Jakob took me to the north-eastern part of town. Whoever had named this place “The Forgotten Village” clearly didn’t know the difference between a village, a town, and a city. The ‘Village’ was like a large town or lesser city, as was obvious from how expansive it was and how many people and Husks occupied it. Had this place truly been the size of a village, every room of every house, inn, and shop would be filled to the brim with people. And even then, many would’ve had to sleep in the streets.
In this part of the Village there was a completely different kind of market. Still plenty of food stalls and such, but the main merchandise here was animals, with everything from horses, pigs, cows, chickens, and a few exotic animals such as camels, thick-furred horse breeds that I’d never seen before, a couple of elk, and, for some reason, even a bear. I wondered if players could actually buy any of these animals. The thought of someone riding a bear into battle seemed pretty ludicrous[1] though, but this was a fantastical realm after all.
Aside from the sale of animals there were also various vendors selling transportation in many forms: some elegant and expensive-looking, like closed carriages with flawless thoroughbreds drawn before them; and others the most basic type of wagon possible, with dodgy-looking planks and wonky wheels, pulled by bored-looking donkeys or old horses teetering on the brink of collapse.
Trailing behind Jakob’s slight figure, I eventually reached a small stall that stank of fermented hay and horse manure. It was crammed-in between a large tavern and a two-storey tenement building. Behind the rundown stall was an old wagon and a feisty-looking thick-furred horse that was definitely not from this part of the World. The mount stared off into space while chewing on some brownish hay that might have gone bad months ago.
A burly man, with thick and dark eyebrows, small suspicious eyes, full beard, a dropping jowl, and bare chest carpeted with curly hairs and smeared in filth, sat watching us from behind the ramshackle stall. Of all the vendors in the market, this was the one Jakob had brought me to. I couldn’t tell if he was messing with me, or if this guy was supposed to be the best rider in the entire realm. Or maybe he was just the most affordable one…
“She’s looking for passage to Gothershall,” Jakob said, speaking on my behalf.
“Gothershall,” the suspicious vendor repeated in a deep, throaty voice. “You fightin’ the tournament?”
“She is. Can you take her there?”
“No prollem, fifteen silva.”
I stepped forward then and slammed the coins onto the counter. The wood split down the length from the impact, and only the nails haphazardly hammered into its frame kept it from cleaving in two right there on the spot.
The coachman looked at the cracked counter and back up at me. “Twenny silva.”
I gently placed five more coins on the counter, and he suddenly smiled.
“Pleasya, dealin’ with ya.”
I held on for dear life as the wagon raced down the dirt road to Gothershall. The wagon constantly jumped into the air whenever one of its four dinky wheels clipped a stone, of which there seemed a great abundance on this road, but the thick-furred horse drawn before it never once stopped its relentless galloping. It was a monstrous beast when compared to a normal horse, its frame bulky with muscle, and its dark-grey fur like a knotted, messy carpet. Every exhale from its mouth was like a demon’s and its eyes were wild. I belatedly wondered if the mouldy and fermenting hay it’d been chewing on might’ve fucked with its brain.
The coachman was barely holding onto the reigns and slept soundly in the front, his head tilted to the side at such an angle that he’d have a nasty ache in his neck when he eventually woke up.
Why Jakob had chosen this driver for me, I hadn’t a clue. He had simply smiled and waved as I set off with thunderous speed, though I could’ve sworn I saw the hints of a wicked grin on his face. The little bastard probably thought it was very amusing, meanwhile I held on to the flimsy wooden railing as tightly as I could. I was pretty sure that if I fell off, it would mean a total disintegration of every bone in my body and most certainly death.
If this is payback for getting Patrik killed, then I guess I deserve it…
I watched the rolling landscape whiz by in a blur, with tears burning my eyes, and when I finally had no more strength left in my arms, resigned to fly off the wagon and meet my end, the horse came to an abrupt halt and I tumbled forwards into the back of the hairy and, unfortunately, shirtless coachman.
He awoke with a shock, looked around confused, then realised where he was and in his throaty voice announced, “Welcome to Gothershall!”
With what little stamina I had left I climbed over the railing and walked a few wobbly steps before falling to my knees and hurling my insides out onto the side of the road. The driver laughed in the background and I could’ve sworn even that demonic horse was chuckling.
When I got back to the Village, I’d make sure Jakob got a thrashing for this little joke. At least getting here had only taken a little under half an hour, which meant I still had plenty of day left to spare.
After fully recovering from the ride, I got to my feet and set off into the city. Immediately on entry, a banner appeared, “Now entering Safe Zone ‘Gothershall’.” Alongside it came a new melody, with loads of instruments and a very upbeat tune, a bit like the tavern melody of the Village, but slightly more refined. It was the kind of music you might imagine hearing at a medieval fair, and that same atmosphere prevailed throughout Gothershall as well. Banners, flags, food stalls, shouting announcers, jugglers, dancers, sword swallowers, and much more, filled the main road of the city. It seemed a lot of people had travelled here to watch the tournament, as I was pushed around in the busy mob that moved from one attraction to another. There were also loads of players, distinct in their ridiculously-dyed finery and odd getups. I was glad not to have worn my cape, since being mobbed here seemed far more dangerous than what I’d encountered in the Village.
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The city itself was vast and had an enormous wall circling it, with many guards at its gate, though they seemed to let anyone enter. I spotted the underside of a black iron portcullis when I passed through the gate, as well as archer slits in the gate walls. Perhaps the guards were actually more vigilant than they let on? It certainly seemed unlikely that a bandit attack could happen here.
