Ilias felt nauseous. They had left the ruins at daybreak, with Erevan and Nalion deciding to head to Kingshold. Zion had flown them for the majority of the journey before landing on yet another clearing and reverting back to his human form. After all, having a gigantic dragon looming above the city might have caused unnecessary hysterics.
“I shall wait for thee there my friends!” he bellowed good-naturedly as he pointed to a small signpost leading to some small village. “I have a lot to relearn concerning the customs. 300 years do not come without the changing of conventions. What is but a blink for thee and me,” Zion continued as he winked at Nalion, “is lifetimes for them. I shall sit, listen to them speak and relearn their ways. Best of luck to thee!”
As the dragon left them, humming a merry tune on his way towards where the village lay, Nalion ushered them on eagerly. “Come on! The libraries of Kingshold await!” The elf had talked about little else the whole time since they’d left the ruins. “I can’t wait! It’s been ages since I properly scoured through some good books! And we need to check on Hama of course.”
Both Hama and the largest library in the human occupied territories were the reasons Nalion and Erevan had decided the city of Kingshold to be their destination. The bookish elf had expressed his hopes for finding some hint for what they needed to do next in order to save the world. You know, no biggie, just the impending doom of everything and everyone, no pressure at all.
He was glad that at least it didn’t all lie in his worthless hands.
He didn’t really know how to feel about the whole “Blood of the Maker” -thing. The moment he heard Erevan utter the name “Damir”, icy tentacles of dread had pooled in his stomach. Ever since he’d been trying to convince himself that there was no way that he out of all the people would be carrying “the blood”. He was definitely the least deserving of such an honour. If anyone from his bloodline would have it, surely it would have been his father - right?
He rubbed his temple, fingers cold and stiff against his face, as he took extra care to stay within the forehead. Otherwise he would probably accidentally remove the make-up covering his birthmark. And that was a big no-no.
It was all such a mess. He berated himself on not leaving when he had the chance. Now that chance was gone. After all, he couldn’t just up and leave when someone actually needed him for something. Not to mention how difficult it might be for Nalion to find someone else with “the blood”.
It was also almost... Nice. To be needed. He tried to convince himself that this could be his chance. In Nalion's hands, maybe his life could do some good. Maybe he could finally contribute, in a positive manner. Yet…
Nalion had gotten uncomfortably close with his accusations. Ilias couldn’t fathom how the elf had figured him out, he thought he had been so careful. He had spent so much time curating and maintaining the alias he’d come up with. Ilias. What kind of an idiot would think that is a good alias? Of course Nalion had seen through him. Nalion was smart.
Yet he had lied again, trying to deny the undeniable. Ilias sighed to himself as they moved through a particularly overgrown part of the woods. He knew that his travel companions, or at the very least Erevan, did not believe his pathetic attempt at further deception.
Ever since then he’d been skillfully skirting around the subject and no one had confronted him again thus far. It helped that neither Nalion nor Erevan were the talkative sort. Unless one were to strike up a conversation with Nalion about science. Or magic. Or books. Or anything the elf found interesting - which in and of itself could entail nearly anything between heaven and hell. But even then the older mage could carry on most of the conversation by himself. All Ilias had to do was hum and nod at the right places.
But it was better to keep everything under wraps, right? Or should he tell them? There might have been a time when he could’ve tried to, but Robert had ruined that. Why would they believe Ilias, who had lied to them from the get go, over the barkeep with a heart of gold? What if they’d hate him once they knew, and ship him back?
His chest tightened at the thought as his breath caught up in his throat. He couldn’t go back, he couldn’t. Nope, nope, not an option. He knew he was being weak, but at the moment he was too scared to care. He didn’t want to die that way. He’d rather be a selfish coward for the rest of his pathetic little life.
He breathed shakily, staring at the ground as he walked. His treacherous fingers started to tremble ever so slightly, so he stuffed them in his pockets where it couldn't be seen.
The constant flow of contradicting thoughts, simultaneously tearing him into two opposing directions, were suddenly interrupted. As he walked into a tree. Or, well, the left half of his body was slammed into a tall and sturdy oak while the right part had tried to keep going.
He shot a worried glance forward, anxiously wondering if the others had noticed. For once his luck wasn’t rotten. He exhaled in relief as he saw how both Erevan and Nalion kept strolling forward with Spiro lazily gliding above them. He hurried after, rubbing his now sore left arm. He really needed to look where he was going. At least he didn’t make a scene this time.
