Three days after this training started, they arrived at King’s Cross. The city was placed on a major intersection, almost midway between Tardin, the large port city further to the south, and King’s Landing, another major city to the north, which lay on either side of the Raplin River, connected by a large bridge. The whole distance between the two major cities was paved by the King’s Highway, and it stretched even farther north, across the whole country of Tardis. The highway was a great expanse of paved stone, two wagons wide plus a few steppes, it even widened to three wagons in the multiple cities it passed through.
Syrus had once heard that once every two years the University would send its worst performing students down the road in order to reset any broken or shifted stones with magic, and to keep it clean besides. This allowed for greatly expedited travel throughout the kingdom, as many of the problems that plagued dirt roads - mud and pits, shifted stones and even bandits were a rare occurrence. The guards of every city along the road had stations throughout, and were charged by the king to conduct regular patrols.
Their first sight of the city was of its great walls, ten steppes thick throughout and a span and a half high – forty five steppes, tall. There were guard towers on every corner, as well as two more between, the walls stretched to the right and left of the road for an incredible length before curving back around, out of sight. Syrus couldn’t begin to imagine how many people must live here, it seemed at least three times as much as all of Jiem, including the farmers, could fit inside the walls.
The caravan arrived at the western gate, one of only three passageways into the city, and joined a line of similar carts, caravans, and travelers, dusty from the road and waiting to get in. The line seemed maddeningly slow, filled with complaining farmers and other craftsmen, even a few lesser merchants. After so many days on the road, they had all learned a kind of stoic patience, after waiting about thirty minutes they eventually made their way to the front of the line, where multiple guardsmen stood under the massive metal portcullis. Davus had produced a passenger and supply manifest, detailing the names and descriptions of himself, his two workers, seven total guards, and two children. The man in charge, distinguishable by his single knot of rank tied over his shoulder in red, looked it up and down, eyes flicking up at the carts then back at the manifest for what seemed an overly long period of time. Syrus began to wonder if he could actually read, while the other guards eyed the carts and the swords of the men guarding them.
Finally, he grunted his acceptance, adding in a practiced voice that sounded as if he had said the same thing a thousand times; “Ten bronze drams per cart to allow entrance into the city, you’re to keep those swords sheathed inside the Lord Almandra’s city at all times, mind you.” He added the last with a flicker of his eyes at the armed men in front of him. Davus paid his entry fee without complaint, later stating that he was prepared to pay twice that, as if this was somehow another stroke of good fortune. They drove the carts into the city, all of them riding on the benches to avoid being jostled or lost in the crowded streets, except James who kept to his horse. Syrus stared about him, struggling to keep his jaw closed. There’s so many people! All the houses are made of stone! He was awestruck. He had only seen one building in his life made entirely of stone, and that had been Baron Jeim’s walled keep, the only strong defensive building that Jeim had. After looking at this, he hesitated to even call Jeim a city anymore.
Nearly every building was two or more stories high, there were businesses everywhere, an inn on every street, market stalls selling fish and meat, Hawkers crying out about their knife sharpening services, or selling everything from pots and pans to trinkets. It was amazing, a new world, and Syrus was eager to drink it all in as they travelled through it. Blake nudged his shoulder, excitedly pointing out that there was a whole store just for boots and shoes, but Syrus hardly noticed, everything is so colorful he found himself thinking. There were streamers hanging from poles everywhere, stalls had colorful tarps protecting the seller from the sun, multicolored banners pointed out many different wares, freshly painted signs marked the doors of merchants throughout the main thoroughfare. Reds and whites and blues and greens, yellow and black. Eventually he remembered why they had come in the first place, shaking himself out of his stupor, grinning at the sight of Blake’s still awed face, and returning to his search of the crowd for any who might wish them ill. He couldn’t help but notice, however, that among the riotous blend of colors throughout the city, there wasn’t a single drop of purple. Davus might really do well with his dyes, here. He thought.
The caravan travelled deeper into the city, through wide streets and large crowds, it was fortunate that they had arrived early, as Davus only appeared to have the vaguest idea of where he was going, but eventually they arrived at an inn in the nicer district of the town. Davus had the carts pulled into its more than wide enough barn, with Syrus and the guards set to guarding their prize once again. They would be in the city for a total of three days, and Davus’s purpose for stopping at such a nice inn was simple. He wanted to impress others.
