Chapter 27 - The City

The days passed quickly, and before he knew it, Arien was riding beside Will in an open carriage, farther from Three Meadows than he had ever been. The scenery itself was hardly extraordinary. Fields, farms, then more fields. Still, Arien watched as though the world might reveal something the moment he looked away.
Despite the early hour, farmers were already busy cutting vast stretches of grain with enormous scythes. Behind them came their sons, sometimes their wives, gathering the stalks and binding them into sheaves. Whenever the carriage passed, the peasants stopped long enough to remove their straw hats and bow before returning to work.
“Will, remember that if you encounter an opponent who is too strong, you are to surrender.”
It was at least the fifth time in the last hour that the boy’s mother had repeated those words.
Helia Greyrock was a slender blonde woman whose expression seemed to settle naturally somewhere between concern and disapproval. She treated the servants with a certain distance, especially Kreft, whom she sometimes regarded with open hostility, but she had always been kind to Arien. From what he had gathered, it was because of the role he had played in bringing Velyn to teach Will and Syl.
“Mom, I know, I know. You don’t need to worry. There won’t be anyone too strong for me,” the boy replied.
“Will,” she hissed. “If I see you disobey even once, you can forget about the next tournament. Husband?”
The last word came out more like a warning than a question. Sir Samwell, seated across from her beside Kreft, seemed to shrink slightly in his seat.
“Will, listen to your mother. No showing off. From what we know, only three other boys your age will be competing. Treat this as a chance to gain experience. What you learn now will pay off when you compete again in two years.”
“Yes, Father. Do you know if Frederick the Axe will be competing this year?”
“Supposedly.”
“Wonderful! His fight in the finals two years ago was incredible. He’s so strong!”
“So strong, yet he didn’t even make it out of the group stage at the King’s Tournament,” Kreft scoffed.
“I’d like to see the fights in the capital someday. What are they like? Are they very different from the ones in Ribenne?”
Sir Samwell and Kreft exchanged a glance. Both men clearly understood that whoever answered would spend the next hour being interrogated by Will about every duel they could remember.
“Dad?” Will pressed.
Kreft smirked to himself, while the knight let out a long, resigned sigh.
“Very different, son. In the capital, there are additional divisions based on Levels. Frederick may be one of the strongest fighters in Ribenne, but in the capital he had to compete in the lowest division, and even there he failed to stand out.”
“Why such a difference? Do people in the capital train more than we do?”
“Not necessarily more than you,” Sir Samwell replied. “But there is a strong emphasis on development from a very young age. The biggest difference, however, is that they gain experience in the Portals. No amount of training can replace fighting for your life against mon–”
At that moment, a sharp kick from a green shoe into the knight’s shin cut him off mid-sentence.
Arien knew it was already too late. Will’s eyes had already widened.
“Of course, I mean the elite of the elite. Lind Lightning and Red Mal trained for years before they were allowed to enter Portals,” the nobleman added quickly, attempting to salvage the situation.
“Are the Portals really that dangerous? Arien told me about one that appeared near Ribenne once, but the army dealt with it quickly.”
Thanks, Will, Arien thought. Another minute and I’d be walking the rest of the way beside Sir Samwell.
“You’ve heard about the Portal at the Widow Swamps?” the knight asked, clearly surprised.
“My father told me about it. Just what he’d heard from his grandfather, my lord.”
“I’m still surprised. I didn’t expect anyone in Three Meadows to know about it.”
“Do you know the story, Father? Did you take part in the expedition? Will you tell us? Please?”
“How old do you think I am?” Sir Samwell chuckled. “I wasn’t even born back then. I learned about the Widow Swamps after the King granted me this fief.”
“And what happened? What was it?”
“The usual thing that happens when a Portal is overlooked,” the knight replied. Then, glancing uneasily at his wife, he added, “Of course, such cases are extremely rare. The Guild of Explorers has methods for locating even those hidden in the most remote places. As for the Widow Swamps, the Fourth Army under General Salisburry dealt with the Overflow quickly enough. After that, the Explorers and the mages cleansed the Portal and eliminated the threat.”
“That’s it? Who did they fight? Who was the Portal Lord?”
“I couldn’t find anything useful. Details about Portals and their Levels are usually classified.”
“But why? Don’t monsters threaten everyone? What’s the point of keeping it secret?”
“Because knowledge is often more valuable than gold or artifacts,” Helia interjected. “That is one of the reasons we want you to be educated, so that you can survive in the capital if you choose to continue along this path. Not everyone is granted access to such information.”
“That’s dishonorable,” Will declared. “Knights and nobles should protect common folk, not deny them knowledge.”
