We emerged from the choking, fetid hut and into the snow-cooled air of the waking town, and just as the last of the dust lifted from my lungs, so too did I relish the clarity of mind granted by a new sense of purpose. For the scarcity we arrived with, we had finally set our sights on a new objective. It was vague, and though I got the sense we agreed to an impossible task, I was thankful to have been provided a better vision of what my future held.
While we couldn't foresee the pitfalls that lie ahead, we could do our best to fill them with careful preparation. The sun hung ever high, and we were ready to put all that remained of the day into procuring the necessary tools. Food was a given, but our gear was in an especially sorry state; bloody residues still encrusted the deepest folds of my gambeson, and I needed something more protective if I was going to put myself in harm's way. Cordella likewise desired a cloak of denser yarn to shelter her from the cold whilst retaining the flexibility she required. Figuring that we'd find these articles in different places, we split up to locate shops that would better tailor to our fancy.
Walking betwixt the many buildings was an altogether more pleasurable affair this time than the last. The village was much enlivened by the departure of the wyverns, and a break in the thick cloud cover shed a much-needed warmth now that the snowfall had ceased. These developments were only temporary, but I would enjoy them for as long as they lasted, and, what with the size of the plaza, I would have plenty of time to savor it. Better, this was the first time since leaving Ethelburrow that I had shed my pack, so I could do it alone.
I wandered aimlessly between the shops and street vendors, led only by the rich smell of roasted goods that filled the breeze. I was happy to have my fill of it. Entering Chenglei with a currency of no use to us, we were fundless, but Samara was more than happy to put us back on our feet. "Affluence serves no purpose in the form of idle change," she reasoned, a phrase I would champion as I spent frivolously the coins that she bestowed—first on thickening the gut, and next the carapace.
I stuffed my face with all that I’d never had the chance to back home, and more yet than I’d ever seen offered. Skewered lamb and beef with more spices than I could name—sweet, but with a heat that lingered in the back of the throat; crisp jelly pies with pear and plum; and a hot brew rich with the taste of honey and wintergreen. It was hours I spent sampling all the delicacies that Chenglei had to offer when, finally, among the many outfitters, I found a lone armorer with doors open to all.
Just as I expected, it boasted an expansive selection compared to the local blacksmiths of Abdera, and I had a hell of a time deciding where to start. Sets of polished steel plate, beautiful brigandines, and every manner of mail passed under my eye, but the first that stood out was a gleaming piece made entirely of layered steel. This technique resulted in a swirl of color in an otherwise simple slab of metal, but there was more to admire than its forging. Every detail, every mark left along the way was thoughtfully placed; the whorled etchings along the breastplate and smoothly articulated joints were sure signs of a master of the craft. For minutes on end, I blankly stared at the most exquisite piece of metalwork the world over, alongside my gawking mug which reflected in stark contrast. What next I laid my eyes upon was the price.
I swallowed hard, slowly retracting my hand. I didn't yet grasp the value of Chengleian currency, but I was certain the seller had mistakenly added a zero or two. A moment later, I was startled by the hot breath and watchful eye of the shopkeeper beating down on my neck. It was with great restraint that I kept my blade contained after being blindsided by the man, and then again when he gripped both of my shoulders.
"Do ye fancy this set?" he asked with an eager grin and a glint in his eye, a look I could only describe as hungry. Thin and slinking, he must have furled his forked tongue when he saw my interest in his most expensive product. "Just imagine it. The look enough will fill your enemies’ hearts with fear!"
"Ahh, yes. It's a remarkable piece, no doubt, just a shame that asking price."
"Oh, but no price can be put on protection!" he retorted. "I guarantee that she’ll do right by ye."
I'd be inclined to agree, but there was indeed a price to be paid—one that would run me dry ten times over. "I think I'll have a look at the rest of your wares."
His covetous gaze lingered, unappreciative of my quick dismissal. “Why, would you believe it? The price has seen a recent reduction! For thirty fewer pieces, ye may happily call it yours.”
Until the price dropped to thirty pieces flat, it was a non-starter. After a disapproving nod and a flash of his fangs, the snake returned to his burrow with an empty belly. He was gone for now, but the aura lingered, and be it in my nightmares or over my deathbed, I had the feeling that I would see him again.
Putting considerable distance between myself and the accursed armor, I was soon struck by another set, a thin chain-mail. While it lacked the heft of a metal plate, it would provide a better buffer than my current garments without sacrificing maneuverability. It was the simplest option, if a little uninspired, but it was the gambeson to be worn atop it that caught my eye. Vibrant blue with golden embroidery, secured by thick leather straps that ran from shoulder to waist. All told it resembled the outfits worn by the knights of Abdera, an idea I found fitting. More importantly, the material was thick enough to shed the brutal cold, but not to the extent that it might be uncomfortable elsewhere, and it wouldn't be hard to repair should it be damaged.
