Palace. Garreth was refreshed to see trade caravans lined up around the perimeter of the city. Where some of the merchants had set up shop outside of the gates, others were in queue to enter the promising Trade District at the center of the city.
When Novas returned with the hunter’s prize, Garreth took to the necessary task of preparing the meat while his son and Kayten searched for wood to make a fire and spit. Before long, the trio were enjoying bread and the rabbit that had been prepared by Garreth’s well-practiced carving skills. Although Kayten was hesitant to eat such fresh meat, after seeing the enthusiasm the hunters had enjoying their meal, she relented and tried it herself. It was not as veiny as she imagined, and the cuts that she was served were good, lean meat. She thanked them for the meal and left the campfire with the zest of discovery and adventure.
Novas, Kayten, and Garreth left the hill before noon, ventured northwest to intersect with the Great South Road, and planned to enter the gates of Amatharsus. As they approached the trade route, Garreth kept a sharp eye on the horizon in each direction but was relieved to see only the inconsistent design of trade caravans. Most of the caravans were based on the four-wheel carriage, but others featured six or eight wheels and had an assortment of features incl
uding decorative banners, stocking shelves, hanging displays, or a stage for presentation. The silence that accompanied their adventure had been slowly disappearing since daybreak; when the city and its inhabitants came to life, they produced a muffled and wandering din of noise that settled over Amatharsus. The group was anxious in wonder if news had come from the Southbriar Crossroads about the blood they had spilt there, and they were always on the lookout for the ill garb or the dark symbol of the Blackwoods.
As they neared the gate, they funneled into the pedestrian channel that led the way into the city. Equipped with chain mail, plate helms, and pikes, four guards of the gate stood on detail beneath the arch. Garreth was interested to see that where the Crown Aegis used to stand in similar regalia, the four men now stood there with black and gold tabards emblazoned with the Blackwoods insignia. They wore the same colours that scintillated from the precious sunsteel that was found woven throughout the city’s Upper Quarter. The trade of this precious metal generated a wealth that was extravagant and uncommon across the land of Malquia for Lord Vyse and his company, the Blackwoods. When his sister, the Queen, joined the royal family, it was expected that the kingdom and all of its subjects would prosper as well. However, it is believed that much inequity has arisen since the death of the King.
Garreth led the party into the flow of human traffic that pulsed through the city gates in an effort to be less conspicuous in the crowd. Regardless, Novas studied the guards and found them to be preoccupied with matters other than the bodies at the gate. They all breathed a small sigh of relief as they passed into the city without trouble.
The closer Garreth came to the city, the further his suspicions became true. Even this busy street seemed more congested that he remembered. Which once was a casual thoroughfare where citizens could talk with their neighbours now was packed almost shoulder to shoulder with scrambling people like blood through clotted veins. Horses reared as if startled when they drew their trade carriages and paced slow and nervous towards the Trade District. It had seemed some traders had not even made it that far and had set up shop in alleyways beside the street. He had to find Berault, his comrade and former man-at-arms of the Crown Aegis, to learn more about the radical changes to the bastion he once called home.
Far taller than the watchtower of the Crossroads, Novas was stunned by the height of the buildings that seemed to stretch farther than all the trees he had ever known. The domiciles were packed tight beside each other against the main street in the Lower Quarter of Amatharsus, and people seemed to appear out of every doorway and side-street alley. The majority of structures in the Lower Quarter were residential, and each featured multiple floors and pairs of windows that faced the street and the back alley. An assortment of items including dyed cloth art, drying clothes, and entangling plants were strung up on wires and rope between the buildings. The mere volume of hanging objects cast a shade upon the street that was a relief from the summer sunshine.
Kayten was curious as to the street vendors and peddlers who had taken up shop in the alleyways between buildings, placing their wares on mats and advertising their products in a loud and bombastic manner. As they continued down the southern street, Garreth spotted two incidents of theft and one violent confrontation; an unfortunate curio salesman had his stall pushed over, displacing his fragile wares into the unforgiving street and the needy hands of residents. With all this commotion, Garreth was curious as to why these merchants had not taken up shop in the Trade District, which was previously the only place trade was permitted space within the city walls.
The people of Lower Quarter were as colourful in dress as the cultural overhang that shaded them that sunny day at noon. While red, brown, and green dyes could be harvested or obtained at a bargain from the area around of Amatharsus, merchants from carriage or the harbour could supply the inhabitants with a wider spectrum of colour. Some folks with the fantasy of grandeur appreciated deep purple or the light yellow, which had seemed to be in fashion in the city’s upper tiers. For the majority, cloth of cotton and flax reinforced with leather was common apparel for the males of the city, which was sewn into pants, shirts, tunics, and vests. The feminine attire was less centered on these rigid forms in the warmer months, and decorative shawls, dresses, and robes flipped and flowed in the winds that blew through the streets. From above, the people and the street came together as a prismatic splendor of colour that flowed through the city like a rainbow come to life.
