my horses! I did stole them fair and ... mmmph!" Arcie exclaimed loudly, then sputtered as Sam reached up and clapped a hand over his mouth. A few townsfolk, wandering about and chatting pleasantly, watched them curiously and laughed. They found stabling for Damazcus and the pony, which Arcie had taken to calling Puddock, then they set out on their separate ways.
Arcie walked cheerfully through the warm early evening.
He stopped to pass the time of day idly with a Barigan greengrocer. He wandered down into what must have been the bad side of the town, all undergoing renewal and renovation. His trained eyes spotted thief signs here and there, faded with age and painted over in a few places. One series of marks led him to what must have been the local Guild. Most of the larger towns had a Guild of some size, though the thieves of a few looser cities ran instead in competing gangs. Assassin's Guilds were far rarer. Sam's had been the only one he'd known of in the Six Lands. The Thieves' Guild here in Mertensia was disguised of course, in this case as a bakery. His own Guild had run under the cheerful cover of a milliner's shop, before all his members had left and he'd had to scrape his losses together and turn everything into easily portable items. At any rate, might as well see if rise and shine baked goods had done any better. He wandered in.
A small bell announced his arrival, and the aroma of warm bread drifted around him.
Kaylana was in difficulties. She put on a brave front, but she hated cities. The cobblestones were rough under her feet, and the air was smoky and hard to breathe. Eyes stared at her, in her homespun armor and dun robes, but she would not look at them. The eyes made her feel itchy, tense, panicky. She had to stop at the small park in the center of town to try to recover herself. She sat on the small patch of grass and waited until she stopped shaking.
How long since she'd been in a city? Many, many seasons ... last time she had stepped foot inside a large town such as this, she had sat in an alleyway and watched with burning eyes as a huge crowd roared the praises of the Heroes. She knew little of them, or of what they had done, only of the results. She had seen them then; a warrior, a wizard, a healer, a scout, a woodsman, and a knight in silver armor. News of the Victory had spread to all corners of the world, and the people laughed and wept for joy wherever the Heroes appeared. Time had gone on, there were other, local, heroes. The original Heroes, and those who had fought on their side but not gained quite the fame, settled down and took up the burden of repairing the war-torn land. Many of their children went on to become heroes as well. But the swallows had not brought any news of heroes for many months, reflected Kaylana.
Perhaps the heroes were running out of heroic things to do.
Kaylana didn't like this. She didn't like trusting either the short fellow or his impertinent tall friend, especially if it led her to cities like this one. But she had no choice.
How far they trusted her, she was still not certain. They'd come this far, true, but would it be as the others had said, that they would not work, would squabble over meaningless things rather than do what must be done, whatever it was? "Come away, young one," her kinsmen had said to her, the last ones, on the day of the Victory. "You can do nothing here." The spirits of her past, dancing in the trees. She had turned away, refused, and had gone back to her woods, vowing that she must do something. With the death of the other Druids her powers had increased little by little, as their dying spirits passed strength to her that she might survive. Her body had transformed so that she hardly seemed to age from that day onward ... but she had realized long ago that she would have rather died when they did. She watched, in bitter sorrow, as the world tilted to its inevitable searing end in white light, unable to do anything but wait. Following her
Arcie walked cheerfully through the warm early evening.
He stopped to pass the time of day idly with a Barigan greengrocer. He wandered down into what must have been the bad side of the town, all undergoing renewal and renovation. His trained eyes spotted thief signs here and there, faded with age and painted over in a few places. One series of marks led him to what must have been the local Guild. Most of the larger towns had a Guild of some size, though the thieves of a few looser cities ran instead in competing gangs. Assassin's Guilds were far rarer. Sam's had been the only one he'd known of in the Six Lands. The Thieves' Guild here in Mertensia was disguised of course, in this case as a bakery. His own Guild had run under the cheerful cover of a milliner's shop, before all his members had left and he'd had to scrape his losses together and turn everything into easily portable items. At any rate, might as well see if rise and shine baked goods had done any better. He wandered in.
A small bell announced his arrival, and the aroma of warm bread drifted around him.
Kaylana was in difficulties. She put on a brave front, but she hated cities. The cobblestones were rough under her feet, and the air was smoky and hard to breathe. Eyes stared at her, in her homespun armor and dun robes, but she would not look at them. The eyes made her feel itchy, tense, panicky. She had to stop at the small park in the center of town to try to recover herself. She sat on the small patch of grass and waited until she stopped shaking.
How long since she'd been in a city? Many, many seasons ... last time she had stepped foot inside a large town such as this, she had sat in an alleyway and watched with burning eyes as a huge crowd roared the praises of the Heroes. She knew little of them, or of what they had done, only of the results. She had seen them then; a warrior, a wizard, a healer, a scout, a woodsman, and a knight in silver armor. News of the Victory had spread to all corners of the world, and the people laughed and wept for joy wherever the Heroes appeared. Time had gone on, there were other, local, heroes. The original Heroes, and those who had fought on their side but not gained quite the fame, settled down and took up the burden of repairing the war-torn land. Many of their children went on to become heroes as well. But the swallows had not brought any news of heroes for many months, reflected Kaylana.
Perhaps the heroes were running out of heroic things to do.
Kaylana didn't like this. She didn't like trusting either the short fellow or his impertinent tall friend, especially if it led her to cities like this one. But she had no choice.
How far they trusted her, she was still not certain. They'd come this far, true, but would it be as the others had said, that they would not work, would squabble over meaningless things rather than do what must be done, whatever it was? "Come away, young one," her kinsmen had said to her, the last ones, on the day of the Victory. "You can do nothing here." The spirits of her past, dancing in the trees. She had turned away, refused, and had gone back to her woods, vowing that she must do something. With the death of the other Druids her powers had increased little by little, as their dying spirits passed strength to her that she might survive. Her body had transformed so that she hardly seemed to age from that day onward ... but she had realized long ago that she would have rather died when they did. She watched, in bitter sorrow, as the world tilted to its inevitable searing end in white light, unable to do anything but wait. Following her
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