The tower atop the hill beyond the keep, probably where the duke resided, was the round one. Seeing this, the directions to the chief magistrate’s court offered by Lieutenant Voss made more sense. Basically the court was located between the round tower and the Duke’s City Estate, nearer the estate by half of center, on Squire’s March Street, opposite the Bronzed Dragon’s Remains.
“The elevated landmarks should assist in keeping our orientation as we proceed,” Ron said.
“You mean to keep us from getting totally lost,” Kirby replied from his benched seat as Derek pulled his wagon’s horse team up alongside Ron’s. “That’s cool.”
Ron gazed around. They were in an open square area, with several hundred citizens moving about. There were at least a dozen with mules or oxen pulling carts, and others with mules and oxen laden down with crates or sacks bearing grains, rolled carpets and all manner of trade goods. All were making their way one place or another. All seemed to be in a hurry.
Glenn looked at the sun. It wasn’t high up in the sky, not much really above the city’s wall.
Along the main road, progress was slow but steady. Most of the buildings that lined it were two or even three story, brick or stone. Sooty smoke emerged from scattered chimneys and stove pipes. The weather was mild and made Glenn wonder what it might be like in winter. The smoke now, he imagined, was from businesses such as bakeries or blacksmiths that required wood and coal fires. Soot and grime accumulated over apparent decades clung to many of the walls, especially at the upper levels, something rain wasn’t able to wash away. Definitely not an eco-friendly city.
It appeared that the bottom level of most buildings contained a shop or business establishment of some sort, from coopers or wine sellers to weapons dealers and dry goods merchants. The upper levels held shuttered windows, most of them open, and most of those without any sort of glass and none with screens. A few had metal latticework built in to the window’s framing, especially at the lower and street level. Not exactly bars, but enough to deter easy entry for potential thieves, or worse.
City guardsmen, wearing chainmail vests and carrying spears and short swords, stood at various posts in pairs. They sported blue and red-stripped sashes across their chests, draped from left shoulder to right hip, possibly identifying them as the duke’s men. Not one smiled. Citizens sometimes nodded, but usually just shied away. That said something to Glenn, and it wasn’t good.
As they travelled, Ron explained the monetary system. “Gold is the most valuable standard coin. The others, in descending order are silver, copper, bronze and iron.
“Twenty silver coins are the equivalent of one gold coin. Twenty copper coins are the equivalent of one silver coin. Two bronze are the equivalent of one copper coin, and ten iron coins are equal to one bronze.”
While Glenn repeated Ron’s explanation to himself, trying to memorize the coins and conversions, Stephi said, “Who thought that up? It’s stupid.”
Ron shrugged. “The game designers.”
“I wonder if this city is like many tourist places.” Glenn said. “It’s safe on the main drag, but gets dangerous if you stray from it, especially after dark.”
Ron pulled the horses to a stop at a cross street to allow a fancy carriage made of wood painted black with inlaid silver designs to turn in front of them.
“Good move,” Stephi said from beneath her cloak’s hood, which she’d drawn up to conceal her face. “If people get out of the way for rich people here, all you need to do is stick close behind and we’ll make real progress.”
Hoods were another apparent quirk of the game, Glenn discovered. Like in movies and novels, a mysterious stranger could wear a hood and not be easily recognized, yet never seemed to suffer from lack of peripheral vision. He’d worn parkas as a kid, and the hood with the fir along the edges always left him open to getting blindside tackled into a snow drift by his buddies. Stephi seemed to not have such difficulties.
When the opportunity presented itself, Glenn figured he’d try his theory about the game’s hood-wearing rules, and how they contradicted what he knew of the real world. Either that or it was because Stephi was an elf, with superior senses. Or maybe she cheated, using her familiar’s senses.
On second thought that wouldn’t be it, as the bird rode inside the wagon, beneath the canvas cover. What was a prairie style covered wagon doing in what was essentially a medieval setting? The gnome brushed aside that thought, remembering about Petie. A bird riding on her shoulder would advertise that she was a magic user. According to Ron, Kirby and Derek, that could be beneficial, or detrimental, depending on the situation. And letting it fly free in the city, might make it a target. Probably not, but if it was a city with a lot of hungry peasants—with sling shots. Better to play it safe.
