Moving down the road to the city, the farthest of farmlands showed the rich and fair summer harvest beginning to bear fruit. Many farmhands picking apples, pears and pomegranates as beekeepers tended to their hives, pulling out shelves to harvest honey of the people back in the city of Orumus. Others feeding and watering animals as the sun was shining high in the sky.

As Kveldulf looked out to the tall towers of the Heraclea Keep twinkling in the sunlight, its glory not diminishing at any point of the star’s flight in the sky, he felt a sense of wonder. One he imagined a wanderer would’ve had viewing the sights of ancient cities, beauty dwarfing what he saw, during the ages before even the zenith of the Rubicon Empire, the Draconic Wars or even The Age of Wisdom. Lines came to his mind to fathom such admiration filling his mind:

See afar with wonder sun-sired and moonlight born towers, brilliant all.

Filling hearts with such awe and wonder to seek out deeds great and noble-like.

For honor, for glory, for what we mere things can never stop yearning for.

Until we win the way to the halls hewed of sun, of moon, and of fame,

Immortal.

As the thought The Golden Hall, the honored realm to those who won war found glory without reservation came to his mind, Kveldulf smiled as he imagined walking through the tall blue grass of the Barna fields. Down the Path of Torfa and up the Steps of the Honored to be greeted by the Svodur guards to usher him into their ranks of hallowed comradery. The thought of such a sacred prize brought Kveldulf a sense of peace and longing, even for a brief moment.

He turned to his left and saw a small farmhouse, its walls discolored from the years underneath a ceaseless sun, and it roof now weathered. Greying and after a longer look, sinking in on itself. Kveldulf straightened himself up at the sight. His brow pulled together as he saw several young children following their father within the fields. Parent and child dressed in worn clothes, holes and stains marking their attire easily seen from the distance. Anymore wear and tear and the clothing would turn into completed tatters.

Though he wandered his mind for some line of verse to find words for his troubled thoughts, Kveldulf could find none. He turned his gaze back to the farmer and his children. A slow twisting sensation came to his stomach as he mulled the thought over. Despite the ages of the world that had come and gone, the countless bards and poets who composed verses and scenes of wonder and inspiration, only the affairs of kings, warriors and deeds of battle and slaughter were given the attention to be remembered.

Yet those who dedicated their lives to tilling the earth, to growing things and bringing more life and beauty to this world are given no such honor. Relegated to ignominy by those who burn, who pillage, who wrought war horror to the end to all things they touch. Kveldulf thought of those of his line who had written the end of armies, kingdoms and innumerable houses on the parchment made from the skin of the dead, written in blood formed ink and a cold shiver crawled up his spine.

How many throughout the ages looked to his kin, and saw them not as those worthy of song, but to be cursed for ill deeds now formed as noble and pure? He turned to the others, riding long the road with him, and wondered if these were same opinions they had about him? Were there words left unspoken which marked their true feelings about him? He wasn’t certain of the answer which left an ill disposition in his mind.

This lingered as they reached the formidable southern gate into the city. Kveldulf examined the entrance, noticing three different points to pass through to reach the other side. The front and back were two pairs of large wooden slabs, with a latticed portcullis situated in the middle. The gatehouse itself was four stories high, with arrow slits running along the width of the third and fourth levels and a walkway and parapets above that.

On each side of the house were two squared towers, both two levels higher than the gatehouse. The flags of the city’s coat of arms, a winged lion holding a sword in one of its paws, with the motto ‘Go with the Saints or perish with the Devils’ underneath, fluttered in the wind. With one hanging beside each side of the fortified entrance. Along the parapets, guards moved with a calm and collected pace as they patrolled the walls. Peering out to the world outside, their spears resting on their shoulders.

“Welcome to Orumus,” one of the guards announced, as they neared.

“Glad to be back,” Cid said as he and the others began moving through the gatehouse.

Moving along the pathway, Kveldulf could see more arrow slits and bigger gaps placed along the ceiling above them. “I’d hate to be stuck in here with the ways shut,” Silvius said.

“It’s not pretty,” Kveldulf replied. “Hard rocks and boiling water are far anything I’d want.”

Kveldulf turned to one of the guards stationed inside the walkway, who tilted his head towards him in a friendly manner. Returning the gesture Kveldulf let out a light sigh of relief once he rode past them.

Riding up the cobbled streets, Kveldulf noted some vagabonds sitting along the edge of the streets clutching decrepit brooms in their hands. “What’s that about?” Kveldulf asked, nudging his head towards the people.

The others turned where Kveldulf was pointing to and Leonidas replied, “The Council enacted several laws against vagrancy in the last few years, especially what with the recent influx of people moving in. So, some try to earn some money by cleaning the path in front of a person when they across the street, hoping to Ellia they can afford a place to sleep for the night.”

“Seems like they’re punishing people for what they couldn’t control,” said Maeryn.

“That’s what a few people were saying until the council promised to establish some new towns to help with the problem,” said Leonidas.

“Right,” said Silvius, “I remember hearing about that. Not sure what ever happened to them though.”