Like a true merchant, he returned bathed and dressed in his finest clothes, wearing a stitched black vest over a patterned white and yellow stitched shirt, with black pants tucked into fine knee high boots and, to top it all off, a purple shoulder cape held in place by a gold chain, similar in fashion to the one he had most likely sold Baron Jeim. He fixed his hair and then, with James in tow, freshly bathed and rearmed, set off in search of the nearest auction house, leaving the rest of them to guard the caravan and, in turns of two at a time, go and explore the city.
James had left Markus with explicit instructions that Syrus and Blake were not to leave alone, nor were they to go so far as to get lost, but they had a silver dram each from their fathers and were eager to spend it. When it was their turn to explore, they did so with a speed that only the young could have, dashing from one shop to the next, Markus struggling to keep up and yelling for them both to keep in sight. There was just so much to see, and so little time to see it. Until at last they both picked a stall to eat at, picking a few trinkets each from hawkers along the way. Syrus had spent most of his money on a small, glass pendant in the shape of a dove in flight, hanging from a simple leather thong, which he planned to give to Sybil when he returned. Blake on the other hand, had bought his own belt knife for four bronze drams, and only narrowly had enough to spend on the roasted pheasant they were now enjoying.
Markus had his own money to spend, and had bought himself a razor, pair of scissors, and a small yet still expensive mirror, as well as a whole pheasant for himself. “Got to present myself well if I’m to join the guard” he told Syrus with a wink. They talked amicably among themselves about the city, until Blake, who had finished his food, got up, yelling excitedly about a shop he had just spotted across the street and a few doors down. Markus yelled loudly for him not to go anywhere else, and continued to eat his pheasant, Syrus had stopped, blankly staring at the shop, of which Blake now had his face pressed against the glass window – rare even for a city like this. The shop had a sign hanging above the door with a single large feather painted onto it in gold. The feather was the symbol of a mage - everyone knew that, and he immediately felt the same excitement that had taken over Blake. He hurriedly wolfed down the rest of his pheasant, wiped his hands on his pants, and with a quick “I’ll be over there!” to Markus, he ran to join Blake.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
He had just crossed the street, weaving through the crowd as he did so, when he stopped short. Where is he? Blake had disappeared from view. He couldn’t have gone inside, did he? Syrus quickly walked up to the window, anxiety growing for his friend, when he heard jeering laughter from the alley next to the shop. He walked to the corner, peering cautiously around it, and immediately found the source of Blake’s disappearance. Three kids, older and bigger than Blake, had him surrounded, and were laughing as they shoved him back and forth in a circle. Blake stumbled wildly to keep his feet, and it was all he could do not to fall, and protect his face, where hits came at him randomly as he was turned and tossed about.
Syrus saw that Blake already had a bloody nose from where one had landed a lucky blow, and that Blake’s brand new belt knife was tucked into the belt of the biggest looking boy. Not stopping to consider his actions, Syrus ghosted around the corner, moving quickly down the alley and keeping low, like a hunter tracking a deer. None of the bullies saw or heard him over the busy streets behind him. Two of them where laughing in loud and stupid voices while the one closest to Syrus was jeeringly yelling “looks like the little country boy lost his kn-“ he didn’t get a chance to finish his taunt, as Syrus, almost as tall as the thirteen year old boy, rose to his full height behind him, kicking him in the back of the knees and slamming both hands down on the boy's shoulders. With the boy’s legs jerking out from underneath him and the downward pressure on his shoulders, the boy instantly lost all ability to stand under his own power. Syrus wrapped his arm around the boy’s head, took a step, and with a throwing motion, threw the boy from his knees, where he had no chance of stopping his fall, into the wall of the alley next to them. The boy’s head smashed into the wall with a sickeningly hollow thunk noise, and he cried out and dropped, unconscious, to the cobblestones below.
Syrus had done this so quickly that the other two had still not quite realized what had happened to their friend. The boy across from Syrus was the smallest of the three, and he seemed frozen, half way through the act of shoving Blake towards Syrus. Syrus moved quickly and stepped around his friend, weaving past him as he fell. Sorry Blake. He thought, allowing his friend to go tumbling. The boys hands were still outstretched from the shove when Syrus reached him, and he quickly brought his hands back to defend as Syrus threw a quick jab at the boy’s face, but the jab was a feint, he even flicked his hand open at the end of it, creating a large amount of motion filling the boys view as he followed the jab, diving onto one knee and grabbing the boy behind his own with both hands, slamming his head into the boys stomach and pulling his legs out from under him.
