Galeden

As evening passed, and the fading twilight fell behind the mountains, Cyrus and Berrodin arrived at the fork between their road, and the next. An old redwood sign stood in the middle, directing travelers to the three different destinations. Moss grew over the words, but they were clear enough.

'Galeden or Faldersel?' 

Cyrus glanced at Berrodin. "Is Faldersel another kingdom?"

"It's a well known merchant city along the west coast. They have one of the biggest harbors in Delahost," Berrodin said. He rubbed his chin. "If you can't find any hints about your past in Galeden, then I advise you to go there next."

"I'll keep that in mind," Cyrus said. He pulled on Starvhost's reins, guiding him down the road towards Galeden. 

Soon, the large stone walls appeared through the tips of the swaying pines, while the clatter of wagons and carriages echoed through the forest. 

"Wait. Stop here," Berrodin said. 

Cyrus glanced over his shoulder with a frown. "What is it?"

"If people see us entering the city at the same time, they may get suspicious," Berrodin said. He unclasped his grey cloak, and held it out. "Here. Take this, and enter the city before me. I can find the alchemist on my own."

"Are you certain?" Cyrus asked. "We can go a bit further together."

"No, it'll be better this way," Berrodin said. He handed Cyrus the cloak in exchange for the reins. "They shouldn't question you when you enter. Oh, and take this as well."

Berrodin retrieved his coin pouch, and retrieved a handful of coins. "It's not much, but it should cover the cost of a few nights at the tavern, and some food. I hope you'll be able to get a lead on your past before it runs out."

"Thank you," Cyrus said. He took the coins, and dropped them into a small pouch, before draping the cloak over his shoulders. "I suppose this is farewell. I'm glad I met you."

"I feel the same," Berrodin said. He held out his arm, and Cyrus clutched it.

When they let go, Cyrus flipped the hood over his head, and made his way towards the gates of Galeden. A purple banner draped above the iron portcullis, embellished by a black bear emerging from a mountain den. Beneath, a line of citizens and merchants waited to enter, each being checked by a pair of guards.

He spotted the same purple crest on their breastplates as they lazily eye'd a wagon of bright red apples before waving it through. The light of the nearby braziers glinted off their armor, while the pikes they carried slumped against their shoulders. 

The older of the two frowned as Cyrus approached and straightened his back. With a wave, he gestured Cyrus over.

"Don't think I've seen you before," The guard said. He scratched his chin, his brown eyes flicking between Cyrus's hood and his dirt-stained clothes. "What's your name, and reason for entering?"

"Cyrus, and I'm trying to find someone," Cyrus said. "A scholar on ancient history."

The guard frowned. "A scholar of ancient history? I didn't know Galeden had one. Hmm. As such, I must warn you to keep your hands free of anyone's pockets and stay out of trouble. Break any laws, and you'll find yourself admiring our kingdom from the gallows. Is that clear?"

"Of course," Cyrus said. 

"Good. Enjoy your stay in Galeden then." 

The guard stepped to the side, and Cyrus hurried through. One last time, he glanced over his shoulder. Berrodin had joined the line of people, and he gave one final nod, before lowering his head. 

Cyrus pulled back his gaze, and looked around. High cobblestone buildings rose on either side of the road, dotted with glass windows, and pine doors. Light cast from lanterns guided people home, and the scent of supper hung in the air.

His stomach grumbled at the smell, and he found himself quickly heading to the tavern, which brimmed with people. After three days of dried jerky, the urge to buy a hot meal lured him inside.

"What can I do for you?" The bartender asked as Cyrus reached the counter. He stood a good head taller than Cyrus, and watched him with a half arched brow.

"Something warm to eat, and a drink," Cyrus said. He glanced around, then pointed towards an empty table near the fireplace. "I'll be over there."

The man nodded. "That'll be two copper."

Cyrus retrieved the coin, and slid it across the counter. The bartender scooped it into a pouch with a smile.

"Very good. I'll have them bring your food to you in a moment." 