A broken man waited at the counter, quietly hissing at my admittedly meager choice. “That will be 25 pieces flat.”
“No discount on this one?”
He sighed as he took my payment. “Not on bargain items, no.”
Happily, I left the market with sparse change and a large sack of burlap hanging over my shoulder. After a satisfying end to my search, I was ready to see how my friend had gotten along, and it wouldn't be long before I spotted her dodging in and out of boutiques and outlets. Given her new garb, she was easily mistaken for someone else, darting back and forth until I saw the face under the cowl. She approached excitedly when she saw me, arms spread to flaunt her many purchases. Then, with a curtsy, she flourished her new outfit.
"Doesn’t this look brilliant?!" she asked, beaming. "Don’t be shy. I can see it written on your face!"
She had swapped from her muted brown riding cloak to a richer scarlet one, beneath which she revealed an indigo dress accented by a soft white along the hem. The material was loose and hung near her ankles, but it appeared none too restrictive and fit nicely to her hips; all told, it was as stunning as she claimed until she donned the hood. It was comically large, reminiscent of a child swathed in a bed sheet what with the way it draped across her face.
"It's lovely," I started, "but I'm not partial to the hood."
In mentioning this, the grin was wiped from her face, and she clutched the sides of her head self-consciously. "Why, is it misshapen?"
"Oh—no, no, nothing like that. It hides your face, is all." I paled as soon as the words left my mouth. In my clumsy hands, even the odd innocent remark sounded blatantly provocative, leaving a warm blush on her cheeks. While inadvertent, I couldn't deny that the compliment was well deserved; beneath all the fabric and fierce demeanor was a remarkably beautiful woman.
She ran her hand across the material once more before leaving it to hang at her nape. "So I see you found something for yourself as well," she said, pointing to what dangled from my shoulder. "Do I get to find out what?"
"You'll have to wait and see," I said timidly. "But first, we need to get back to my horse. Poor thing has to be frozen stiff by now." This was both a deliberate attempt to steer the conversation toward familiar waters and an unfortunate consequence of a long day. In all of the chaos, I had all but forgotten how I left my steed center of town.
We scurried from the bustling market area in pleasant moods, taking to idle conversation for the first time since our arrival, and when eventually we returned to where it all started, our horse whinnied gleefully.
"Here, boy. I brought a peace offering." I knelt and, in exchange for my neglect, offered a large lump of hay. When she caught sight of it, Cordella snickered and dove into her own bags, returning topside with several bright orange carrots. She waved the veggies to entice him. "Are you trying to win his affection with that? It's not a competition."
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"You're damn right it's not," she said with an evil grin before stooping to feed the conflicted animal. Much to her chagrin, he ate all of it, neither a scrap of hay nor veggie wasted. She pursed her lips, a facade that quickly broke into laughter. "So, what do we do from here?"
"A good night's rest would be a good place to start." The suggestion came from a tired mind rather than a sound one; we had plenty of time left in the day, and I fully expected the usual resistance I got from her.
"That sounds like a good idea." When her response brought shock, she raised her brow. "I mean it, why not? We're tired and it's too late to do much else—we may as well get ourselves out of the chill for the night. Sam told us it wasn't far, so we'll have no trouble reaching the summit early tomorrow."
I was surprised enough to hear her agree, but to hear her use my self-serving rationale was downright surreal; for someone as tireless as Cordella, sounding like me was nothing short of supernatural. That said, it would be stranger still to argue against my own logic. It was settled then. After a well-deserved meal, we found a stable to keep our mount warm through the night. Then, with a sliver of funds remaining, we set about finding an inn to keep ourselves thawed.
That evening was spent in relative luxury, with a hot meal, a drink, and a roof overhead. It was empty of patrons that night, but the fire was warm, and it was the first in a long time that I truly felt that I could relax. The same wasn't true of Cordella, who picked at her food like every night prior.
"You have to be starving by now. I don't think I've seen you eat a bite since we got to Chenglei."
"I would be were my stomach not in knots."
"What's on your mind then?" I asked between sips from my mug.
She set down her utensils, still as spotless as when she received them, and exhaled as she came to rest her head on the backs of her hands. "I've never taken Sam for a betting woman, but it feels like she's put her money on impossible odds. I'm just worried that she hasn't told us all that she knows."
"Well, you'd know better than I, but—from your history—I doubt she'd put you in harm's way without careful consideration."
“Right,” she said, a trace of uncertainty in the lone word. “And what about our odds? Will we manage?”
"I guess it depends on what we find." By her silence, I could tell the answer didn't instill confidence. "Whatever it is, you were right before: it's a path to follow, and even if we don't know where it leads, we'll do just that. Regardless, nothing that Samara told us should suggest the impossible. She said it was just a hunch, right? So we could just as easily arrive to an empty cavern."
