Jaspian sneered at Zayne’s awestruck starry eyes, “First time, huh?” He turned his head at the monolith, “I stopped breathing when I saw that thing when I came to Basin. I think everyone showed the same damned expression upon witnessing it the first time. It’s crazy to think that such a magnificent thing is the source of all the monsters.” He added with a downcast look.
The southern plains surrounding Basin were littered with white tents and fireplaces similar to the encampment. “Outsiders seeking entrance,” Jaspian said, “Most are merchants and refugees from other towns and villages, and since the license test is commencing soon, you’ll see aspiring adventurers pacing about here and there too. Most are here because they can’t pay for the accommodations inside—or are prudent with their expenditure; 50 coppers a night are expensive for the common folk.”
I don’t have money. “So, will I wait here too? Outside the town?” Zayne asked, scanning the eyes of those outside, they wore clothes of different styles and origins, some wearing outfits Zayne recognized; vests and armors and helmets, capes and chainmail, worn by the typical guard or adventuring parties, while others wore lavish clothing, wrapped turbans and intricate pieces of cloth wrapped around their flabby bodies, festoons of gold and chains dangling near their necks and arms. They watched his caravan with petulance; a few muttering whispers with one another, and most staring daggers at him specifically.
“No… You’re a… well, survivor, and Basin had deemed those unfortunate a temporary stay within the official adventurer’s hall.” Jaspian added, “A token of mercy, Brenhart said once, I wished I had that privilege when I got here the first time.”
“How do they know I’m a citizen of Burg?” Zayne asked, “Wouldn’t the permit cause a lot of people to pose as a refugee from Burg? I mean…” He’d consider that if he was one of the people here. Harsh times bred pragmatic individuals.
“Well, the answer’s simple,” Jaspian nodded along, a sympathetic look coating his face as he glimpsed at the crowd around them, “You need an official pass from Brenhart, and it so happens that the caravan leader has one. Once you enter the city, the wall captain will grant you a temporary pass once he talked with you. Don’t sweat it, he’s a nice guy.” He winked, “We’re nearing the gate. It helps if you looked a teeny bit despondent, Zayne. Trust me on that.”
Zayne chuckled, then froze his expression and muted his inner thoughts.
A large swath of black shadow brooded over his cart, and the air whooshed his hair away from his eyes—he might need a haircut soon—before their caravan stopped. He heard jumbled conversations from further ahead, but the sloshing wind subdued the clarity of their speech in its turbulence enough that he couldn’t make out the words properly. It didn’t take long before he saw a city guard, wearing a different set of stained armor, his body padded with a green gambison with a steel helmet on his grumpy old face, his jaw smeared with a thick, bushy beard. A red feather wobbled atop his helmet as he scanned Zayne’s cart, eyeing him with a cautious suspicion, before slapping the lip of the wooden cart and waving.
Zayne heard the rumblings of the gate opening, the sound of grating steel drowned every other sound as the earth trembled, his cart shivering under the weight of the gate. A large bellow of air burst from the opening; Zayne clambered his way up, curiosity nibbling at his heart before he resolved to see the commotion; what he saw blew his mind.
The gate, powered with lines of blue glowing lines withdrew, granting access to the insides of Basin. Vestiges of happiness and decor that lingered from the now-destroyed bazaar restaged in its full glory within. Zayne stopped dead in his tracks, his gaze turned to a gawk as he watched.
People of different skin tones and facial characteristics paced about, speaking busily as if their lives depended on it. Children played and laughed near the corners of the myriad of buildings inside; buildings made of bricks and plastered walls, decorated with murky windows and queer lanterns without any candles, and often speckled with select bushes and flowers serving as colorful adornments to their otherwise basic homes. In the center where they stopped, a fountain the size of a home blasted sprinkles of water every once in a few seconds. The air was fresh, despite the number of people gathered. Zayne tilted his head at a variety of things he’d never seen before; such as the rotating blades of steel generating a flow of wind from the speed of its turns, the lantern-like lampposts housing a strange bulb in the middle, and so many more things he never thought possible.
Jaspian tapped the corners of Zayne’s cart, “Time to go, the wall captain wants to see you. And, uh..” He brushed his cap, “This will be goodbye for now. If you have the time, do visit our guild, the green badgers are in need of good people.” He added with a sullen nod, “Good luck, Zayne. I do hope to see you again in the future.”