Cyrus made his way to the table and slipped into a seat with the fire behind him. A nearby window allowed him to watch the street outside, though it would be difficult for anyone to see his face. 

As he waited for his food, he noticed a group of men situated near the door. They wore worn tunics, and spoke in hushed voices, though Cyrus still caught a whisper of what they said. 

"Has there still been no word from Heldren? I thought he was supposed to arrive two days ago." A young man spoke first, appearing not much older than sixteen. His eyes darted between two older men, and he clenched his mug tightly. "Could he have gotten lost? Or maybe bandits-"

"Enough," One of the older men snapped. He scowled. "Heldren wouldn't have gotten lost, and he knows better than to be caught by bandits. I'm sure he'll be here soon."

"But Ersen has a point, Felron. Heldren said he'd stop in Mourtop, and then be here before the end of the week, and that was the last we heard. If he was hung up by something, he would have sent word, but there's been nothing."

"I- I know," The old man said, sighing. "It's unlike Heldren to be this late, but it's not like an entire caravan could just go missing. I'm certain they'll be here soon."

The men's conversation moved on, and Cyrus leaned back in his seat. A sense of dread washed over him as he considered the possibilities. 'Perhaps they ran into a beast like the ogres. If that's true, then what else might be out there?'

Cyrus shivered at the thought.

"Are you alright?" 

Cyrus jumped as a barmaid appeared beside him, carrying a plate of brisket and rolls, and a foaming mug. Her auburn hair slipped over her shoulder as she set the food down while glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

Cyrus took a deep breath, and relaxed his shoulders. "Yes… Yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You looked a bit tense, is all," she said, hugging the platter. She brushed the hair away from her face, and smiled. "Well, let me know if there is anything else I can get for you."

The woman turned to leave, when Cyrus realized he had nowhere to spend the night.

"Actually, do you have any rooms available? Something preferably cheap, and I only need a single cot."

The barmaid stopped, and furrowed her brow. "Hmm, I believe there are still a few rooms left. Though the cheapest will still cost you five bronze a night. Will that be alright?"

"It will." Cyrus handed her the coin, and she motioned towards a door across the room. 

"Head through there once you're done for the night, and take the room on the far left. I'll let the barkeep know it's occupied."

"Thank you," Cyrus said. 

The barmaid nodded, and headed back to the counter. Cyrus pocketed the rest of his coin, then grabbed a fork, and dug into the brisket. The warm meat melted in his mouth, and possessed a far tastier texture than the dried jerky, and hard rolls he ate the past three nights. 

As he ate, he noticed the men rising from the table to his left and heading out. As they left, Cyrus overheard the one named Felron speaking to the other old man. 

"I want you to send some men to Mourtop. Find out if Heldren has arrived yet, and what's taking him so long."

"And if he hasn't? What will we do?"

Felron rubbed his neck. "I suppose we'll have to continue on our way. We can't wait here forever, and Heldren knows this. I'm certain he'll figure it out when arrives, and we're not here."

The men's voices faded as the tavern door fell shut. Cyrus brimmed with unease, and hurried to finish his food. Once done, he tossed an extra copper on the table, and slipped through the doorway. A corridor led him to the bedroom the barmaid mentioned.

Inside, Cyrus lit the lantern hung beside the door, and scanned the room. Moonlight streamed through a shuttered window, gracing the single straw cot with a silver curtain. Both the nightstand and wardrobe were made from redwood, and a writing desk lined the side.

'For five copper a night, this isn't so bad,' Cyrus thought. He tossed his pack onto the desk, then latched the door with a thick wooden beam. From there, he retired to the straw cot, and unhooked his cloak.

The mattress crinkled as he draped it over the end, and laid back, allowing his body to sink into the straw. 

'I'll need to find the scholar tomorrow, though I don't think it will be easy,' Cyrus sighed, and tilted his head towards the window. Thick white clouds drifted through the night sky, their depths outlined by the brilliant radiance of the moon.