Too many unknowns, in a completely foreign environment with different rules and social customs. It could make a person twitchy, if not completely paranoid.
It appeared that there were some pigeons and crows, and a few sparrows about, so it might not be too much of a risk for Petie to fly about. But that was Stephi’s call.
Really, with all that had happened and the urgency of trying to get Kim revived, Glenn hadn’t thought much on the consequences of what had happened to him—to all of them. He knew it would hit him, eventually. Of everyone, Kirby seemed to take everything in stride, almost like he was enjoying the experience. It was a tossup who’d more likely suffer depression or a mental breakdown, Stephi or Derek. Stephi seemed the most erratic emotionally. Derek just seemed brooding, with something akin to hot steam building up underneath. Ron appeared to be approaching the situation as a complex puzzle to be solved.
Glenn saw it like a weird dream that he couldn’t wake up from, and constantly bordered on morphing into a life or death nightmare.
The smells and sounds of the city were odd, yet some seemed familiar or ‘normal.’ Burning coal and horse droppings, and the barnyard animals sounding off for various reasons. Maybe it was like Ron suggested when they drank from streams. Sure, the water was pretty clean, but their game bodies wouldn’t be susceptible to microbes and the resulting diarrhea as their real bodies would be.
Every time Ron had stated “diarrhea,” Kirby corrected him, saying, “Hershey squirts.” Even Derek smirked at that.
In any case, their improved intestinal fortitude didn’t mean any one of them would want to drink from the disgusting moat surrounding the city.
Glenn noticed some apartments had flower boxes beneath their windows, and occasionally he caught a glimpse of someone within, usually a woman or a child. A few of the narrow porches outside businesses had barrels with flowers as well. It sort of reminded him of some small towns he’d visited.
The apartments appeared more solidly built and occasionally he caught a glimpse of what had to be a mansion or minor estate down one of the side streets. It was probably because they were circling around the large granite-walled keep built upon the plateau to their left. Guardsmen with spears and crossbows and their sashes walked the walls. Even from a distance, none could be seen smiling. From atop a long pole, mounted atop one of the keep’s internal towers, fluttered a red and blue flag that matched the guardsmen’s sashes.
The street they travelled was narrowing, with the fancy carriage having outpaced them long ago, and an oxen-drawn cart holding a load of dusty coal was directly ahead of them. Almost every side street was no more than a wagon’s width. And the people, most unwashed and in stained linen and sack cloth clothing, seemed more urgent in their pace and movements, despite the increased cramping of quarters. Glenn was glad to be up on the wagon rather than down on the ground. He’d be like an eight year old, lost in a crowded county fair’s midway less than a half hour before sunset.
Glenn asked himself for the thousandth time: Why did he decide to run a gnome character? Why not a muscular human warrior like Derek?
Kirby trotted up alongside their wagon, on Ron’s side.
The half-goblin deftly leapt and then
climbed onto the bench. Close enough that Ron, Glenn and Stephi could hear him without the need to talk so loudly that he’d easily be overheard.
“It’s taking pretty long,” Kirby said. “We just got around the keep and it’ll probably take time to get anyone at the magistrate’s court to do something. By then it’ll be dark and what’ll we do after that?”
Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Me and Kalgore think that him and Lysine should continue on to the magistrate’s court. Lysine can do all of the talking.” Kirby gestured with his free hand. “You’ve got the wooden business card and know the story of what happened as good as any of us. Me and Jax and Marigold will get off here and go look for someplace to stay the night.”
“If we split up,” Ron asked, “how will we successfully reunite within a city with which we are all unfamiliar?”
“Marigold’s blue jay.”
“His name is Petie,” she interrupted.
“He’ll stay with you until you’re finished. Then he can lead you back to Marigold.”
Ron had to pull the horses to a stop as a small company of the duke’s guard crossed in front of the oxen cart. Everyone gave them wide berth.