As he got closer to the others, Erevan halted suddenly. The ranger's head spun to his right and the muscles in his back tensed slightly. Ilias followed Erevan's gaze. It took him a while before he spotted it. There were two small, scaly creatures walking forwards in the middle of the woods. Their little red scales were shining in the patches of sunlight filtering from the green buds of the leaves above.
They were moving slowly as they were carefully carrying a small and heavy looking cast iron cauldron filled with some kind of liquid. Despite their care, every now and again a small amount spilled over. Ilias sniffed as a delicious smell wafting out of the cauldron attacked his senses. His stomach clenched as the nerve-induced nausea made itself known again.
Ilias glanced back at Erevan, who had relaxed minutely. Nalion had yet to notice any of this, as the elf slowly walked forward with a far away look in his eyes. In fact, it took nearly walking into Erevan to get Nalion back to reality.
“Why are we stopping?” Nalion asked in confusion.
The heads of the scaly creatures snapped in their direction. Their features lighted up in excitement as they eagerly began to chitter, “Glibb globb! Glibb glibb globb, glibb globb!”
Ilias watched in confusion as the two creatures enthusiastically made their way towards them. This was weird. Yet Erevan seemed calm, so everything must have been okay.
“Glibb and Globb,” said Erevan, a faintest trace of a smile curving his lips.
“OH!” exclaimed Nalion. “How are you doing, are you okay?”
“Glibb globb glibb globb glibb glibb, glob,” one of the creatures answered. Was it Glibb? Or Globb? Ilias was unsure if he should introduce himself and try to find out. Then again he doubted he would be able to tell the difference regardless. He felt instantly bad about that.
Glibb and Globb lowered in tandem, carefully setting down the cauldron on the ground. Then the other creature began babbling in their language while brandishing a spoon. It scooped a spoonful out of it, offering it in their direction while uttering, “Globb?”
So maybe that one was Globb?
Erevan and Nalion shared a glance, and Nalion shrugged. Ilias couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. Nalion then proceeded to thanking Glibb and Globb before curiously tasting their food.
“Mmmm!” Nalion hummed appreciatively. “It’s really good!”
Glibb and Globb chattered excitedly amongst themselves before offering a spoon for Erevan and himself as well. It felt rude to decline, especially since Erevan was already having a taste. He bent down to take a small spoonful, a polite smile firmly stuck on his face. It probably would have been quite delectable had his stomach quelled its rebellion.
“Not bad,” Erevan rasped while slightly bobbing his head up and down.
“Glibb globb glibb globb!” “Glibb glibb globb!” The creatures nodded towards each other, seeming satisfied with the whole ordeal. They then picked up the cauldron again and went on their merry way as they shouted what Ilias assumed was goodbye in whatever language they were speaking in. Ilias waved goodbye with a friendly smile.
Lucca was so weird.
They continued on for a few hours. Slowly but surely the vegetation around them turned into hectares of farmland and the gravel path changed to a sturdy cobblestone. In the distance he could spot the capital of the kingdom of Lucca, Kingshold. Or mostly its outer wall, Wall Mia. It was impressive, engulfing the whole city and protecting it from view. Well, except for the west side since that’s where the ocean and the docks were located.
Ilias kept his gaze firmly locked on the gray stones of the outer wall as they approached the city. It was getting late, so the amount of people out and about the imposing city walls were few and far between.
They walked at a relatively brisk pace on the wide road. Ilias noticed how Nalion was squirming slightly in discomfort, looking around as if not knowing what to do in such a wide open area devoid of any shrubbery. Ilias felt a pang of sympathy for the elf. Nalion really seemed to be out of his comfort-zone. Not to mention it must have been really odd for him to be in such a different cultural environment. It could get quite overwhelming, he could relate to that.
To be fair, Erevan did not seem that comfortable either. The ever present frown on the ranger's face was deeper than usual, his body language more tense and wary. Ilias made a mental note to himself to take care of the talking. Somehow the disquiet of the others helped with his own bundle of nerves. He suddenly felt strangely calm, if not a bit disconnected. He should prioritize getting Erevan a beer as soon as possible.
Maybe they could find a nice little tavern with fewer people, it might help set both of his - travel companions? - at ease. He should ask someone for directions once they were inside the walls.
Another thing he needed to take into consideration was that there was also the possibility of someone recognising his “permit” as a fraud here, where the University of Magic itself was situated. Outside the city walls he doubted anyone would even know what the real deal looked like, considering how rare they were. Inside though… Meet the wrong person and everything would come crashing down.
