"Wait!" The shouter's call pierced through the tumults of the city folk. The quartet stopped; Vyncent looked back. "Wait for me," shouted the serving boy as he frustratingly untangled himself from his kitchen apron. "I'm coming, too." The boy stopped in front of them and tossed his apron aside. "Let me go with you all."
"And where is it do you think we go to, child?" Pyran tone was pensive, having an interest in the boy's wishes.
"M'name's Reyen," he said, "I heard you last night." He pointed at Ferangis. "The Lady of the Elms, you said. They say she knows everything."
"What does everything mean to you?"
"Everything." The boy stopped to think, judging this answer wasn't sufficient for Pyran. "How do I say it … like the stargazers, but … with what's happening now, not tomorrow. She can see and know things from far away."
"I see," Pyran said, crossing his arms. "You are correct." He looked into his eyes as if to figure out what he sought from the Lady. "You are looking for someone?"
"How did you know?"
"It was a guess."
As a response, Reyen put a hand in his dirty woolen coat. From a badly-sewn pocket, he pulled out a necklace to show them: A golden chain it had, and its pendant was a shiny onyx.
"It belonged to my mother." He quickly placed it back in his coat as if to do so before any of them could ask to inspect it. "The Lady needs a belonging from the one you're trying to find."
"That is accurate," said Pyran, laconically.
Ferangis looked the boy up and down. "Do know that our journey is perilous if you choose to come along."
"I can look after myself." Reyen smiled and nodded. "I have this." On his belt hung a sword. It was a short one: one fitting for his size. "I stole it from stupid Roy's collection. The smallest one he had."
"Do you know how to use it?" Pyran asked without harshness.
"I'll learn," said Reyen. "I'll learn quick," he said with pride, "I am the son of a great knight, after all."
Pyran only gave a low, amused hum at the boy's claim. Ferangis also had a look of astonishment.
"Such a quest before you, finding your mother," mused Ferangis, "I doubt our rejection will stop you from following us either way."
Vyncent tilted his head at Reyen. "Don't you have to work?" he asked him, "we'll be traveling for a long time, and we might not come back to Lesser Vior."
"I don't care," said Reyen, shrugging.
"Surely," added Larissa, "your friends and family will miss you. Don't you want to say your farewells?"
Reyen frowned at this. "I have no friends," he said sadly, "and no family. I hate it here. Stupid old Clara, greedy Barlett … drunks, gangsmen … I'm sick of everyone in this shit-smelling city. And that coward who thinks he can be my father most of all."
There was silence between them. The street also seemed to regain some tranquility now that all who wanted to see the hanging had left.
"Very well," said Pyran after a time. He turned and walked away.
"Do as you wish," Ferangis told Reyen and followed her partner.
He is only a child, thought Vyncent with worry, yet if he grew up in a city like this … Vyncent himself did not know what Ferangis meant by a perilous journey. He didn't expect to be in much danger; he expected his long gun to be used only for hunting. He wasn't marching to war or become a mercenary like his father, Vandal, had done. What would stand in their way?
On their way to the western gate, a traveling trader beckoned them over. The big-bellied man wore a heavy violet robe and a large round hat trimmed with ink-black fur. He had dark bushy eyebrows and a thick mustache that covered his upper lip. Vyncent knew they needed food and supplies for the quest, so they graced the man with their patronage.
"Fellow travelers," the merchant mused, his accent suggesting he came from the golden deserts of Iriaj to the far west of Roum, "I have all you need. How about some berrybrick? Made from the freshest berries and the finest beef in Roum, it is." He pointed at the long gun on Vyncent's back. "Ah, a young gunner. I have lead, powder, and cords."
When Vyncent remembered that one of his rescuers had taken all his money, back in Ebernathy's shop, he sighed and told the man he had no coin. Larissa, however, was quick to share her silvers. After a short exchange between the two, where Vyncent kindly refused to spend her money and Larissa gently insisting he does, Ferangis stepped in between them.