“Either Marigold goes with me and Jax, or the bird does. Jax can talk to the bird, but really, she can communicate with the bird just about anywhere in the city as it’s not much bigger than two miles across, wouldn’t you say?”
“And we might need her to help negotiate a place to stay. Plus, you two are fighters. Me and Jax aren’t exactly intimidating. Well, maybe I am.” Saying that, Kirby sneered.
Although it was in jest, Glenn thought it was more than menacing enough.
“But you all know what I mean,” Kirby continued. “We don’t wanna be stumbling around this city in the dark and end up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Agreed,” Ron said, obviously not happy with the situation. He didn’t have any alternatives to suggest. “What I would not trade for a smart phone, a cell tower and GPS.”
“I’ve never had a cellphone,” Kirby said. “Come on, Marigold and Jax. Hop down so we don’t get people mad for holding up traffic.”
“Do you know where to go?” Stephi asked.
“I’m pretty sure,” Kirby said, unconvincingly. “But if not, we’ll figure it out. Just hurry up and mentally tell your blu—Petie—the plan.”
Chapter 7
Keeping up with Kirby was a challenge for Glenn. His stubby legs weren’t a match for Kirby’s bandy ones. Both of them, however, moved slow compared to what Stephi was capable of.
Nevertheless, she trailed behind, hunched over just a bit, doing her best to keep a low profile. Glenn wasn’t sure she was doing it as a strategy to avoid notice, or if she was simply afraid of any potential confrontation. Probably a little of both.
“Hold on,” Kirby said. He cut across the corner of a candle maker’s porch to hurry down an even narrower street with tall wooden buildings that leaned in close. Their gray, weather-worn appearance stood in contrast to the stone and brick structures along the main streets.
Not knowing what else to do, Glenn and Stephi stood against the side of the candle maker’s shop.
Kirby trotted back and signaled for Glenn and Stephi to follow. “I asked this dude that was beside us for a while a good place to stay.”
Glenn increased his pace to a slow run to get beside Kirby. “What kind of dude?”
Kirby stopped half way down the narrow street. “Just a messenger dude, like a courier or something who’d just made a delivery to one of those big mansions.”
The buildings’ shadows were growing dark. “Are you—we lost?”
With a wave of his hand, Kirby signaled Glenn for silence.
That was when four men stepped off of a dilapidated porch about twenty yards ahead, barring their way forward.
Glenn hadn’t seen them, or more likely, hadn’t been paying attention, because gnomes had excellent low light vision.
As if practiced hundreds of times, several lantern bearers opened shuttered windows and hung the oil-fueled lamps on large hooks above the windows, effectively lighting the narrow street. The now more apparent sticks, random boards, rocks and other debris indicated this wasn’t a common thoroughfare.
Although a fraction of the sun’s remaining light managed to infiltrate between the two- and three-story buildings lining the narrow street, the lantern light eliminated any low-light vision advantage Glenn and his friends had over the four men, humans. They were big and burly and, seemingly like everyone else, on the grimy side of the soap debate. One had a flanged mace, another a crowbar, and the last two clubs. The one with the mace wasn’t the biggest, but his scarred face looked the most malevolent.
“Marigold,” Kirby whispered sharply, “Slumber Spell their dirty asses.”
“Wha—? Okay,” she replied and, from behind Kirby and Glenn, began mumbling an incantation.
Glenn reached to unsling the shield hanging across his back, knowing there was no way he could outrun any of these men. Pulling his cudgel might be seen as offensive, but not grabbing for a shield, or so he reasoned.
Kirby extended his hands in a placating gesture. “Fine sirs,” he began but was interrupted.
The thug leader stepped forward, waving his mace menacingly. “What are you three doing trespassing…”
Of the four men, three fell to the ground like a troupe of marionettes whose strings had been cut. The mace wielder glanced back at his unconscious comrades and shrugged. “Just makes it more interesting,” he said.
Glenn said, “We don’t want any trouble.” He pulled his cudgel from his belt, just in case.