“They became the Councils’ new summer homes,” Leonidas replied.

“Oh,” Silvius said, turning his gaze away as his voice trailed off.

Riding down the city streets, Kveldulf looked at many of the merchant buildings, from three to four stories in height. Many of the taller buildings leaned against each other, some with the upper corbelled stories pressing tightly together. As if they were propping each other upright in a collaborative effort. Many of the buildings showed signs of warping, windows with distorted viewings from the sagging in the glass. Colorful signs for taverns, candle makers, cobblers, boot makers, weavers, bakers and many more tradesmen displayed their wares to the wandering public. Some shops with doors and half doors opened, allowing the chatter of proprietors and patrons to fill the streets with noise.

People moving up and down the streets, attending to their own errands. Dogs, cats, and the occasional mouse tried to keeping to the shadows as geese honked while roaming the city randomly. Many talking loudly as they bartered and discussed matters Kveldulf could not make out clearly.

He kept his hand over his nose and mouth as the smell of animal dung, human dung, and other variations of dung assaulted his nose. There were other scents that floated around in the air. Fresh loaves of bread, roasting meat from nearby inns, flowers from windows, and many others. But they were mixed with the aroma of waste, there was no way to make former aroma smell better with the latter ones.

They eventually came to a building with a sign of a caduceus hanging over its door. Leonidas nudged his head towards it. “This is my clinic,” he said to them with a proud smile.

“I like the sign,” Maeryn said to him.

“Thank you!” he replied, delightedly. “Took me a month to get the design figured out.”

“Really?” Maeryn asked.

“I went through the phase.”

“Out of how many?” Jeanne asked.

“You shush.”

“You shush!”

“Let’s not make a scene, please,” said Cid, “Doctor, were you wanting to check on your place?”

“It might be a good idea, maybe restock on things we might need for the next few days. Plus, I think I have a couple bottles of wine we can indulge in,” said Leonidas as he dismounted and hitched his horse. The others followed suit as he pulled out a key and opened the door into his home. He waved them inside with his hand, saying, “Come on in, make yourselves comfortable.”

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They entered a small anteroom, dark brown wainscotting covered the lower half of the walls. There were two small stools with a low shelf for boots and other footwear placed to their right with a series of pegs situated above them with two hats and a hood already hanging on them. To their left was a bucket with a sign reading, “Please vomit here.”

Hypatia read the sign, her head shooting up and turned to the doctor. “Why?”

Leonidas turned to Jeanne with an emotionless stare. “Hmm, why would that need to be there, Jeanne?”

“Oh, for the love of the Shepherd! It was one time!”

“One time?” Leonidas challenged.

Jeanne bit her lower lip. “Two times?”

“Ten! It was ten times, you bastard!”

“Hey!” exclaimed Silvius.

“Oh, it’s all right, I’ve been called far worse,” said Jeanne.

“It’s true she has,” said Kveldulf, nodding calmly.

Benkin entered last into the clinic, needing to duck underneath the top threshold slightly to get inside. “Sorry about that,” Leonidas said to him embarrassed.

Benkin lifted his hand to ease the doctor, “Not the worse place I’ve had to move around in. Definitely has a nice homely feeling to it.”

“Thank you!” Leonidas said with pride. “I really tried to make the place feel uncomfortable.”

In the room on their left there was a room a wooden table, long for a person to lay down comfortably, two chairs and several cabinets affixed to the walls. A window allowed light to fill the room and gave the area a warm glow. To their right were counters with jars of tonics and herbs, charts of various humanoid figures and the layout of their organ and skeleton systems, shelves filled with medical books, scrolls and parchments. In the center was a longer table with a white linen and a wide accoutrement of medical tools resting nearby.

“What room is that?” Silvius asked, pointing to the bigger room.

“Oh, that’s the surgery room. The other one here one is where I normally see patients,” Leonidas replied. “The next floor is where we can sit and get some food and drinks.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Jeanne.

“I could go for some wine if there’s any,” said Silvius.

The doctor smiled. “Oh, you’re in for a treat, my good scholar.”

“You have some rum?” Benkin asked.

“I do,” Leonidas said, “I think I have one you might enjoy.”

Moving up the flight of stairs they reached the hall of the building. There was a large fireplace on the left side of the hall, with several pots and hanging from a rod over where the flames would be roaring. Though now only ash and soot rested there as Leonidas came over and knelt down. “I know what my first errand is for this place.”

As he began removing the burnt materials and tossing them out from one of the narrow windows towards the back alley. “Get some light going here,” Jeanne said as she lit a small flame in her palm and began lighting some of the oil lamps dangling from chains from some of the rafters over their heads and candles resting on walled candle holders made from animal fat.

“Candles!” Benkin said surprised. “I wasn’t expecting such luxuries.”

“There’s a candlemaker in the Torcello Ward who’s a regular patient. Every so often, I’ll get a decent amount of candles as a payment,” said Leonidas.

“Nice way to use barter,” said Hypatia.

“Certainly has had its advantages,” the doctor replied.