Syrus didn’t follow him to the ground, as there was still one more boy, and the fight was lost if he went to the ground against multiple opponents. Instead he stood up, and with one fluid motion, combined his return to standing with a kick right between the legs of the boy in front of him. The boy’s body rose up a few inches off the ground in shock and he immediately curled into a ball, holding himself and yelling in pain. “Syrus!” he heard Blake yell, and he instinctively ducked to the left, away from the last boy on his right. At the same time, a meaty fist hooked over his head, and Syrus felt the wind from it as it missed him by inches. He cocked his arm and stood back up, bringing his elbow with him, and slammed it into the nose of the boy who had just missed him. The boy's head went back and he roared with pain, stumbling back a few steps and grabbing his nose, now just as bloody as Blake’s, with one hand.
Syrus turned to face him and was about to press the attack when the boy, tears in his eyes from the sudden assault on his nose, when he reached back and pulled out the belt knife he’d stolen from Blake. “Yull’ bay for that'' he croaked through bloody teeth, and took a step towards Syrus, but stopped again when he heard a shhnick sound, followed by two knives, much larger and deadlier looking than the belt knife, suddenly appearing in the hands of the boy who had hurt his friends.
Suddenly he was nervous, and while he might have been the biggest of the three, Syrus had utterly destroyed the other two, and Blake was approaching, it was two on one. He would have run for it right there if the alley was not a dead end, the only escape lay past Blake, who was staring at him with his hands on hips. “Drop it and we’ll let you go.” Said Blake, one hand clamped over his nose which was still dripping blood, staring at the larger boy hatefully as he did so. The boy’s eyes shifted from left to right, the knife shakily pointed at Syrus, who seemed not at all nervous about its presence. He stood in a ready stance with his two knives, waiting to see what the bully would do.
They remained at a standstill for a seemingly impossible amount of time, but it was over in a few short seconds as a loud “OI! Do what the boy said or I’ll teach yeh to be afraid you twisted thug!” Markus had found them, and the man looked angry. Seeing a man much larger than him and carrying a sword, still sheathed, approaching, was the last straw for the boy. He dropped the knife and holster onto the ground and ran, abandoning his friends, Blake stepping aside as he did so. Syrus thought for a second that, by the look on his face, Markus wasn’t going to let him go without some kind of punishment, but he merely smacked the boy in the back of the head as he passed, saying “go on then!” Syrus quickly sheathed his knives, hiding them once more under his travel coat, and Markus looked at him angrily for a moment until he saw the two boys still on the ground behind him. Markus put two and two together, and his anger seemed to slide off Syrus like water from a rock, focused now on the kids heaped in the alley, one still rolling around with his hands clutched between his legs. He looked back at Syrus, one eyebrow raised. “You do them?’ Syrus hesitated, then looked him in the face and nodded. Markus nodded back, then grabbed them both by the shoulders. “Right, we’ll need to be away from here, in case that kid brings guards. Clean your face up boy, we can’t have them spotting you with blood all over.” Blake nodded and hurriedly pulled out a leather canteen, splashing water on his face and wiping it off with his coat. “Good enough boy, let’s go, you can come back tomorrow”
Fifteen minutes later they were outside the inn, animatedly switching between storytellers as they recounted the story to Markus. “-and then while they were shoving me, one of them just disappeared! I got shoved passed him, and I saw Syrus as I went by, I stumbled a few steps, cus’ I was dizzy from when they hit me, and when I turned around, the second one was down too, and Syrus kicked him right between the legs!” Syrus and Markus both grimaced, for different reasons, and Syrus shot Blake a look before turning to catch Markus staring at him, eyebrow raised. “Well…there was three of them” Markus let out a great roar of laughter and clapped Syrus on the shoulder so hard it hurt, saying “fairs fair then isn’t it boy!” he laughed again. “Right well, I’m guessing you boys would rather keep quiet about this whole thing?” They both nodded. “Right well, you don’t tell James that I let you out of my sight, and I won’t tell him you beat the snot out of three twisted boys.” He said with a grin, “can’t say the same for the guys though, they’re gonna love this.” He gave the two boys a wink and said “I’ll see you inside” before walking into the barn, whistling a suspiciously merry tune.