by Damien Lake
And the noise could not be escaped. The shops near the gate might have closed but everywhere people still hawked their wares to whoever passed them by. Others shouted to acquaintances over the noise made by so many people while still others seemed to be shouting for no discernable reason at all.
At times they passed men carrying long poles with flames flickering on the tips. Marik only saw these men on the few occasions Harlan led them along a main thoroughfare. While they waited for a knot of horses to untangle and move from blocking the road, Marik watched one use a hook behind the flame to open a small glass door in a lantern set high atop a longer post. Each lamp they lit glowed in the fading light. After shutting the small door the man moved down the street to the next lamppost. As much as the pedestrians jostled, Marik noticed people clearing the way to give the lamp tender a steady path.
On unpaved back roads where the buildings looked residential and not a single lamppost was to be seen, dirty men pulling small carts made their way from door to door. These carts were odd, looking like nothing so much as an enormous ale keg sliced in half from top to bottom, then mounted on wheels. Beside each door the filthy man would pick up a bucket and slop the contents into his cart before moving on to the next. The one time Marik drew close enough to see inside, the contents’ smell assaulted him and prepared him for the sight. Harlan quickly led them past, leaving the latrine cart and its vile stenches behind.
They passed through several squares after departing the residential squalor. Each contained a variety of trees, shrubbery and benches. One held an ornamental pool with a statue set in the center, apparently representing a figure in robes holding what seemed, in the dimming light, to be a noose. Marik wondered at the sentiments it embodied.
After one last square, Harlan made a right turn. He led them through a district filled with large buildings that must be warehouses. Several streets later they reemerged into a shopping district. Marik could again see the wall enclosing the city in the distance and realized Harlan meant to find an inn on Spirratta’s far side, close to the gate they would exit from.
The inn they eventually arrived at was small, displaying no signs at all out front. It also sported no stable or anything approximating a yard. Harlan opened the door, which was Marik’s only clue they had reached their destination. The innkeeper knew Harlan since they greeted each other by name and only the most perfunctory effort at haggling passed between them. Marik’s share for the room came to three coppers for one night, less than half what he had paid at the Randy Unicorn.
He expected the room to be cramped or vermin ridden. It turned out to be a nice size with its own fireplace and cabinet, and clean as well. There were no beds though. Marik had already chosen which section of the floor he would claim for his bedroll when the owner rolled in cots cleverly mounted on small wheels. While he stretched out on one, it pleased him to find it did not roll around as he’d feared. It stayed where he put it, so it satisfied Marik.
He decided to call it an early night. Tomorrow he would have a good look around the city.
* * * * *
Maddock accompanied Marik while the younger man visited many shops the next day. The mercenary had few errands of his own but felt he should stay near the less experience youth to prevent him from being cheated by con artists masquerading as vendors. This would be the lad’s first experience with a social tide that made his hometown appear as a simple current. He also hoped to glimpse potential tellmarks that would reveal Marik’s ability to survive on his own in the future.
Marik’s interests went beyond mere weapons shops, as he had hoped it might. A good sign. His curiosity ranged broadly across all walks, which Maddock considered a healthy portent for the lad.
Weapons shops were the primary interest of the day, though. A few displayed blades worthy of consideration. Marik passed on them in the end. Whether due to the high prices or his own advice earlier, Maddock did not know.
They wandered through several teeming shopping districts, encountering spice merchants whose small shops were nearly uninhabitable due to the powerful mixing of strong scents from their products. Several shops offered a range of fabrics from cheap homespun to indecently expensive velvets and cool silks.
Marik’s gear lacked several items an experienced man would carry as second nature, so he purchased a new waterproof cloak at a travel shop. It became a tense purchase, for Marik attempted to haggle as he had seen the merchants of Tattersfield do when they had bartered with the caravan masters.
It was a harsher style of banter, used in a region where many goods were not readily available, and thus more crucial. The shop’s owner, already on edge and nervous because of the weapons dangling from their belts, started back. Marik misread the body language. He pressed his point until the man suddenly threatened to call the cityguard. Maddock smoothed the situation over. In the end Marik purchased the cloak, though he seemed to have lost his desire for it.
Outside, Marik questioned him over the crowd’s ceaseless gabble. “Call the cityguard? Why?”
“He felt nervous. Many of the merchants around the city look upon travelers bearing arms with suspicion.”
“But why call the guard? I wasn’t even raising my voice! A good thing too, I suppose.”
“He was unsure of your intentions.”
“I didn’t see so much as a dagger in his belt. If I had intended to cause trouble, he would have been dead before he could call for anybody!” He shook his head incredulously as they continued down the street.
They toured several leatherworkers, herbalists, the few shops selling chemical components to the city’s alchemists, and also regarded a furrier’s display of thick winter wear lined with fox fur. He noticed Marik never went near any woodworking shops. Neither chose to stop at any church or temple they passed.
