Hoo. Maybe a going to town will be good for me. I glanced at the forest. I doubt there’s much I haven’t already seen there. Then turned to look at the lake. And let’s be honest, that thing’s not going anywhere so there’s nothing pushing me to look into it right this minute.
With that settled. I thought Feral form. and allowed the spell to shape my body into that of a pudgy pigeon.
The other spells I had active faded, and I drifted lazily on the wind as I spiraled down toward the rough roofline of the lakeside city.
Dark slate shingles covered the tops of the otherwise unremarkable houses. The buildings weren’t anything new or special, though there were a great deal more of them, and of those, many were a fair bit bigger than the ones in Ariadholme.
I lapped the globule shaped slice of civilization and noted that it was divided by high and thick walls into three distinct districts. The first was the outer slice that looked to house the less fortunate members of society, the majority of military outposts, and what appeared to be a thriving cluster of inns for most guests.
The intermediary section, though roughly of the same square footage as the outer section, didn’t have as much diversity as it was host to more middle to upper-middle class homes, as well as an impressively sized market that appeared to be the heart of the city’s activity.
Lastly, the inner district held the towering spires and glittering glass windows of the castle as well as a small selection of rather well furnished estates that I assumed belonged to the various lords or other notable individuals that resided within the territory, and aided or served the Count.
Despite all the differences between them, the one thing every district had in common was its own port. The outer district’s was to the left side of the castle, had rickety and moss covered piers, and primarily served small rowboats that loitered about near the coast, fishing or dredging up lost items.
The middle district’s port was to the right of the castle, appeared to be at least decently maintained by an elderly dockmaster, and saw many larger fishing boats go to and fro dragging their nets to bring back the day’s haul. It even looked like there were a few ferries in business offering lakeside tours, day trips out on the water, or passage to and from the far shore.
Last, and most impressive, the inner district’s port sat directly below the castle up on the cliff. A zig-zagging staircase partly cut into the rock face led down to it, with a crane or two for cargo to be hauled up and down. It was, of course, the largest and best maintained of the three, and hosted a surprisingly vast fleet of, well not gallions, but cutters, each designed to travel quickly across the large lake.
It’s interesting that they’d need something like this. Is this city near the border? No, if I recall my medieval titles correctly, the various marquisates usually defend the country’s perimeter, so then why do they need all the firepower?
I cast a more discerning eye toward the lake and nearly forgot to flap my wings.
That… That’s a lot of monsters! That lake is a veritable den of death! But now it’s obvious. The Count’s warships are patrolling the lake at regular intervals to make sure that all the fishermen and ferries are safe. It’s not something I’d have considered, but new world, new problems, I guess.
I turned my attention back to the city, and considered taking a closer look, but as I had previously noted, the streets were a cramped and cluttered maze, and with the commotion I had created outside, the people were more than a little… well… not panicked, but unsettled. And that would just make the whole experience unpleasant, and thus waste the trip.
With my little sightseeing diversion done before it really got started, I perched atop the castle’s tallest spire, feeling slightly bummed, but a bit more relaxed than I had been.
Though if I’m being honest, I’m still slightly riled at the back to back ridiculous behavior those two boys displayed. I mean, come on! One was utterly blind to his own self destructive behavior and the other was so stupidly stubborn that he wouldn’t back down even when his life was in danger! Do they not care about their families?! Have they no consideration at all?! I covered my face with a wing. Uggh. Guess I need to relax more, and hope they’ve learned their lessons. But since I’m clearly still annoyed, where should I go next? The market might be blustering, but it’s more spacious and organized than other areas so I could go to see if they have anything interesting. Alternatively, I could dive into the lake to fight monsters and blow off some steam. Or I could just stay like this and do some people-watching… But then my time might be better spent scoping out the castle and seeing what the Count’s like when Ysdra and Calden aren’t around… I have so many options now that I can transform into any animal I want! What should I do?
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
#
“I can’t believe you two did that! Did you leave your good sense back at the castle? Why would you attack someone so completely unprovoked?!”
Ysdra paced as she screamed at her two elder brothers. The crowd, though interested, had receded back to their places in line; both out of respect and fear of the members of the ruling house and their encircling guards, but also because the Kalsynth’s were known for their fiery tempers and emotional outbursts–so this was nothing new.
“It’s all thanks to Anon that we’re even here right now, and you just go and chase them off with your inability to properly gauge a situation!” She stopped and pivoted to glare at the younger of the pair of brothers. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
Ymir, the black haired brother, lowered his lightning blue eyes to the ground, face solemn, and knelt before his little sister, hand over his heart. “Nothing, for I was vanquished. My wrongness proved by that fact alone, and I live only thanks to you.”
“And?”
“And I shall work to atone, as ordered by the victor. Just say the word.”
Ygvarge, the brilliantly blonde eldest brother, arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “I admit we were mistaken, but isn’t this a little much? Ymir was only trying to protect you, so why should he have to–”
Ysdra snarled. “Because he just chased away the strongest ally we have! Or wasn’t that obvious?”
Ygvarge glanced in the direction of where Anon was last visible, and frowned, but spoke no further.
She turned to pace again, but Calden placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Anon isn’t gone. We haven’t been abandoned. Whatever the reason, I'm sure their departure was for a good one, so relax, have faith and everything will be alright.”
A good reason? Didn’t they leave to clear the air? Or to cool their temper? I don’t know how things are at House Dresdeth, but I’ve seen clashes like this too often to not know why Anon left.
She smiled weakly. “I hope you’re right, so let’s get inside.” She glanced over at Maximus’ caravan. “Especially since we’ve got a lot to explain to Father.”
#
Marquis Palaesheck sat at an immaculate white table underneath a stained glass gazebo at the center of his own personal garden. His majestic castle provided the perfect backdrop to his always ostentatious evening outings and he sipped away at a freshly brewed cup of tea that his subtly trembling maid had poured for him.
He sighed, content, and placed a white gloved hand over his protruding paunch, and watched his gardeners prune the pulsating purple vines that lay hidden beneath the vibrant flowers in his grandiose garden.
A smirk crawled across his face, and he savored the faint scent of fresh blood that the gentle breeze carried off his deep red coat.
He shifted his icy blue eyes to the messenger that sprinted down the garden path in his direction, and adjusted the small round spectacles that sat upon the bridge of his wide red nose. “What is it? Speak.”
The out of breath man bowed low, and sucked in a deep draught of air to relay everything in one go. “My lord, our allies have reported that the tiger cub has reached Kalsynthholme, and that the agreed upon target has separated from the cub; they are preparing to strike–whatshouldwedo?”
“Hmmm.” Palaesheck thoughtfully combed his fat fingers through his impeccably bushy white beard, then leaned forward, his jolly countenance tainted by the shadow of his bloodthirst. “Send Soaria. Let her clean up her lackey’s mess, and put an end to the house of Dresdeth. Tell her to time her strike to match theirs, that way even if they fail, she won’t have to face that creature’s interference.”
“At once!” The messenger bowed again and backed away just as quickly as he’d come, then turned and sprinted toward the castle.
The Marquis took another ginger sip of his unnaturally invigorating tea, derived from the pulsating plants, and let out a deep, hearty laugh–one that many would mistake to be good natured and jovial, missing the malice behind it. “Oh ho ho ho! Oh ho ho ho! Ho ho ho! Dresdeth is mine!”