Commoner's Inn

The sun broke the horizon, slowly crawling atop the Kaneele Woods, the warm light dispelling the darkness with pink and orange fervor.  Despite being the early morning, the unseasonably humid temperature was already beginning to climb. 

            As the first few rays of morning reached the city of Kaneele, people awoke and began their busy days.  Outside the vine ridden, grey, decaying walls of the city, farmers wiped the sweat from their brows as they cleaved through wheat with their cumbersome scythes.  The wooden handles calloused their hands and drained their energy with each swing.  Horses swatted at flies with their bristly tails, temporarily knocking the pests off balance.  Pigs rolled in their filth and mud to keep themselves cool while chickens screeched and ran in and out of their packed coops.  Farmhands gathered and packed the wheat, then delivered it to the nearest bakery or brewery.  The farmhands sat in their horse-drawn carriages, loaded with wheat, cabbages, potatoes, carrots, and other assorted vegetables.  They rode along the dusty dirt and gravel paths, passed filthy children at play and women balancing their infants and groceries.

            Crowds of people bustled within the crumbling city walls.  The marketplace clamored with the shouting and bargaining of hundreds of people.  A fish vendor stood behind the table of his striped green and brown tent, holding the belly of a nauseating Red Rengner Perch and waving it around, proclaiming the delicious qualities such fish possess.  Mason jars filled with pickled herrings lined the table at the back of the tent.  The herrings’ glassy eyes stared at passersby with unblinking tenacity.  A mother hurriedly pushed her wailing child away from the stand as she grabbed the perch from the vendor and flung 7 copper coins on the table.  The vendor grinned from ear to ear as he dropped the coins into his barren coin purse.  The grin fell from his face and was replaced by a dejected frown as he shook the purse and heard only a faint clink as the coins rattled loosely.  He sighed and picked up another perch, then began his sales pitch to anyone who would listen.

            Across the market from the fish vendor stood a tall, grey inn, rectangular in form.  The most color it boasted was the large wooden sign above the door.  In a bright yellow finish, it read: ‘The Common Cup Inn’.  Thin, leafy grape vines lined the sign, signifying that weary travelers could relax with a goblet of wine.  A crude engraving of an ale bottle in the bottom right corner of the sign also seemed to hint that stronger ales and brews were also available for purchase.  Large, leaded windows lined the bottom floor of the inn, while smaller clear pane windows lined the top floor, one for each room.  A polished stone roof sat atop the inn’s granite brick structure.  A large oak door, reinforced with iron bands, rested beneath the inn’s sign.  The doors had an image of a tankard full of ale engraved on them and painted a dull orange.  At six in the morning, the common room behind the door was not particularly loud, but some regulars were already up and about, drinking away their troubles as early as they could.

            The doors flung open with a thunderous crash that was drowned out by the cacophony the marketplace crowd created.  A hungover drunkard stumbled out of The Common Cup Inn and was immediately blinded by the piercing light of the sun.  He stumbled to his right and bumped into the blonde, fair-skinned teenage boy beside him, knocking a basket of bread from the boy’s hands.

            The boy cursed and grabbed the lurching man’s arm to steady him.  The man’s hands immediately went to his face, shielding his eyes from the harsh light of the sun.  “Whart time ish it,” the man groaned, slurring his words.  “Me head ish pounding like a bit-” He choked on his words as he heaved last night’s meal onto the boy’s faded brown leather boots, now coated with a soupy, yellow sludge.

The boy sighed and did his best to fake a smile at the drunkard.  “It’s okay, Mr. Habar, I’ll get some new boots, I suppose…”  The boy bemoaned.  His voice partially cracked, but, generally, it was fairly calm.  He put his arm around Mr. Habar’s waist and led the drunk towards the inn.  “How about you come inside and lie down?  I’ll have Granny Velma bring you a smoked rabbit haunch with some stew, as well as some red leaf tea.”

“Oh, thanks, Casimer, yer a good lad…”  Mr. Habar mumbled as he followed the boy into the inn. 

Casimer opened the large oak door and escorted the drunkard into the common room of The Common Cup Inn.  It wasn’t particularly busy, but Casimer recognized a small handful of regulars scattered around the room, most with a tankard full of booze.  A large man leaning against the stairwell wall raised his tankard and howled with laughter. 

“Leif too drunk to make it out the door again, eh?”  He roared, spilling ale on his filthy tunic.  As Casimer approached the stairs, he could smell the alcohol on the man’s breath and tunic.  He smiled a little before helping Leif up the first step.

“No, this time he managed to get out of the door,” Casimer chuckled, supporting Mr. Habar’s weight as he trudged up the staircase.  “Fell into me and threw up on my boots, as well!”

The uproarious laughter continued as Casimer finally got Leif upstairs and into a room.  He helped the drunk into the straw filled bed and placed a light brown fur blanket over him.  Leif thanked him and quickly fell asleep, snoring the minute his eyes closed.  Casimer smiled and looked around the room.  It was one of the smallest in the inn with only one bed, a table and chair, and a wash basin.  Casimer slowly stood and blew out the goat horn candle on the table.  He left the room, shutting the wooden door behind him.