Vendors sold a variety of simple foods in the city squares. While they pondered which would most satisfy their appetites, a cityguard pair waded through the press around the cart nearest them. The guards chatted with the proprietor for several moments before leaving with a pair of skewered meat slices each.
“Didn’t they pay?”
“Many of the vendors give free meals to the cityguard. In return, the guards move swiftly in the event of trouble for the cart’s operator.”
“That seems like a waste. Why don’t they look after their own property? Why pay for protection you could see to yourself? Isn’t it the cityguard’s job to stop thieves in the first place?”
They bought steaming meat pies from a street vendor and ate them on a bench in the square. This particular square sported a stone pond surrounding a statue of a man in robes holding a garland of flowers. Marik studied the statue for a long moment, then grunted a noncommittal snort.
“You know, I thought the cities must be grand. But now I’m here, I can’t imaging living in this kind of place,” he muttered, more as a thought than a comment.
“Why is that? It is much safer than many other places. The cityguard constantly patrols, and the various sects that maintain temples in the city means a Healing priest can likely be found if the need arises.”
“It feels…I don’t know…different from what I expected.” Marik paused to gather his thoughts. “It’s like the walls have made the people soft. Out there, in all those towns we passed through, people know the dangers that come with being alive. Even in Tattersfield. Only a few regularly carried blades but everyone in town could have been ready to defend themselves in a matter of moments. Here, they wall themselves in and shove the responsibilities for protecting their skin onto someone else.”
“So you think the guard is at fault? If so, then why do all the travelers we have passed carry their arms in readiness? Aren’t the roads ridden by the kingdom guards?”
“No! That’s not what I meant. No one here seems care for looking after themselves! If trouble arose, they might take up arms to defend themselves eventually, but they’d be complaining about it the whole time, blaming the cityguard for not protecting
them.” Marik shook his head. “It’s almost like they believe nothing bad can happen to them. That’s the thing that’s really bugging me.”
“It is a state of mind that has grown since the Unification. Wars between cities and territories, bloodshed following the arrival of strangers, raiding hordes of bandits; these are things of history. These modern times are past such barbarisms.”
Marik barked a harsh laugh. “The walls block their vision, then. No one in the towns is that foolish. But I’m not just talking about being ready to fight.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “It’s like…like the people here expect everything to happen exactly the way they want it to. As if it never crosses their minds that they might have to exert themselves to make it happen. They don’t know anything about having to break your own back for a few measly coppers.”
“Not all people are as self-reliant as we, Marik. That’s one of the truths you need to keep in mind as you travel through ritsu’do.”
“As I what?” The frustrated expression stemming from his need to verbalize his feeling vanished. Confusion took its place.
“It is an old word from a time long past. Ritsu’do is a word that means many things at once, but its primary meaning is ‘a journey of making’, as it were. A person is the total of his experiences through life. What you see and what you learn helps define what you make of yourself. This stage of your life, Marik, where you travel to new places and learn much of the world you live in, will contribute to the man you will eventually be. Thus, this conversation we are engaged in is part of your own ritsu’do, as it is a part of mine.”
“I’m not sure I followed that, but I guess I understand what you meant. That aside though, I still don’t understand how these people can shove all the responsibility for their own welfare onto others the way they do. I might not be able to use this sword very well, but I don’t like having it tied down.” One law the gate guards had pointed out concerned their weapons. Though there existed no law against carrying blades within the city, the hilt must be tied to the sheath with stout cord to prevent it from being drawn.
“I was not saying you have to agree with the things others choose to believe in.”
“Well, I sure don’t agree with this. At least tomorrow I’ll be able to practice against Chatham. Though I know I’ll get pounded into the ground.”
The two left the square and eventually made their way back to the inn.
* * * * *
As much as Marik had looked forward to the city, he’d mostly thought it would be like an enormous town. The constant patrols of the cityguard, the higher quality of most merchandise offered by the craftsmen and the wider variety of establishments served to point out there really were differences between townsfolk and city people. He might have been envious of them, living with the best of it all, if he had not noticed the complacency they each seemed to wear.
He would admit that very few in his hometown could be called a fighter of any breed, yet the townsfolk possessed an inner edge they could unsheathe and hone in troubled times. As he had told Maddock earlier, the impression most city dwellers gave him was of softness. The only ones who struck him as capable of defending themselves on a moment’s notice were, unsurprisingly, the weapons merchants.
Bandits would hardly attack such a large population as lived in the city, true enough, except the winds of war blew where they willed. Maybe all the lords owed allegiance to the king, maybe they all gave their loyalty to the throne…but did that mean they liked each other? Of course not. Though Galemar had been united for centuries, its pieces still fought amongst themselves like quarreling siblings, even if the scale of the conflicts had diminished substantially. If it were otherwise, all the mercenaries in kingdom would be starving beggars.