He thought he got the bullshit political language down to a T, but it was hard to copy something when you didn’t really know how the original was worded. The very last thing he wanted to do was to get Nalion into trouble because he was too scared to disclose pertinent information.
Stolen novel; please report.
Especially since parts of his secrets were something the older mage had already guessed. Both Nalion and Erevan were trusting him with some pretty big secrets of their own, and it felt petty to refuse them his. Some things seemed extra important now that they were actually going to be inside the city looming before them. For instance, the matter of magic. He needed to talk to Nalion about absolutely no magic use within the city unless absolutely necessary. He should have done it already. He really was a coward.
Shit. He really needed to talk to the others.
As the thought finally sunk in they had already reached the gate, which was embellished with a golden surface. The sun was still up, getting lower by the minute and slowly colouring everything with hues of pink and orange. It would have been quite beautiful, the way the light and the colours were dancing on the gilded gate as well as the surface of the ocean to the right. If Ilias hadn’t been riddled with swirls of anxiety and nausea again that is.
Ever since The Incident he had developed quite a distaste for deep waters, so the fact that his eyes had locked onto the vast body of water did not help.
Who knew what could be lurking beneath that surface?
An involuntary shiver ran down his spine. Nope, nope, not thinking about that. Ilias quickly ripped his eyes away from the ocean as he tried his hardest to live in denial. Instead he shifted his gaze towards the large gate and the person sitting by it in a simple booth made out of lightly coloured aged wood. The person within it was an average looking bloke, his blue-grey eyes lazily gazing at them while he slouched in his seat looking very bored.
As they came closer to the booth he could spot three different types of medallions lying down in front of the man - copper, silver and gold. The man selling them wasn’t alone, however, as there were two guards dressed in dark metal armour and helmets on each side of the gate. In the middle of both the breastplates and the helmets the yellow lion was carved, the Luccan royal family emblem. The sun was gently glinting back at them from the unblemished and undented material.
From the corner of his eye Ilias could see Erevan scoffing at the guards and not so subtly rolling his eyes. That was not a good sign. Time for him to step up.
“Hello,” he said, keeping his posture open and his expression polite.
“Welcome to Kingshold, the city of wonders” the bored man answered in a monotonic voice. “Here you can buy a medallion which lets you pass the marvellous magical barrier and into the great city of our beloved King.” He apathetically gestured towards the gate.
“The one day medallion is 11 coppers, one week 6 silvers and a month is two gold pieces. Give back the medallion when you leave and you get half of your money back.”
Ilias glanced back, gauging the others' reactions. Erevan was grimacing in distaste whereas Nalion merely shrugged.
“One week?” Ilias asked.
Again Nalion shrugged.
“Whatever,” grumbled Erevan, equally disinterested as the man in the booth.
Ilias turned back, making sure to smile kindly at the seller.
“Three one week medallions please.”
They scrambled for the silver pieces out of their respective coin pouches and offered them to the man in the booth. Ilias suppressed a sigh as he looked in the once so full pouch. His funds were starting to run very low.
He thanked the man as he grabbed the medallions, distributing them to Nalion and Erevan. The guards let them walk through the open ornate gilded gate and he stepped past them with a practised smile. He didn’t get far though, until a small yelp from behind caught his attention. He spun around, seeing Nalion halfway through the gate with his backpack strained behind as if it was stuck on the other side of an invisible wall.
For a moment he could only stare, dumbstruck. Then he heard a panicked screech coming from within Nalion's backpack. Spiro! He hadn’t even thought about buying a medallion for the small pseudodragon! He was an idiot. His brow contorted in worry as both he and Erevan hurried back to Nalion's side.
The commotion had drawn the attention of the guards, even the man in the booth raised an eyebrow in a mildly interested manner.
“Well, what’s this then?” one of the guards asked suspiciously while brandishing his longsword.
Nalion’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. “Oh, this? Oh nothing nothing, haha, it’s a... A…”
“A cat!” the elf exclaimed loudly. Ilias blinked. A cat? Then Nalion began nodding frantically like a madman. “YES! I mean, yes, yes it’s a cat!”
Ilias suppressed his will to bury his face in his hands and scream. Nalion really was a hopeless liar. It was so frustrating he wanted to tear his hair, even though it simultaneously was refreshing. Like a cool, clean breath of air.
“A cat,” the other guard stated cynically.
Ilias walked up casually, hands raised in a calming manner.