“Some information is restricted because spreading it can make a dangerous situation worse. The world is far more complicated than you think,” Helia said quietly.
“How is that possible? Knowledge can’t be evil,” the boy protested.
“Imagine, Will, that a Red Plague breaks out in a village,” Kreft said suddenly. “The first person to recognize it is a priest tending to the sick. He now has two choices. First, he keeps the information to himself and sends word to his superiors, who will most likely quarantine the village, trapping everyone inside, including those who are still healthy. Second, he shares what he knows with the villagers, fully aware that some of them will flee and spread the disease even farther.
“What should the priest do?” Will opened his mouth, but Kreft shook his head. “No. Don’t answer now. Think about it.” He looked toward the southwest and narrowed his eyes. “Riders.”
Arien followed his gaze, but all he could make out were a few dark specks on the horizon.
“How many?” Samwell asked.
“Four. Maybe five.”

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The two men watched them for a moment.
“Merchants?”
“Without wagons?” Kreft adjusted the sword at his belt. “I could go take a look.”
“No,” Helia said immediately. “We have children with us.”
Kreft didn’t answer right away. He looked to Sir Samwell, who watched the distant riders for a few moments before letting out a quiet sigh.
“I’ll tell the guard in Ribenne to send out a patrol, just in case. They’re probably some Explorers.”
A few minutes later, the riders disappeared behind the rolling fields.

By evening, as they drew closer to Ribenne, the ruts grew shallower, the roadside ditches cleaner, and farms appeared one after another. Then the city finally came into view in the light of the setting sun.
Arien had to admit he was disappointed. He had imagined towers, or at least stone streets. Instead, Ribenne was mostly rows of wooden houses crowded along muddy roads, with overflowing ditches running between them. If not for the walls and a few larger buildings rising above the rooftops, it could have passed for an overgrown Three Meadows.
Despite the late hour, crowds filled every corner, slowing their carriage to a crawl. Arien looked around while trying to breathe through his mouth, but even that did little against the stench of sweat, rotting food, and several smells he preferred not to identify.
“It wasn’t like this before,” Will complained, pinching his nose.
“The tournament starts tomorrow. Everyone within twenty leagues either wants to watch or profit from those who do. By dawn, every free patch of street will probably have someone selling something on it.” explained Sir Samwell.
Arien noticed that many people carried bedrolls and bundles, while others were already setting up makeshift camps in side alleys. The main thoroughfare was lined with taverns and inns, spilling music, laughter, and drunken shouting into the evening air.
In front of one establishment, the city guard was unsuccessfully attempting to break up a fight between two men. Only after one of them collapsed unconscious did they finally manage to restrain the other.
“I don’t envy their punishment,” Kreft said with a laugh. “They probably came here for the tournament, and now they’ll spend the next two days locked in stocks in the town square. And it’s going to be a hot couple of days.”
“They won’t be sent to prison?” Arien asked in surprise.
“Prison? For a brawl?” Kreft snorted. “Why waste tax money feeding them? This way, some brat gets to throw rotten cabbage at them, and everyone has a good time.”
He sounded almost nostalgic, which made Sir Samwell laugh. “I see. So growing up in Torben made that one of your favorite hobbies?”
“It might have.” Kreft shrugged, though he was smiling now.
The carriage slowed before a large inn.
“The Golden Grapes,” Sir Samwell said. “Best place in the city.”
From the outside, the inn did not look particularly impressive. A massive man leaned beside the door with a heavy club in one hand, and even the louder drunks seemed to lower their voices as they passed.
They climbed out of the carriage while the driver guided it through a side gate toward the stables. Sir Samwell entered without breaking stride. Arien followed with the others close behind. The burly guard gave Kreft a brief glance, then decided he wasn’t worth worrying about and returned to scanning the street.
Inside, the hall was bright and clean. One side of the hall was occupied by a long serving counter, where people stood with mugs and glasses, talking quietly, while the other was a dining area filled with square tables. Servants moved quickly between them, clearing and bringing dishes. On the road, they had eaten cold provisions, but here the smell of hot food immediately made Arien’s mouth water.
Arien slowed when he noticed the lamps mounted along the walls. They gave off light without flame. His first thought was electricity, until Mana Sense picked up the faint glow coming from white crystals set into the metal fixtures.
What a frivolous use of magic.
He paused beside one and held a hand near the crystal. It gave off a steady glow, far more even than an open fire. Arien’s thoughts immediately turned to the cost. How much mana did it consume through the night, and could an ordinary innkeeper really afford that? Probably not. But someone here had clearly decided it was worth it.
“Sir Samwell Greyrock! Welcome, welcome! How good it is to see you, my lord! I was beginning to think you’d arrive tomorrow instead. And welcome, my lady. Looking as beautiful as ever. And this must be young Master William! You’ve grown so much!”