Marik would be happy to leave behind these people who so reminded him of the chickens penned in Macie’s yard; completely reliant on their caretaker and helpless on their own. It might not be an entirely correct view after spending only a day among these people, yet he desired not in the slightest to remain and give them a chance to prove otherwise.
Besides, time wasted here was that much time longer before they reached Kingshome, and with it the first answers to his father’s whereabouts.
Exiting the city the next morning progressed in similar fashion as their arrival. Harlan roused them with the sky lightening in predawn gloom. As a result, they were near the line’s front this time, only forced to wait through six groups ahead. The words exchanged with the cityguards at exiting were much faster.
“Names?” After the second man wrote them on his scroll, the guard asked, “Residents or travelers?” “How long did you stay in the city?” “That’s all.”
“It’s another glorious day o’ blisters an’ sunburn, eh my fair companions?” Chatham appeared to have forgotten he’d ever been in a fouler mood than his customary lightheartedness.
“Is Kingshome going to be anything like this?”
“It’s a rather grand view you have o’ the Crimson Kings Mercenary Band, is it? A hundred thousand fighting men gathered in one spot an’ the king not minding?”
“I meant is the town like this place? Going soft like an old soldier gone to fat, boring his grandchildren with the same old stories by the hearth again and again?”
Chatham’s eyebrows rose slightly. Marik expected one of the flippant remarks which appeared to be the only method by which the jester could talk with his companions. This time the man surprised him.
“You know old son, that’s about the best description o’ the cities I’ve heard yet. My best explanation was that the more the lords an’ nobles in the cities try to protect their citizens, the more dependant they become on that protection. The more ‘civilized’ a group makes itself, the more vulnerable they are to being cast down by the baser side o’ human nature.”
“That’s exactly what I was feeling inside there! They have more than the towns, and better quality, but they gave up their edge to get it. That’s the perfect explanation!”
“Hmm…I still like yours better. An’ the fact you feel so proves to my humble mind that you were never meant to be anything other than a wielder o’ the blade. But watch yourself,” Chatham said as he reached over to rap a hard knuckle against Marik’s head. “Don’t make the mistake o’ underestimating them. They might not have ever trusted their lives to cold steel in their hands, but living in the city as they do can be just as dangerous. Don’t think their lack o’ weapons skill means they can’t take care o’ themselves in other ways you haven’t thought about.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well that, lad-o, is a tale for a later day, as the bards like to put it. Perhaps I might be cajoled into revealing my deepest secrets, but at this particular moment, I smell smoke on the wind.”
The others lifted their noses. Soon they too distinguished the odor. Smoke all right, and not the fresh wood smoke their campfires emitted. Marik saw it first when he turned to look for the source. He pointed it out.
Behind, within the city walls, a smoke column rose from one of the districts. It looked like a building or two had caught fire. They stood still in the road, watching.
Marik asked, “Should we go back?”
It was Harlan who answered. “Why?”
“I thought, well…they might need help putting it out.”
“There’s enough men to handle it. We’d waste our time and be in their way. Let’s move on.”
So they did, turning away from the city to follow their feet along the Southern Road.
* * * * *
Later, with the sun shining directly overhead, they were roughly stopped by five men on horseback. They had ridden up behind, from the direction of the city, and shouted at them to halt. The five were dressed in the stylized tunics Marik recognized from the cityguards manning the gates.
Maddock, the acknowledged leader in this type of situation, stepped forward to address them. “For what reason do you detain us from our journey, Master Sergeant?”
&
nbsp; “Did the four of you take residence in the city this past night?”
“Indeed we did, as I am sure you already know.”
“State what your business was in the city.” He delivered the demand in a cold tone, full of suspicion.
“As you see, we are travelers. Our purpose was simply to enter one side and pass out the other.”
“What did you do while you were in residence?”
“We rested and visited the many shops of Spirratta. When was that declared a crime?”
The sergeant ignored that and gestured to his men. “I trust you will have no complaints to a quick search of your packs then?” It was not a question.
Marik had several complaints about it. Harlan placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from making a scene.
“Not if you are quick about it. The sun westers and we still have miles to make this day.”
The search of their belongings took longer than they liked. Nothing caught the riders’ interest until one pulled an object from Marik’s pack. He brought it to the sergeant. Marik recognized it as his extra coin purse.
The sergeant briefly inventoried the contents and studied a scroll he pulled from his belt. Though unsure, Marik would bet it was the scroll from the desk at the gate, or a copy. One guardsman grabbed his arm and hauled him forward to face the sergeant.
“This is a substantial sum of hard coin for a traveler to have on hand, wouldn’t you say? Substantial for a non-merchant at any rate. Care to explain this?”
Irritation and temper rose in Marik. He tried to hold it back with marginal success. “Explain what? It’s mine and I know of no laws against owning coin.”
“No, none against owning coin, but carrying it in suspicious amounts such as this raises questions. If you don’t answer my questions here, I have every right to bring you back to the holding cells in Spirratta. I’m sure you’ll be inclined then.”