“Yes, it is a cat,” He smiled softly, putting up his best sincere face. Fortunately, this was something he could actually do. Time to turn up the charm.
Spiro meowed faintly from within the bag. Thank the gods. Ilias’ eyelids shuttered briefly in relief. This would be so much easier now. Not that there were any laws that stated that travelling with a pseudodragon was illegal per se, but there was a large risk people would only view Spiro as some kind of a monstrous threat due to lack of proper information. Or they would think that Nalion was trying to smuggle in a rare and exotic animal, which they would then confiscate.
“Sorry about that, we didn’t know pets needed a medallion to pass as well. Could we buy one for him too please?” He smiled winningly at the guards, adding an extra sprinkle of innocence and naivety in his expression.
The first guard chuckled good-naturedly as he relaxed his stance. The other one remained clearly doubtful of their intentions, but let it pass once the first one playfully elbowed him in the ribs and whispered something in his ear. Then the second guard let out a huff and stepped back to his post. He did, however, keep his gaze firmly fixed on Nalion's bag.
Ilias swiftly fished out another six silvers, taking care not to do it too fast in order to not raise any more suspicion. He smiled at them all as he profusely apologized and thanked them, while surreptitiously handing the medallion to Erevan. Ilias then directed the conversation towards which tavern would be closest and other small talk. The gruff ranger appeared to understand what Ilias had meant immediately as he opened Nalion's bag ever so slightly while Ilias kept talking. Erevan then deftly slipped the medallion around Spiros neck.
And then they were off again. Crisis averted. This one at least.
There weren't as many people around within the great city as Ilias had expected, though the lateness of the evening could be an explanation. Regardless, Nalion was beginning to look a bit overwhelmed again by the sheer quantity of humans and noises, which were intimately connected to living in such close quarters with so many people. Erevan, on the other hand, kept angrily glaring at everything and everyone.
It was making the people give them a wide berth, which was probably the smartest thing they’d done in their lives. Ilias would rather jump down a bridge than be caught underneath the rangers furious stare.
The sun kept slowly getting lower as they made their way through the city, finally finding the tavern the first guard had told him about: The Wandering Spirit. It didn’t look like any tavern Ilias had seen before as the wood it was crafted from almost seemed to be still alive somehow. The decoration was more in touch with nature as well, as there was nothing carved in the wood itself. Instead the décor consisted of leaves and branches swivelling this way and that. Some of the smaller branches somehow managed to even spell out the name. Despite its simple demeanour it was quite impressive.
According to the guard it was more on the expensive side, which also meant that there wouldn’t be that many people inside. Another plus was that most of the staff members there were elves, which Ilias hoped would be helpful for Nalion.
Erevan opened the door with a little too much force than strictly necessary, stomping his way up to the counter. As Ilias listened to him ordering beer, food and a room for them to spend the night in, he could feel a strange numbness begin to coat everything under its influence. His ears buzzed. Sure, he could kind of feel the dread creeping in his stomach but it was a more distant, more detached kind of dread now.
He was still there in a manner of speaking but at the same time it felt like he wasn’t really there. Almost like a dream. Or like being a puppet, with someone else pulling the strings and he was merely watching the show.
He followed the others up, his legs carrying him up automatically. He barely registered the tray Erevan was carrying. This was it. He had to tell the others.
He trailed in the room after the others, sluggishly closing the door.
“We need to talk,” he heard his voice echoing slightly in the room.
Ilias watched with a sort of disconnected curiosity how Nalion simply sat down on the floor, no questions asked, and Erevan lifted his eyebrow in a questioning manner. His legs carried him forward into the room. He blinked, and then he was sitting on the bed. Huh.
He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there in silence, staring at his boots. There was a stain on them. He frowned down at it. He should probably clean it.
“Are you going to tell us the truth now?” Nalion asked patiently. The elf's usually clear voice sounded a little muffled, as if he was speaking from under water. Or as if Ilias had cotton in his ears. Maybe he had cotton in his brain, making everything fuzzy and buzzy. Now that would be ridiculous. Another fine mess he’d cotton himself into. Heh.
Ilias lifted his head slowly to get a closer look at the source of the question. Nalion was still sitting cross legged on the floor, looking like he had all the time in the world.
“Yeah.” The words left his mouth of their own accord.
He blinked again, and then he saw Erevan snapping his fingers in front of his eyes. When had Erevan moved there?