From under a fold of her wrappings at her breast, she produced a large golden coin. The mint was not known to Vyncent, nor the dead potentate's face that graced it.
"That should be more than enough to cover what we need," she said softly.
"Oh my, oh my," said the merchant, "such a coin is ancient! This mint is from the Lost City. How did this come into your hands?"
"We are ancient ourselves," said Ferangis as she gestured to Pyran, "and we were lost. Oh, so lost."
The merchant gave the pair a sympathetic look. "I see," he said ever so gently. By his expression, Vyncent suspected he knew something about the enigmas who stood before him. "I am very grateful for such a piece," he said to Ferangis, "I shall keep it safe for as long as I live. Now, have a look at my wares. You have many jaunts ahead, yes?"
Vyncent obtained two bullets to add to his five and enough black powder to fill his horn. Pyran held on to the berrybrick. When Reyen asked if the merchant had a whetstone, he offered one to him. The boy also took a blanket for himself to prepare for the coldest nights. At the back of the big caravan, something on a shelf caught Larissa's eye.
"Pardon me," she asked the merchant.
The man nodded at her, smiling. "See something you like, my dear?"
"That book, lying over there." Larissa pointed at a tome with a deep crimson color. "Is that a copy of Adventures of Welvyt Stirn?"
The merchant looked back behind him, reached out, and picked up the text.
"Yes, yes it is." I flipped through the pages with a small grin on his face, as if paper held images of happy memories. "A good story," he mused as he closed it, "a very good story." He handed it to her. "You want it? It's yours."
"Oh," she uttered, nonplussed, "I didn't mean to ask for it. Or maybe I did, but … are you sure?"
"Very sure," said the kindly seller, "I have read it more than a hundred times." He placed a finger on the side of his head. "By now, every word of it is in my head." Larissa accepted the book and thanked him profusely. "It was weighing down my poor old cart anyhow," the man said, his chins jiggling as he chuckled.
"A book?" Reyen mused. "That's good for a fire."
Larissa hugged the tome tightly and gasped at the boy. "No, never," she said hastily, tucking the book in her cloak to protect from both the falling snow and Reyen himself. "I've always wanted a copy to read."
"Reading?" muttered Reyen as he slung the bundled blanket across his back. "Sounds boring."
"Not at all," retorted Larissa, meekly, "even if you just read one tale, you may find it hard not to read another."
"I doubt it. I never learned how to do all that anyway."
"If you'd like, I can read them to you. There are even some stories about knights who master both magic and steel."
Reyen seemed to like her offer, enticed by the talk of knights. "I'll let you read 'em to me," he conceded, making a small smile.
After getting everything they needed, they continued to the city gates. The jolly merchant waved his goodbyes at them, thanking them for their business and wishing them the best of luck.
When the five reached the western gate, an incoming wagon had broken down at the entrance. As the outgoers waited for the blockage to clear, two of the Lesser Vior guards asked Vyncent about the hanging.
"Had they done it yet?" The guard who asked was in his thirties with a face that had taken a beating some time ago and healed as best it could. He reeked of Illecks smoke and wine. "Surely they must've. I heard there was going to be no trial."
Vyncent had no answer to give them, but he didn't have a chance to answer either way; the two guards quickly lost interest in him and discussed the matter amongst themselves.
"The bastards at Greater Vior don't want trials, Rickant, and you know it," the other guard blurted with disdain. "When those pompous rag knights see someone they don't like …" The guard pretended to tug a rope at his neck.
"To be sure," the guard with the broken face agreed, "though I wish they would stay in their city. Why bother with us? Do they intend to reunite us as one Vior again?"
Rickant's companion snorted and spat out a wad of slime at the question. "Perhaps," he said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, "and they will fail again as always."
With the wagon moved out of the way, the flow of traffic continued. Vyncent and his companions left Lesser Vior to stew in its stench and strife.
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