66 A Fortune Read

The evening came quickly. Lamplights outside Relentless were lit as they were any other night, but the foot traffic was far greater. People were exploring the various pop-up stalls selling festive goods. It reminded Jacob of a Christmas market, but in the middle of the fall. It was an interesting idea. Not being able to get any early sleep, Jacob decided to do his own exploration.

The streets were jam-packed, a human wave crashing down on the poor vendors. Jacob could barely hear his own thoughts over the shouting within the crowd, but it was oddly comforting. Images of New York City were superimposed on this medieval city, bringing him just a step closer to Earth.

Then the visions vanished, and he was back in Steelshade. He watched for other servants like the ones he had seen the prior day, but none were in sight. Only Jacob represented his class. He got a few disgusted looks from the landless nobles passing by him, but other than that most people ignored the lump of iron.

Jacob strolled towards a fortune teller, a stall that was surprisingly left alone. Was it against the local religion or something? Quite frankly, it was an interesting looking table, so Jacob took advantage of the lack of customers to approach. A wrinkly lady of old age looked up at him from underneath a hood.

"I don't get very many visitors, and even fewer as young as you, young man," her eyes scanned his form. The light from the flames of the streetlamps danced along the metal links of his armor. It made for an intimidating sight, he was sure.

Or maybe not, for the old woman ignored his armor and weapon entirely. Instead, she reached for his hands with surprising dexterity and strength. He couldn't shake her grip, and so he had his palms read not entirely of his own will. The fortune teller traced lines in his hands, mumbling to herself as she was predicting his future.

After an awkward few minutes, the old woman dropped out of her trance, her white hair slipping into her face. The veil did nothing to prevent her piercing blue eyes from penetrating Jacob's soul. "Your fate, if you continue down the road you are taking, is a turbulent one, Jacob. You may just lose that which you truly seek," she whispered to him, taking her seat once more.

Jacob tried to ask for clarity, but the fortune teller remained tight lipped. Her form trembled slightly, a nervous sort. What had she seen? Could her visions be trusted? What did she mean about losing what he truly sought? Frustration and pain built between his eyes, both of which he released with an agitated grumble.

Deciding that this was another scam, he continued on. The food stalls were especially popular, while the ones selling desserts were even more crowded with couples. Jacob envied them, standing in line to buy his own pastry. It was a little strange, being the only person in this market alone, but those crepe-looking things looked and smelled delicious.

Paying the amused – was he a baker or a chef? – man at the counter, Jacob took a huge bite out of his wrapped treasure. It was every bit as good as he imagined, topping even Relentless' food. That could have been due to the lack of desserts in the premier training institution, but this was a good dessert even by modern standards. The cream sitting inside the roll was chilled; the creator of the dish must've used an enchanted cooling box. Steelshade really wasn't short for people of considerable wealth. Only Rod had been able to afford one in Leafburrow, and that was only because of his savings he built up as a merchant.

Armed with food, Jacob pressed on deeper into the crowds. An occasional band played at a restaurant or other premium location, adding to the festivities. It reminded Jacob of his lute, reminding him that he needed to practice; he had neglected it as of late.

A voice - somehow louder than the rest of the crowd - drew Jacob's attention. "Watch our best fighters compete in our annual pre-tournament tonight! The winners take home this year's Loot Chest!" The proclamation sent all the near people into a frenzy. Whether of common or noble birth, both groups seemed equally enthused by the news that this pre-tournament was about to begin. Curious, Jacob followed in their wake.

Ahead, an impromptu ring was set up. A weapon rack complete with all the weapons – albeit of less quality than Relentless' – sat on one of the sides. Fighters waited around the ring's edges, a few more being added to their numbers every few minutes. To the person standing next to him, Jacob screamed to be heard over the ruckus. "How much is the prize?"

"I've heard it's ten golds this year!" the man called back, just loud enough for Jacob not to doubt his words. Ten golds was a huge amount to someone as destitute as him. It could buy him nice additions to his armor, or it could finance a sword in case he failed tomorrow. He'd have to take the chance. Racing between massive people, Jacob dashed up to the man who was registering fighters.

"I've come to fight," Jacob said, looking earnestly at the rough-looking man. The registrar's gaze locked onto his collar.

"We don't allow servants to fight." He looked away, turning his attention to the fighter after Jacob.

"I fight as my own person. I do not do this on anyone's behalf," Jacob argued, successful in returning the registrar's attention.

"Can you swear to it?" his eyes warmed the tiniest bit. Jacob needed to jump at the opportunity before he changed his mind.

"Yes!"

"I'll let you fight one of our weaker competitors first, one poor soul to another," the man said, moving the neck of his shirt to the side to reveal a collar of his own. Jacob's eyes widened as he nodded, accepting the man's kindness. He ambled absently to an empty spot around the ring. As he did so, his eyes got caught on someone. It was the fortune teller. What was she doing here?

As he thought about the fortune teller, he realized something he should have noticed a lot earlier. How had she known his name?