“Oh, you got more trouble coming than a frog in a crocodile pit, you dumbass gnome.”
Kirby leaned forward on the balls of his feet. “We can take him.”
Glenn thought about Stephi behind them. Magic users, he knew, didn’t do well in a fight, so he charged. The thug answered by charging forward himself. Just before Glenn and the lead thug clashed, a spread of Kirby’s darts flew through the air. One bit into the brutish man’s forearm. He ignored it and followed through with his swing.
Glenn raised his shield to block the attack. He was successful in that his shield bore the brunt of the blow. Glenn stumbled back but managed to keep his balance. He stood ready to take on the big man again, seeing Kirby trying to circle around and get behind their foe. The narrow street and several piles of rocks and broken boards hampered the thief’s maneuver.
The sound of Stephi’s rapier clearing its scabbard drove Glenn forward. This time he managed to swing at the man, but missed. He rolled to the side and came back up on his feet. The thug ignored Glenn and went after Kirby. The thief tried to parry the man’s mace with his cutlass and suffered a glancing blow to his shoulder for his efforts.
Glenn charged again. The thug spun around and slammed Glenn with a backhand swing. The solid strike should’ve broken bones in the gnome’s shoulder. Instead his arm was numb, causing him to back off, unable to tightly grip, let alone swing his cudgel.
Stephi shot forward and thrust with her rapier, missing. The man ignored her and swung down at Glenn, who raised his shield while trying to trigger his internal healing spell. The man sidestepped, causing Kirby to miss his attack, the half-goblin off balance and overextended. As a result the thief caught a fist in the temple, staggering him.
Stephi attacked again, her series of slashes and thrusts finally hit home, slicing into the man’s hip. The big man laughed. The wound was shallow and wouldn’t cause him much of a problem.
Glenn felt the warmth of healing reach his shoulder when the thug turned on him again. The man grabbed ahold of Glenn’s shield with his left hand and brought his mace in with a roundhouse swing. The flanged head caught Glenn in the ribs. The blow lifted the gnome off the ground and sent him tumbling.
“One down,” the thug said, turning away from Glenn, who was on the ground, unable to breathe, and struggling to remain conscious.
His healing had been triggered. Did he have enough curing points left to do the job, or even come close?
Kirby and Stephi stayed on either side of the man. Neither was willing to abandon Glenn, but neither did they trust their weapons skill to be up to the task of bringing the man down.
The thug batted away Stephi’s next attack with his left hand and caught her leg with his mace. She staggered back but the man wasn’t able to press his advantage. Kirby had driven his cutlass’s tip into the same hip that Stephi had wounded.
The man spun and went after Kirby with a vengeance. The half-goblin thief dodged and parried, giving ground and nearly stumbling over a broken board. He slowly retreated until his back pressed against a wall, right under one of the windows with a shining lantern above.
“Leave him alone,” Stephi shouted. Waving her rapier to distract the thug. She limped forward, knowing that if he chose to go after her, there was little hope to evade.
Glenn, on the other hand, felt better. He climbed to his feet. His once broken ribs were sore, but he could breathe. His shoulder was ready to swing his cudgel.
Without a word Glenn moved around to come at the thug from behind.
Stephi saw Glenn moving and faked an attack. The man ignored it and bore in on Kirby. The heavy mace missed the thief’s head by inches. It impacted against dry boards, cracking and shattering them, instead of Kirby’s skull.
Kirby stepped forward and, using his cutlass’s metal guard like a pair of brass knuckles, punched the man in the crotch. At the same time Stephi advanced and slashed at his face. He tried to duck and earned a bloody gouge across his scalp.
The biggest blow, however, came from an unexpected quarter. Glenn’s cudgel slammed into the thug’s lower back. The connection reminded Glenn of the times his bat connected with a fast ball, sending a screaming line drive back at the pitcher. In addition to the solid thud, cracking bones said he’d fractured several of the thug’s vertebrae.
Outpost: A LitRPG Adventure (Monsters, Maces and Magic Book 1) Page 6
