The night wore on for several hours more. Tossing and turning in an unfamiliar bed is, how to put it... uncomfortable. And, much to my dismay, an unseasonably heavy rain set in that pelted an unwavering, maddening beat on the tavern's slate roof. Sleep wouldn't be an easy task here.

Not while Verold's loathsome face drifted in and out of my thoughts, which at this point had become, for me at least, indistinguishable from the shape of a badly deformed muffin. Far be it from me to insult the fluffy mounds of goodness, I would never do such a thing unprovoked! Hah... hmm.

Still... his lumpy face loomed from them, toppling my resolve more easily than I would've liked. I closed the linen bag and set them aside. Maybe It's for the better. Silly that I tempted Fate in the first place. Who's to say they wouldn't transfigure me into some heinous creature like him?

After all, a forbidden love for midnight snacks can do that to an unsuspecting girl my age. Mother always said a sweet tooth is a trickster. It grows where the wisdom teeth do, masquerading as sensible, erudite monsters whose devilishness only surfaced when one came across a sweet... but I don't remember much after that. I always fell asleep at that part of the story.

"The little princess who adored sweets too much... how long ago was that?"

Fifteen years? "Seems rather unbelievable..." I murmured to my hand, which appeared more delicate and pale than I remembered.

It's been three since I graduated. What did I do all that time?

"Research, like I always do."

Gold coins weighed very little in my mother's purse. As a daughter of the Nader bourgeoise she received a handsome stipend, courtesy of a vast wealth that swam about in the sea, and of a family commanding the lion's share of the continent's sea trade, fishery, and a variety of other goods. Meaning it was no trouble at all to fund my very own lab. What came out of there was, uh, questionable at times, I'll admit. So much so that my father never once considered it himself, and I still haven't forgiven him for that! What is failure when there is discovery to be had?

"Discovery... I wonder how far along he is..."

My bedside lamp blew out. After adjusting the chimney, I settled into the sheets now that the rainfall had slowed to a more gentle patter. Tomorrow is another day, and a day where I finally get to meet "him".

Or not.

I started awake at the jostling of that Nuvarian boy. Whether his people lacked the prudence around shameful things or not, I hadn't studied enough of their culture to be certain. What I did pick up while at Atleos' library, however, amounted to very little. A nomadic people, paradoxically splintered into a number of tribes and yet, they shared a common identity without any recorded conflict amongst each other. Granted, there aren't many records, period. They opened their borders about a year after I enrolled at the academy, following a conflict with the formidable Helisad Theocracy, a stalemate that did not turn out well for the xenophobic hypocrites. A fact that led the majority of the northern continent to recognize their unorganized yet somehow functional society as a nation. All this mess, a couple of failed diplomatic attempts by The Empire and the simple lack of time culminated in the scant understanding between us until now... but I digress.

Regardless, I hoped the boy had innocence enough to blunder into my room and shake me, barely draped in a night shirt, awake. Maybe he's gained a little more sensibility from the experience... I can only hope after raising a din loud enough to raise the dead and my neighbors. When I finally calmed down and slung the bedsheets around me, I learned he did have a reason for it.

"Th' metal man wants to see you." He stammered, rubbing his face dazedly where my bag of sweets had made contact with moments ago.

While bearing with Verold all day yesterday, I never had the chance to examine the pig's darkly tanned companion. It seemed he didn't have full control of his Lascian vowels yet.

"Now?"

"Urgeunn-t!" He squealed, then reached for his mouth frantically after the U and T collided painfully between his teeth.

"This early in the morning?" I groaned, then shooed the boy out. Something about the way the boy gestured toward the door belied the sheer inconvenience I felt the captain would be this morning, and little did I know how accurate that sentiment was, while I made myself more presentable and with a few less curly hairs.

I entered the taproom, making sure to take all the time I needed to exact my petty revenge against the captain, and took my seat at one of the dozen or so tables strewn around and unset, as it was still far too early for opening hours. Nevertheless, the captain and his knightly diligence sat stiffly across from me, fully armored with the exception of his helmet, and perused an unrolled parchment in the the faltering light of a hair of tallow.

I barely restrained the nausea forcing itself up my throat when I noticed Verold, slouched in his chair over to my right, clutching a mug containing a fuming decoction of what smelled like coffee yet looked anything but. He blinked through a week in a day's worth of sleep, otherwise he showed no will to acknowledge me. Is that drool on his night gown?

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

And lastly there I was, flinching at every other syllable that came from the captain's mouth..

"...From henceforth or 'til this decree's withdrawal, wayfarers seeking passage through the regions known as Castelloe Basin, Erie Pass, the summit of Mount Broia and fifty Rytes roundabout, will be barred from entry. This is by order of his Majesty the Emperor, Orlo Variant the First, and by remit of Minister of Affairs, Duke Gareth Weylaned. All knights within proximity of these aforementioned regions will enforce these restrictions immediately upon the receipt of this missive."