Once the soot was gone, Leonidas went over to a shelf decorated with trinkets and mementos of adventures past. “Hmm,” he said as he looked over the shelving, “going to need to dust this place.”

Maeryn looked up at several herbs and spices suspending from two rafters closest to the hearth giving the area a lovely scent all over. A woven tapestry hung on the wall just right to the fireplace with the image of a giant fighting several warriors with ancient runes running along the top and bottom of the scene. She pinched her mouth and stiffened her posture. Kveldulf asked, “Everything well?”

“Just never got used to seeing plants hanged like that,” she replied.

“I think the proper term is hung,” Silvius said.

Maeryn gave Silvius a cold stare. “You’ve never met many elves, have you?”

Silvius swallowed loudly before moving away from the elf. “I think that fact’s revelation is more apparent than I would prefer it to be.”

Maeryn took a breath, her expression relaxing itself.

Next to the tapestry was a trestle table with a bench on each side for sitting and two other chairs for sitting near the fireplace. The west and northern walls had cupboards covering most of the walls and held more medical and alchemical instruments, ingredients and some bookshelves filled with many tomes. All with shelves built in between the cupboards to provide more space for other miscellaneous items.

The rest of the walls were lined in tapestries, depicting scenes of the rural countryside. Farmers tilling the earth, children running through woodlands and meadows, joyous feats of townspeople enjoying the fall’s harvest with utter delight. The colors of these works were of bright golds, reds, blues, violets, and other rich hues.

“How did you afford such decorations?” Silvius asked having to stop himself from touching the pieces.

“One of the perks of my specific line of work. You find a lot of people willing to pay handsomely for what they would prefer hidden from prying eyes,” Leonidas replied.

Kveldulf looked down at the floor, seeing layers of rush lining on the floor. “No carpets?”

“When you have people coming in with all kinds of fluids and humors seeping out of their body, you learn to not have nice carpets?” Leonidas replied.

“That’s fair,” said Kveldulf.

Benkin sat on the bench, stretching his neck. “Definitely not the worst place to hang your hat.”

“It does its job nicely when I’m not traveling, if you’ll excuse me for a quick moment,” said Leonidas as he went upstairs in into his quarters.

“So, what’s the plan with The Council, Cid?” Jeanne asked. “I doubt they’re going to let us walk in and drop off a giant decapitated head at their feet.”

“Not with that attitude,” Kveldulf replied.

“We do have the missive and medallion from the reeve,” said Silvius.

“One would think that’d be enough to merit a ‘how do you do,’” said Benkin.

“One would hope,” said Cid, “and I’m hoping that should be enough to, at least, get an audience.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Maeryn asked.

“We could inform the public,” said Hypatia. “If there is enough pressure from the residents, it could force the city government to change their tune.”

“Or break out the guards and soldiers,” said Jeanne.

“You’d think they’d do that?” Hypatia asked.

“We’ve seen more than a few nobles severe their foot if it meant convincing the public things were under control,” said Kveldulf. “They’d prefer the façade of control, even if it means actually losing it.”

“I wouldn’t imagine the Council being that oblivious to a danger like this,” said Silvius.

“Given their history with Callanband and his supporters, you’d hope they’d jump to nip this problem in the bud before things escalated,” said Hypatia.

“Sadly, succeeding generations have a habit of diluting time-honored lessons learned and dangers lurking, simply because they now live after such times. And those who try to keep those teachings relevant are accused of perpetuating ancient malice sowed by slanderous cowards and injurious traitors,” said Kveldulf.

“That’s a wonderful truth,” said Leonidas, coming back down with a bastard sword hanging from his hip. “Of course, they’re also to first ones to scream for bloody restitution and demand action once the wolves finally reach the gate.”

“You’ve met the type then?” Cid asked.

“I stopped counting for my sanity’s sake,” the doctor replied.

“What is that?” Benkin asked, marveling at the blade’s scabbard.

“This good sir,” said Leonidas as he unsheathed the blade, “Is what got through a few hairy situations in the Outlands.” The blade was black as the night sky, with glittering sparkles in the metal, moving across the steel as the night does.

“Is that what I think it is?” Kveldulf asked.

“Night-steel,” Leonidas said proudly. “In the right hands, its edge can cut through hardened steel as a knife cuts through butter. A friend made this for me when I was in the Outlands. Not the worst way to pay back the medical fees for a few house visits and a surgery.”

“May I?” Benkin asked.

“By all means,” said Leonidas, handing Benkin hilt of the blade.

Benkin swung the blade with great skill, the flurry of slashes singing as it cut through the air. After a few moments, Ben handed the weapons back to Leonidas. “Wields like a dream.”

“So how do we see who will hear our case?” Kveldulf asked.

“That one we are going to have to find out as we go, and I do not like the uncertainty,” said Cid. “But I hope we don’t have to jump through too many hoops to see them.”

“Perhaps while you’re doing that, Silvius, Doc and I could go over the records and see about the ley line we found,” said Hypatia.

Cid nodded. “That sounds good. The rest of us will go to find the master of the guards and see what we can do.”