They shared a final glance before a brutish man stepped into the fray. Tall, imposing, face marred with scars of different sizes and lengths, beard longer than his brows, an eye slashed from the fangs of an unknown creature, the captain of the wall introduced himself, “I am Renald, the captain of the walls. But it seemed you already know that.” He said with a stern gaze. The clamors of his thick fur-lined armors rang as he stepped closer, studying Zayne’s face, his cape flowed with the wind, bearing the kingdom’s insignia. “You’re the survivor, am I right?” He resumed. Zayne noticed a slight tremor in his beard from each word he uttered, “I’m sorry for what happened. Allow me to extend the kingdom’s sympathy.” He bowed.
A good man, Zayne recalled Jaspian’s impression of him, “Thanks.” He kept his head low, somewhat intimidated by his imperiousness.
Renald glanced over at Jaspian, “Your presence is needed elsewhere,” He pointed at a distant gathering of guards and adventurers. “God knows what else they want from you, but keep yourself safe, you hear me?”
Jaspian tipped his head and mouthed goodbye, glancing one final time at Zayne before he made his way aside and unhorsed. So they knew each other; from their small interaction, it appeared they were at least friends with one another.
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“Basin is… larger than I expected,” Zayne said haphazardly, absorbing the view with the sponge in the form of his unashamed gawking. The scintillating glimmers from the sun shrouded by flowing wisps of cloth shadowed him from above, as if beckoning him to step closer. “Sorry, I… can’t help but be in awe.”
Renald chuckled, “Heh… You haven’t seen the capital yet, son. This is nothing compared to Heirlund.” He added, turning around and ushering him to follow. “I am tasked to handle refugees from Burg. Once we talked, I will grant you a pass for a temporary stay in the adventurer’s hall. Although, they’re quite busy since the license test is coming soon, so you’ll have only a few days of free stay if I had to guess…” He spoke, brushing past the light crowd as they paced toward a stone tower right behind the walls. Two guards glimpsed at Zayne before they entered, sparing no words but a salute.
The smell of dirt and stone was thick inside. Drab pieces of furniture scattered across the small room; wooden desks, varnished with a sleek finish stood in the middle, atop which papers and quills were scattered about. Bookshelves and a weapon rack stored their respective things on the side, and a strange glass bulb hung from the center of the stone ceiling. A blue tendril, uniform in size from its start to the end, extended from a tiny hole on the side of the bulb to an incision at the corners of the ceiling. The bulb shone when Renald pointed his finger at it, a tiny magic circle flickering for a second before dissipating. “Your first time seeing it?” He asked, noting Zayne’s bewildered look.
“Yes…” he’d heard of magical contraptions as such; artificial light, powered by Basin’s very recent monster gem generator. “I’ve heard about it before, but Burg never had the opportunity in owning one.”
“That makes sense… a generator is expensive and hard to maintain, also unportable. Only cities and the capitals have those.” He said as he rested on his seat across. “Sit.” He extended an arm to an empty chair, “Let’s make this quick.”
Zayne followed his lead, sitting on a comfy chair, the feather cushioning his hind as he leaned forward. He despised having to be interrogated in such a manner, but he understood that there were procedures to uphold.
“So… I am supposed to-“ He ruffled his beard, looking aside at a slight opening near the walls, “-well, to interrogate you, but I don’t like using that word, knowing how tragic the invasion was. But…” his eyes craned back to Zayne, a wash of grit flashed on his terse brows, “I heard disturbing news about how they found you. You said you’re in a caravan belonging to those working for, or under the Death wraiths?”
“Yes,” Zayne replied with a sure nod. “They are… transporting the corpses to somewhere, and they mistook me for the dead.” He continued, “Is there a problem?” Perhaps the captain was worried if he was affiliated with them. A logical assumption.
“Not necessarily. Tell me about Burg.” He said, resting his arms on the table, a stern gaze penetrating Zayne’s eyes.
“Well…” A shrug and a nod later, Zayne told about his childhood. His story was long and truthful; He told of the first bazaar he attended, the busy crowd and the chatters of the marketplace, the people he knew, his parents, Kate, the inn, the academy; every story he told, Renald listened without interruption. He’d mellowed somewhat during his story, then ended his interrogation with a calm nod. “I see. Here.”