The houses too were bigger and better built that those of the Village, and the Husks who wandered the streets and flocked to the stalls and performers were better dressed. It was almost jarring to see a place where people weren’t living in fear and poverty, and the entire city felt like a bright beckon for the last bastion of humanity in this forlorn Kingdom.
At some point I managed to break free from the masses, and found a city guard, whom I asked for directions. He pointed me in the direction of a richer part of the city, where, after a few minutes of walking, I found a street with large stone villas lining each side. I located the most elaborate and ornate of the buildings, which had two full-plate-armoured guards out front.
“Halt,” one of them ordered.
“I’m here to see Alexander Tobias,” I announced.
“State your business.”
“I wish to bargain with him. Tell him that I have Father Adam’s ‘Book of Sermons’ with me.”
The one who had stopped me looked at his friend, who nodded and went through the perimeter gate and into the three-story villa.
A couple minutes passed, wherein the remaining guard scrutinized every inch of my body. I felt positively violated, but I was here for a reason, and thrashing the wealthy Collector’s lecherous guard might ruin my chances of being given an audience.[2]
The other guard returned, looked me up and down, assessing me and the weapon on my hip. “The Master will see you,” he then said.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t asked to leave my weapons behind, which I’d obviously have refused, though one of the armoured guards dogged my steps as I entered the villa and was guided through its interior. I went up one staircase, then through a large room decorated with trophies, display cases, and many objects of interest, though I didn’t stop to inspect any of them and continued on, climbing another staircase, before finally stopping in front of a door on the third floor. The guard stopped as well, and gestured for me to enter.
Inside was a smaller version of the trophy room downstairs, and in the back wall a large window showed a magnificent view of the western part of the city, with a great structure in the most distant part that was likely the arena. The trophy collection here ranged from ludicrously-decadent to ancient, and also included some downright-disturbing objects. One part of the room had a wide bookcase with dusty tomes of many different sizes. Opposite were several display cases: some holding golden weapons, others holding twinkling trinkets, and a few holding what would probably be considered artefacts, such as dried fingers and other ‘fun’ desiccated body parts. Above the display cases hung various mounted heads of what I suspected were rare beasts, but one in particular stood apart from the rest. The head of the beast looked a bit like a wolf, though completely distorted and far larger than any wolf had the right to be, and its fur was a sandy-brown. Its face was frozen in a very human expression of defiance, by way of a menacing grin showing every elongated fang in its mouth. Worst of the entire collection was an assortment of jars filled with ‘specimens’, one with a bunch of rats fused together, another with a deformed three-eyed baby, and a lot that I just simply couldn’t describe, but which made me sick to look at.
In one of the few chairs that stood before window sat a bloated man. His dark hair was short, the nape of his neck had several rolls in it, and the fingers of the one hand I could see from behind looked like fat sausages covered in bejewelled rings that were likely impossible to pull off. With grace unusual for a man of his size, he indicated a chair and I sat down beside him.
His voice had a strange cadence to it, one that seemed wholly foreign on his lips. “So, Adam sent you, did he?”
“That’s correct.”
“I figure he wants the key.” It seemed the Collector and the Father likely knew each other very well.
“He does. He said I should challenge you to a bet. If I beat your champion in the tournament, I would win the key, and if I lose, you would win the book.”
Alexander Tobias laughed. It was a weird noise, somewhere between the cawing of a crow and the sneezing of a rodent.[3] “Very well, you have yourself a deal.”
He was completely sure the book was already his, I could tell from his smile and how he was trembling from excitement, in that way only obsessed people can.
“Do you know where I can find a sponsor? I’m not able to fund it myself, and Father Adam didn’t give me a dime.”
“I will sponsor you,” he said without flinching.
“Won’t that cause a conflict of interest, considering how I’m to fight your champion.”
Alexander waved his hand dismissively, his body sloshing around with the motion. “It does not matter. Regardless, it is only twenty-five gold, a mere pittance compared to how much that book is worth.”
“I didn’t realise it was that valuable,” I admitted. I suppose it would have to be for a collector like this guy to be interested in it.
He gave me a suspicious look with his small dark-brown eyes, likely considering whether or not I would change my mind if I knew just how valuable it was. After realising that I really didn’t care, he said, “The Book of Sermons is not only the last of its kind, it also has the ability to enthral anyone who listens to the words within. It is said that before our Kingdom fell into the shadows of oblivion, priests would speak the words within their books and thousands would listen with bated breaths. It holds a power that gold itself cannot buy.”
While I hadn’t looked through the book, I was fairly certain that it was just a collection of religious teachings, but, of course, in this Godless Kingdom, it offered salvation to the suffering of the masses. A promise of a life beyond to those who followed certain rules. Certainly, a man who had lived in fortune and knew the limits of what money could buy, would find such power exhilarating. I wondered why Father Adam no longer spread his faith and yet still held on to this book. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve lived a life of luxury after selling it to this greedy collector.
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[1] I believe I meant to say, “freaking badass!”
[2] Though it would be worth it.
[3] If you’ve never heard a rodent sneeze, you should look it up, it’s quite adorable. Though his laughter was anything but that, but it also wasn’t a cackle like I’d figured it’d be. The sound could perhaps be described as a wheezy Tee-Tee-Tee.