When the trio reached the first intersection in the Lower Quarter, the group ventured west onto another street that led towards the harbour. Almost as soon as they had turned onto the street, the salty and pungent smell of fish began to fill the air as vendors both merchant and fisherman hocked today’s catch on displays made of string and timber. Garreth was relieved to hear an energetic folk song rise above the ambient din of street chatter, catcalls of the swarthy sailor, and the boisterous claims of the street salesman. Towards the end of the street, the upbeat tune poured out of a wide building on the streetside, which was painted light blue over stone and featured chipped shutters of wood and thick fastenings of iron. Swaying over the door, there was a wooden slab with green lettering and a caricature of a snarling, shaggy mutt face. The Salty Dog had stood not far from the shore of Amatharsus since the city was but a small fishing village and had been a place of celebration since the earliest settlers. The property had been passed down from father to son for many generations, and its lively atmosphere and formidable draught have kept its faithful patrons returning night after night.
The hour had not long past noon, and the tavern was filled already with song, merry, and the ruckus of spirited patrons. Novas was amazed at the sheer volume of people there, considering his only other taste of tavern life was the Broken Kettle that lay a ways from the city. Luckily for its patrons, the smell of mead and hops and the burning of logs in the mantle drowned out the smell of wafting fish from outside. The trio entered through the through a solid oak door facing the streetside, and Garreth led them through the ruckus of the main hall and up a flight of stairs to where the rooms were. On the third floor, the trio left the staircase and continued to the end of an empty hall that was illuminated by a single window. Streams of light cut through the pillars of suspended dust before them. The wooden floorboards creaked in protest as the travellers passed over them. At the last room on the right, Garreth knocked three times upon another featureless wooden door. After a shuffling and squeaking of a moving chair, uneven footsteps boomed towards the door. There was a shaking of locks and the rattling of the doorknob before the door flew open and revealed the room’s resident.
Chapter Nine
A rough, olive-skinned man stood before them, holding the doorknob in one hand and an oaken cane in the other. Garreth noted the prominence of gray that had begun to invade the darkness of his comrade’s spiky hair, his untamed bushels of eyebrow, and well-trimmed beard. The man’s face, which featured subtle wrinkles and flaky, red cheeks, formed a gruff half-smile as if to hide his delight in receiving some long expected company.
“Garreth, come in! Better late than never,” the man grumbled as he turned back to his room and waved them inside.
The man paced back into his room where he sat down behind a table that faced towards his guest. With a gesture, he offered the only other chair to Garreth.
“Looks like life is finally catching up with you, Berault. You old man,” Garreth mocked as he motioned towards the wooden cane propped up against the table.
“Ah, ya bastard! T’is only a scratch. One of the lads I train is far too excitable with his blade. I promise he has some bruises to match this one,” Berault explained with a laugh as he patted at his leg.
Berault looked towards his other guests, who were pulling up a bench they found nearby.
“This is Novas, I presume! You lad, are becoming much like your father. The same height and build he had when he first walked into my courtyard,” Berault spoke as he raised his arm in a welcoming gesture.
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Novas just smiled and nodded at the man before he continued to explore the room with his eyes. On the walls, an assortment of weapons hung. There were concealable maces and daggers, two-handed longswords and battleaxes, and larger weapons such as pikes or lances. Where age had worn down the man, time had not touched this collection; the wood and leathers shone deep with polish, and the steel glinted bright with oil. On the man’s desk, an oil-burning lamp, a bottle of ink, a quill, a stack of parchment for writing, and a map of the city lay. The map contained many complex and detailed references added by the owner in which Novas had no understanding. Well-lit and comfortably warm, the main room also featured a small metallic stove and lay opposite to a smaller attached bedroom with washing facilities.
“And who is this fine lady? Your new wife, Garreth?” Berault chuckled as he sent Kayten his glare and a welcoming grin.
Kayten blushed and raised her voice in a peep but was interrupted by Garreth.
“Mind yourself, Berault,” Garreth explained. “This is Kayten. She is a blacksmith at Southbriar, and she has travelled with us to ask questions of the Queen regarding the Blackwoods.”
The mood in the room turned dark as Berault’s welcoming grin turned into a hard-faced grimace, and the man’s countenance turned from cheer to stoic rage. An ominous silence filled the room before it was broken by a rolling growl.
“And what do you have to say about the Blackwoods?” Berault questioned, fists clenched tight against the desk.