He searched below his desk, pulling a black, flat amulet the size of a flat stone and a letter with a wax seal—the kingdom’s insignia stamped flat and center. “Hand this letter over to the adventurer’s hall, past the commerce district. Do you know where the monolith is? Get as close as you can to it; ask around if you must, you won’t miss it once you’re close. The amulet will grant you access to the license test, you simply have to show it to a nearby administrator during that day.” He said with a wave. “Thank you for the time, and...” He rose, tapping Zayne gently on his way to the door, “Good luck, Zayne. You’re officially on your own now. Decide your future however you want.”
That words tugged at his heart; freedom, at least, as free as an unlicensed adventurer could be. He stored the letter and amulet in his satchel, securing its pin, ensuring those two things wouldn’t drop on the strongest of shoves. Heat rose from his chest as he exited the stone structure, the cage of his heart thumped from the excessive temper of his heart. Was it excitement? Anxiety? Happiness? Regret? He didn’t know, and he spared no time finding out. Perhaps he felt all of those at once, or perhaps none at all.
A rush of calm air swept his hair as he ogled the busy plaza. It took a while before he found his way back into reality, aided by Jaspian’s voice. He turned aside to his horsed figure in the distance. He waved back, and Jaspian pointed toward a direction opposite where he stood; both knew what it led to, the adventurer’s hall.
Once he left, the gates closed, and Zayne was alone once more. Packed with a rusty chest piece, bent spear, chipped daggers, and a cloudy sword, wearing a fresh outfit carrying a waterskin, Zayne strode into the masses.
The walk to the hall was… bewildering. Zayne entered some sort of a trance, confused, battered with questions and bouts of explosive excitement. Thoughts after thought crossed his mind, passing through as if those were the blurs of a cloud. People were abundant. The smells, the colors, the laughter, and the sharp cusses and curses from the wandering merchants overwhelmed him, submerging his attention, drowning his senses. Everywhere in the commerce was like the bazaar.
A large cobblestone staircase separated him and the emptier space above. A sign with different arrows labeled in different directions; North, the adventurer’s district, with a tinier text saying “Monolith” below it—as if people needed guidance on reaching the monolith. Right led to the housing district. Left to the guilds, and south, where he came from, to the commerce and the exit.
His boots dampened the cragginess of the cobbled stairs, taking his time getting up the stairs. He needed some air to breathe, to think, to plan, to strategize, to do anything at all, really. This wasn’t the saintly time he had in the lake; over there, he’d only worried about the monsters and food, but now? Zayne yearned for this—the life of an adventurer, but he feared being so sorely disappointed in himself that he never planned what to do for this kind of life. Of course, he wanted strength, but how should he go about approaching it?
Figures of strong adventurers dotted The quieter upstairs, surrounding a circular plaza—similar to the first plaza before he left the stone tower—were walls and walls of different shops selling armor and weapons and potions alike. They had similar colorings and decorations, split by the types of items they sold; red for weapons, blue for armor, dark green for potions, and violet for skill, spell, and passive stones. A few hollered at Zayne as he wandered past the open windows and counters. Merchants, he concluded as he nodded his head and waved a no. Their welcoming smile soured; he noted them cursing under the shade—they acted like all merchants he knew, he mused.
After a few more minutes of idle gawking, he came face to face with a humongous building, covered from top to bottom with clean plaster, roofs tiled with shaped planks, standing more than just a few stories high—he’d counted at least 10. The entrance was guarded by uniformed adventurers—colored capes and shields bearing the king’s sigil, cladded in expensive helmets and accessories. They were most definitely not a part of the official army.
More than a dozen people marched in and out of the entrance; the inside was so crowded he barely saw the end of the hall. A few quizzed his sight as he froze right behind the entrance, and the guards noticed quickly; a young man so obviously lost and out of place they just had to help.
“I’m here for this-” He drew the amulet and showed the sealed letter. “I’m new here. Where do I go?”
They spared a glance and glazed over his figure, “Come with me,” one of them said, a man twice his age, light stubble his jaw, with red-piercing eyes. The other shrugged and returned to his post. Were they both from a guild? He’d never expected any official guard to look so… well… adventurer-like.