Beyond, the night sky sparkled as the stars flickered amidst the sea of black. Cyrus watched them until his eyes drifted shut, and he fell into a slumber.

The following morning, Cyrus stepped out of the tavern as the first rays of sunlight crept over the kingdom's walls. The bartender had urged him to head to the market place when he asked about where he could find someone, claiming that if he wanted to find a person, he should start at the place they're most likely to visit.

Fortunately, the chilly morning kept him from looking out of place, as most people around him wore their cloaks with the hood raised. This allowed him to relax, and he soon found himself strolling down the cobblestone street.

As he walked, he noticed a group of people in an open square, gathered around a well. They stood still, with wide eyes, and an eerie silence hung around them. 

'What are they doing?"  Cyrus wondered. He made his way around, and peeked through the people. 

A pale man in a black robe stood beside the well, with wild hazel eyes and short brown hair. His narrow cheeks flushed bright red as he raised his arms, and parted his wire thin lips.

"Hear me, people of Galeden! I come from the temples of Dilthane to warn you of the dangers of magic, which is still as real today, as it was fifty years ago! Don't you know there are still beings out there, who wield unnatural power. Power they've acquired through dark ways, and which they use against people such as yourselves! They roam these lands, still free as they lurk through the forests, and hide in the mountains, waiting for an unsuspecting man or woman!"

The man shook his fists, one of which clenched tightly around a silver pendant, shaped in the form of a withered rose wrapped around a cracked sword. An amethyst was nestled into the swords pommel. "We know not what they are capable of, only that it is dangerous, and terrifying! I ask you to think of your wives, your husbands, your sons and your daughters! Their futures remain uncertain as long as these beings remain free and wild!"

Cyrus flinched as the crowd erupted into a fury. Lowering his head, he hurried onwards, his pace brisk until he reached the market. There, the citizens of Galeden crowded the street, their coin purses snapping open and closed as they bustled between the wooden stalls and open shops. 

 Nearby, a group of men gathered around a merchant selling hammers and nails, their voices hushed as they discussed different projects. They occasionally glanced over their shoulders as their wives and daughters swept through the stalls and shops ladened with cloth. With sleek and time trained fingers, they tested the wool, and examined the silk.

Cyrus stepped to the side as a group of children darted past, chasing a leather ball. Tightening his grip on his pack, he glanced between the stalls until he spotted one selling jars of ink and linen parchment. 

'There. If I was a scholar, then wouldn't I need supplies?'

Cyrus grinned, and made his way over. As he approached, he noticed a young man with tufts of golden hair, haggling with the lean merchant. As their conversation progressed, the merchant's face hardened into a scowl, and he unconsciously tapped the wooden stall. 

Cyrus waited a few steps back, until at last the merchant threw up his hands, and the young man left with a stack of paper, and three jars of ink, along with a sly grin. Cyrus met his eye for a moment, and the young man threw him a wink, before continuing on his way.

'How strange,' Cyrus thought. He continued forward, and approached the merchant. "Excuse me, do you happen to know where I could find a scholar on ancient history?"

The merchant stared at him momentarily, then turned away as if he hadn't seen him. Dumbfounded, Cyrus knocked on the stall, but stopped when the merchant shot narrowed his eyes. Shrugging, he made his way to the next merchant, only to be met with a similar response. 

When the following three merchants also refused to speak to him, he moved onto the passerbyers, only for them to quicken their pace whenever he approached. Furrowing his brow, Cyrus paused to think, when a heavy, burly man rammed their shoulder into his as he passed by. 

He bit his lip to keep from crying out, and glared at the back of the balding man. His luck worsened as another stomped on his toes, followed by someone shoving him as they rushed past. All the while, their shouts and cries to each other grew louder, overwhelming him.

Cyrus's pulse quickened, and sweat beaded down his brow. He spun around, scanning the stalls and people, looking for a way out. A space opened momentarily, but was blocked by a horse drawn carriage, which whipped past without a word of warning. Cyrus stumbled back as the wheels nearly ran over his feet.