“It’s all fake. The papers and everything,” his voice came out monotonically, the fake Luccan accent dropped. He moved slowly, opening his bag to dig out the documents. It was as if his body had forgotten how to move properly and needed extra time to sort out the fine motorics. He took out the permit to practise magic without the presence of a Keeper as well as the one serving as proof of his “identity”.
“You shouldn’t use any magic in the city, you could get in trouble and I don’t know if I can get you out of it.”
He paused.
“This isn’t even how I look. You were right about all that,” his mouth added, the words lazily floating around in the silence before disappearing again.
Erevan frowned down at him.
“You’re not really eighteen either, are you?” the ranger asked gruffly.
“No,” his mouth said.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
Erevan turned around, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. Nalion looked slightly worried. Ilias’ brow slowly furrowed. Nalion shouldn’t be worried. Ilias might have cotton in his head, but he hadn’t forcotton how to function. Probably.
“So why aren’t you with your parents?” Nalion asked with concern.
As the question hit his ears he was abruptly and without mercy thrusted back into his body. No longer could he ignore the clump of nausea and dread sitting tightly in his stomach, nor the way his chest was tightening as if a doko had decided to use him as a lounge chair. His mouth felt dry and his tongue far too big for it.
“I -,” he choked out, quickly dropping his gaze back to his boots. Shit.
“W-, we -” he tried again, stammering. “He -”
Ilias huffed out an unsteady breath. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even talk about it. But he had to, right? They deserved to know. He gripped at the edge of the bed, his knuckles white, trying to get his breathing under control as surreptitiously as he could. He nervously licked his lips.
“R-, remember what Robert said? Abou-, about the Prince a- and everything?” He aimed for an easy confidence but instead his voice came out wan and wavering.
His fingers began to tremble, promising a full on shake soon. Sometimes he truly hated his traitorous body. He shifted slightly, sitting on his hands so that no one could see them. He forcefully suppressed the strong urge to fidget.
“Yeah, the crazy prince trying to kill his father,” he could hear Nalion saying slowly. “So you are related?”
It was like a punch in the gut. He nodded fast as he tried to conceal this. A small, hysterical giggle wriggled itself out at the second part of Nalion's sentence - escaping his usually ironclad defences. He snapped his mouth hard, teeth clanging together painfully.
Then there was silence. Ilias could hear his heart throbbing at an increased pace as he continued with Imad's breathing exercises. Breathe in, hold it, breathe out, hold it. Repeat. The silence was unnerving, suffocating. Yet he dared not break it. Nalion, however, had no such qualms.
“But how is that connected to why you aren’t with your parents?” The older mage asked. Ilias’ ears couldn’t detect any judgement in the sentence, only genuine curiosity. It did nothing to quell the shame rearing its hideous head.
“They are saying that I tried to kill him,” Ilias whispered. His voice was strained and barely audible even to himself.
Erevan and Nalion seemed to thankfully have some kind of enhanced hearing as Ilias soon heard Erevan's strong, gruff voice coming from his left.
“Did you?”
At that, all the fight left his body. His shoulders slumped as his lungs deflated like sad little balloons. Did it matter? Everyone believed that he did, which was basically the same thing. And who would believe him? Even Ilias wouldn’t have believed himself if he hadn’t been there. It didn’t matter.
“Does it matter?” he whispered, voice devoid of emotion.
“YES,” exclaimed Nalion with starling conviction. “Of course it does!”
The sudden passion in Nalion’s voice made him jump a bit. Though it was not enough that he would have dared to lift his gaze from his boots, no, he didn’t want to see their faces.
“So… did you?”
Ilias shook his head mutely, not trusting his voice.
“So, what did happen?” asked Nalion.
The words withered in his throat. Usually he could spin tales to no ends yet nothing came out as he tried to explain the terrible, horrible day he’d later on started referencing as merely “The Incident”.
“The opposite,” he managed to wrangle out after a while, his voice coming out strangled and strained. He half-heartedly mimicked something in between a throw and a shove, the expressions on the faces of his father and Nerezza haunting him in his mind.
Nalion and Erevan didn’t answer.
Just as he was starting to work himself up to the beginnings of panic, the sound of Erevan speaking yanked him back to the real world. He snapped his head up, incredulous. He must have misheard. Or his mind was playing tricks with him. Was he losing his sanity? There was no way Erevan just said that. The ranger's deep voice rang in his head as he watched Erevan and Nalion sharing a meaningful look, while sagely nodding at each other.
“That’s it, we’re adopting him.”
If it was a joke it was not very funny.