"Maybe, but what if things turn?"
"Then we tuck tail and do what we have to. Between you and I, though, I think we'll be just fine." I nudged her with an elbow, prompting her to finally replace her sullen stare with a subtle smile, but like the food on her fork, it slid from her face. Something else bothered her, and I wondered then whether I was right about what I saw that day.
I hadn't mentioned it before, but I'd seen a slow shift in her behavior since arriving, and once more after seeing Samara. Her pleasant mood today was a departure from the recent severity, and for her sake, I had hoped it was for the best—that she was happier after meeting her friend. Now I worried it was the opposite: a valiant attempt to hide her anxieties until the sun waned, and the facade faded with it. I considered it further as I rolled the cup in my hands, a light breath along the top raising a warm herbal scent. Just the thing after a day in the frost.
“You know, all things considered, I thought you’d be happier.”
“Hmm?”
The ceramic thudded lightly against the table as I lowered my drink. “I can’t pretend to know what you have with Samara, but if I could see Israfel again—well, I don’t think I’d want you there to bear witness, but I can tell you it wouldn’t look like that. That wasn’t a happy reunion.”
She was leaning on her elbows, teeth pressed into a furled forefinger. I watched as her brow waned, and she lifted her head to the ceiling before her eyes crumpled at the sides. “I don’t want to lie to you, Kaiser, but this wasn’t how I imagined spending the day.”
“That makes both of us.”
Another fugitive grin. “The truth is that, when I said we’d parted ways, it was a little more one-sided than I might have implied.”
“You ran away?”
“I don’t know about run. She was just so obsessed over her study—it got old, all the books and dirt, and at some point, I decided I didn’t want any part of it. Leave it to me to put it gently. Then, two years later, after the first one dulled, I guess I latched on to the same light that she did. Now, look at me. I’m back for the same damn reason I left in the first place. Never much been a fan of irony—finds its way of kicking you when you’re down.”
“It does, you’re sure as hell right about that, but there’s no point joining in. I’m sure she doesn’t blame you, Cordella. I mean, did you see the way her eyes lit up? She’s just happy that you’re back.”
“In my heart, I know that, but it doesn’t change what I said to her. Coming back, I didn’t think for a second she’d be right where I left her, so when I saw her face and her open arms, all I felt was guilt. That’s why I agreed. Not because I’d thought it through, or because I saw something you couldn’t, but because I couldn’t possibly tell her no again.”
“I know at times it’s easy to get bogged down by the mud on our feet, but I think it’s best to let it fall away on its own. You did tell me that we’d all done bad things.”
“I guess I’m full of shit, then,” she said with a laugh. “Who would I be to not follow my own advice?”
“You’d be just like the rest of us. Now, on its own, that’s not too bad a fate. Starvation, on the other hand, I don’t recommend.”
“And when have you ever missed a meal?”
“Exactly.”
A tilted smirk hung at her chin—faint, but sure. “You make a good point.”
Slowly and delicately, we’d unraveled the knots, after which I sat quietly while Cordella picked through her meal. When she had cleaned her plate, she rose and let out a heavy breath. "Well, I think it's time I go to bed. I needed a good meal. And thank you, Kaiser—the reassurance was nice too." She smiled again before heading to her room.
After she left, I grinned to myself as well. While I was glad to have helped her, I was also relieved to find that I wasn't the only one shouldering anxiety. It was the first time she had shown me vulnerability, and I was beginning to think it didn't exist. We were more alike than I thought. As for our conversation, I didn't know that she believed what I told her, or that I believed it myself, but I was glad to share a pleasant moment before whatever came in the next one.
Saluting us as we rose the next day was the morning sky, bleeding red after its triumph over the night. Likewise, armed with bed and blanket, I reigned supreme in my struggles, stretching off my fatigue after a battle hard-fought. Before leaving my rented room, I donned my newly purchased mail for the first time. It was a new feeling—the cool chain against my skin—but it wasn't uncomfortable, and, after slipping into the gambeson, I could tell immediately how much protection the ensemble provided.
Cordella was kicked back across from the hearth when she caught me leaving, the front legs of the chair hovering just slightly. She wore what she did the day prior, only the hood was tucked away, and her hair was wrapped in a tight braid. "Mighty gallant, Kaiser!" she called, her voice deep in an attempt to sound regal. "Very knightly."
I approached with a stiff back and a haughty grin. "I'm glad we're on the same page! Are you ready to go?" She straightened quickly, bringing the feet of the stool crashing back to the floor as she chased after me.
Well-rested and united against whatever dared to slow our roll, we saw the day with new eyes; it was brighter than those that came before it, and we were stronger when we left the establishment than when we entered. Our horse shared in our high spirits, rearing and ready to face the winds that rolled from the summit. Everything was looking up, perfectly following plans uncoordinated when a screeching shook the mountaintops and halted our exit.