The captain drew a sharp breath through his nose, and pensively rolled the gilded parchment before placing it onto a blue transfer circle etched into the table. In a bright flash, the letter disappeared, leaving behind an empty, unmarked surface. A few moments of silence ensued, broken again when the captain roused himself from his thoughts.

"Such is the word of Earl Warstin, Grandmaster of our order. There you have it. I regret that I must ask your pardon once again, Madam Caxie. I cannot permit your passage to the White Tower."

If not for the sharp bite I had on the tip of my tongue, my words might have strayed into decidedly unladylike territory. Granted, I've waited a long time for this day, and waiting a little more wouldn't hurt. Though it is the worst kind of tease. "Whe-ahem, when will the edict lift then?"

"When we receive word, I presume," He answered, "if their urgency required a long distance transfer spell, the lifting order should come as quickly as the decree. As for how long it will last, I wouldn't begin to guess."

"Surely there's a way..?"

In response, he shook his head dismissively, " 'Fraid not. Orders such as this rarely come directly from his majesty. It's nearly tantamount to a declaration of war if it does."

War? I glanced at Verold for answers, hoping that at least a tower official had some sort of sway over the rigid captain. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, mouth agape, nostrils flaring as he let out a monstrous snore. I doubt he even knew where he was, let alone the circumstances now forced on us.

"Then what am I supposed to do then?"

The knight's thin eyebrows curled somewhat as he thought about it. "There is a wonderful view of Callestoe and the peaks of Broia from the west side if my memory serves correctly..."

"Sightseeing then?"

Sensing my frustration, he smiled slightly, and leaned forward with an unexpectedly secretive air, bringing his vicious scars uncomfortably close, "And if I may take you into my confidence, there is a small café in the square, just behind the tool seller's establishment, that serves a fine Brugen mead with crème tarts. Tell the owner I sent you."

I flushed a little, feeling uncertain whether this knight was really a knight or a psychic with an odd penchant for plate steel wardrobes, and tried to smile without betraying anything else to the perceptive man, "I beg your pardon?"

"I happen to frequent many of the bakeries within our borders and without. That linen bag of yours, madam, it's sold by a friend of mine."

With that, he rose from his seat, dipping his head towards me respectfully and into his helmet.

"Please let the gentleman accompanying you know the details. I must be off." He echoed.

My eyes followed him with a mixed bag of emotions, "What is your name, captain?" I called.

He stopped short of the Inn's front door, visor tilting toward me, "Forgive me for neglecting introductions. Hayward Gallows, madam."

"I see. A pleasure, Sir Gallows."

"Likewise. If you happen to require any assistance, two of my men will remain to secure the western gates."

In his wake, he had left me to deal with the unresponsive swine that was supposed to be my escort. Sly one, that Gallows. I hope he doesn't think he'll get away with it.

That aside, what was I going to do now? The promised day I had looked forward to for so long is now dangling behind a vague cordon of nearly one-hundred and fifty Rytes of wilderness, only around five of which I was concerned. Not to mention that, for the time being, the path there is indefinitely closed.

With that in mind, Sir Gallow's recommendation is tempting, having heard about Brugen from several of my underclassmen who had family there...

And before I knew it, I found myself abandoning the oblivious Verold, carefully tiptoeing over muddy sidewalks, and narrowly evading the commuters of the town. Curiously, something which I hadn't noticed due to how late we arrived, Tanovit's population seemed to be mostly comprised of demihumans. In fact, there were so few humans that I started to feel a little self-conscious. Not that I minded the disparity, instead the piercing stares of the feathered, furred, and generally predatory figures that passed by instinctively raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I was used to Axel's attitude, and I'm sure he felt the same way back at home. I have an open mind, this is just natural.

Now that I mention it, I haven't seen Axel ever since I left the tavern. I peeked into the carriage parked along the porch, hoping to catch him sleeping, maybe to put some of my precious ointment on his wrists without him looking, but he wasn't there. And here I thought I woke up early this morning.

"It would be amusing to see that husky old fart curled up in a ball."

Leaving the carriage behind, I made my way toward the town square. Not an extravagant affair to say the least, compared to the capitol or Erisan for that matter. There were the typical amenities you could find in any of the towns dotting the Imperial Highway, a tanner's workshop, smithy, a few odds and ends stores that would generally find you what you needed in a pinch, or so Axel would say about it. Not that I would know...

"Tool seller's, tool seller's... it would be nice if the signs had words advertising the shops instead of symbols. I'm not a craftsman after all!"

Eventually, I found myself in front of a shabby two-story which stood behind the graying planks of what I assumed was 'the' tool shop. For all I knew, the other three with the inconspicuous hammer, sickle, and anvil signage could have passed for it.

Gallows... you better have a good reason for selling this place to me.

Gingerly, I pulled open the old transom door, half-expecting an abandoned shack. Much to the contrary, the interior exuded a warm, inviting scent of candied fruits and spice.

"...Oh, excuse me, you first." A familiar figure on the other side of the doorway apologized.

I had to take a moment to process the simpering, overly thick West Lasican accent to recognize who it was.

"Natley?"