The greeting came from the largest man Arien had seen since arriving in this world. He stood nearly six and a half feet tall, broad shouldered and barrel bellied, looking more like a giant than an innkeeper. Yet his sharp, alert eyes did not match his massive frame.
“Good to see you too, Hugo. I see business is thriving,” Sir Samwell replied.
“I can’t complain! Though with seven children, six of them daughters, it’s never easy. Every copper I earn will end up spent on dowries!” Hugo sighed dramatically. “Your luggage is already in your rooms. Ayda will show you the way. A hot bath is waiting for you, my lady. Or perhaps something to eat? Something to drink? A cold mug of beer for you, my lord, and your retainer? And the boys must be starving after the journey. A bowl of stew, perhaps?” Hugo barely paused for breath.
“As always, you read our minds,” Samwell said. “I certainly wouldn’t refuse a beer.”
“May I trust someone will keep an eye on the boys?” Helia asked.
“Of course. One of my daughters will look after them. Naturally, nothing need be feared here, but I understand that after recent events, people prefer to err on the side of caution.”
“Recent events?” Sir Samwell asked.
Hugo blinked at him. “You haven’t heard? The Tyranny of Kroton has fallen. Who would have thought the man would survive for more than four hundred years only to be killed by his own palace guard?”
Sir Samwell and Kreft exchanged a troubled look.
“When?” Samwell asked.
“And who controls the capital now?” Kreft added.
Hugo gestured for them to follow him toward a quieter part of the hall, and within moments Sir Samwell and Kreft were bombarding him with questions. Even Helia joined in, apparently forgetting about the bath for the moment. Arien tried to listen, but between the distance and the noise of the inn, he could no longer make out more than an occasional word.
Arien knew too little about the Tyranny to understand the consequences, but Samwell and Kreft’s reaction told him the news was serious.
“Arien, come on!” Will tugged at his sleeve. “Kreft showed me something new yesterday. I think I’m doing it right, but you have to check.”
Arien followed him, glancing back once at the small group still deep in conversation.

The same evening, fifty miles to the north.
Velyn was grinning like an idiot as she urged the exhausted horse onward. After hours in the saddle, she still could not shake the feeling that the gods had finally decided to favor her. The disaster with Count Serion had gotten her banished to the edge of the kingdom, directly beside the Tyranny of Kroton, and now the Tyranny had fallen.
She had no idea what would replace it, whether a Republic, a Kingdom, or several smaller states, but that hardly mattered. She would be among the first to find out.
Political collapses on this scale happened perhaps once every few decades, and Velyn had no intention of wasting the opportunity. The Tyranny had kept every Guild out for centuries, and now the border was opening.
Her orders were clear: cross the border, assess the situation, begin establishing an intelligence network, and await further instructions.
She imagined Keatlin’s face the next time they met. Velyn, the first Guild agent in centuries to establish a network inside the Tyranny. Perhaps even a future Branch Master.
The poisoning of Count Serion had been an act of the gods, but for her benefit.
Even her time at Samwell’s miserable estate had not been entirely wasted. Thanks largely to Arien, Magnetic Presence had finally reached level fifty and allowed her to choose its next specialization. To her surprise, she had even grown somewhat fond of the boy. Syl studied from duty and Will because he was expected to, but Arien genuinely wanted to understand the world. Velyn could respect that.
More interestingly, he knew she was using Magnetic Presence on him and had never complained to Samwell. He resisted instead. Her intent was normally enough to loosen a person’s tongue, but Arien had adapted after the first few attempts, forcing her to work around whatever resistance he possessed. She occasionally felt a little guilty about pushing him so hard, though not enough to stop.
If nothing else, the pressure might help him discover a useful mental Skill once his System awakened.
It would be perfect.
She only had to remember to send someone for him before his ninth birthday. Velyn was reasonably certain he would unlock the System early, perhaps around eight. Arien was intelligent, especially with mathematics, but she had met children from the kingdom’s elite who had been trained from infancy for exactly that purpose. Some possessed a kind of talent that even enormous resources could not manufacture.
She had stretched the truth a little when explaining early System unlocks to the children. There had been no reason to explain that children from the old bloodlines, especially the more talented ones, had been unlocking the System years early for decades, helped along by generations of knowledge, training, and resources.
Coldhart’s granddaughter had supposedly managed it the day before her sixth birthday. A genuine monster. Keatlin had done it at seven, something her admirers never seemed to tire of mentioning.
Delaying her report on Arien now seemed increasingly useful. If she secured command of the new Tyranny division, she could bring him in herself and begin training him for Guild work.