“Does Mr. Habar ever see his wife?”  Casimer asked the large man as he walked back down the stairs.  “I don’t think he’s left the inn all week.”

“I reckon not,” the man rubbed his rugged chin and shrugged.  “Yup, she left him last week.  Ran off to Frantel with some noble, as I recall.”  He sighed shook his head.

“Gods!” Casimer shouted, his gentle, electric-blue eyes widened in shock.  “How could that happen?”

“Well, Leif hasn’t had a job for at least a year, ya know?”  The man slurped his ale and sighed.  “Ever since Zeke declared the whole military ruling here, Leif wasn’t needed as a town guard anymore.”

“That’s terrible…”  Casimer mumbled, his fists clenched at his sides.  “Maybe he can get work at the Imperial garrison?”  He suggested, looking up at the man hopefully with an innocent sparkle in his eyes.

“Doubtful,” the man shook his head.  “Most of the Imperial Guard despise men like him.  And, between you and me, Leif ain’t exactly the patriotic type, ya know?”  There was a loud crash as the large oak door at the front of the inn burst open.  Two Imperial guards strolled inside and took a seat at the bar, slamming their fists on the table.  The man beside Casimer sneered and brought his tankard of ale to his mouth.  “Eh, maybe now isn’t the time to discuss such things, kid.”  He whispered into his mug, just loud enough for Casimer to hear.

Casimer glanced at the guards sitting on the wooden bar stools.  They were wearing the dark maroon armor that came standard for all Imperial guards.  The armor bore the king’s insignia on the shoulders.  Zeke’s insignia was a raven, with its wings spread and its beak open, carrying a crescent moon in its talons.  The insignia was built right into the armor, creating a ridged crest on the pauldrons.  The breastplate was smooth iron; the only part of the armor that was smooth, in fact.  The other pieces were layered over each other and held together with strips of leather. 

One of the guards looked over his shoulder and glared at Casimer.  Casimer looked away and made his way past several wooden tables and into the room he shared with the innkeeper.  “Hey, Granny Velma, you in here?”  He called as he entered the bedroom.  There were two beds and two dressers placed against opposite walls.  Between the beds was a nightstand with a candle and two books on it.  Casimer looked around, but saw no sign of Velma. 

“I’m in here, boy!”  Velma called from the adjacent kitchen.  Her voice chimed with the pleasant friendliness of old age and the stern whip-crack of a mother. 

Casimer stepped into the kitchen and pointed to the bar in the common room.  “A couple of guards came in and sat at the bar.”  Casimer began.  “I assume they’re here to drink all of our ale.” 

“Oh, Casimer, don’t be so cynical,” Velma scolded as she tossed a pinch of salt into a large kettle full of a tomato soup.  The flames licked the bottom of the kettle, heating the soup and making it boil.  “Did you pick up the bread from Mr. Diarmaid?”  She asked, stirring the soup.  The wrinkles around her olive green eyes deepened as she smiled warmly at Casimer.  Her thin, dull pink lips parted with her smile, revealing a front row of somewhat yellowed, yet remarkably straight, teeth.

“Well,” Casimer murmured.  “I picked it up, but when I got back, Mr. Habar came stumbling out of the bar and knocked it out of my hands.”  Casimer grabbed a clove of garlic off of a hanging spice rack and handed it to Velma.

She took the garlic from Casimer with her wrinkled hand and crushed it into the soup.  “I hope you plan on picking up more.”  She insisted sternly.  Velma grabbed the kettle and placed it on a large cooling rack, then pushed a few loose strands of peppery grey hair back into the bun above her frail head.

Casimer nodded and grabbed two mugs from a high shelf.  “I will after my class today.”

“Your class?”  Velma asked in cross surprise as she grabbed the mugs from Casimer.  Her eyes were open in surprise, but her eyebrows were furrowed, her sparkling green eyes burrowing themselves into Casimer’s spirit.

Casimer’s eyes immediately darted to the floor.  “Yeah, I enrolled in a course at the College of the Arts.  I’ll be taking a handful of courses there for a few months.”

“Casimer, you know I need you to work here with me.  I can’t run the whole inn myself!”

“I know, Granny Velma, but the classes are during the day, when we don’t have much to get done.  I’ll still be able to take care of all the morning chores, and I’ll be back in time for the late night rush.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Velma urged, sternly.  “I have work to get done.”  Velma huffed and marched out of the kitchen through the swinging wooden door.  Casimer could hear her greet the guards at the bar and offer them a pint of ale, on the house.  Casimer looked down and noticed that his fists were clenched tightly.  He let out an exasperated sigh and released his fists.  Casimer left the kitchen and headed through the storeroom to the outside door.

 

 

 

 

Casimer sat next to the small well outside the inn and gently scrubbed his boot with a wet rag.  Mr. Habar’s vomit hadn’t dried up too much, so the scrubbing was gentle and rhythmic.  In little time, the intense yellow soup was replaced by the dark brown leather of wet boots.  Casimer knew that they would still probably stain after they dried and he sighed, but he began putting the boots back on his feet.  He heard the squeak of rusty door hinges and he looked up at Velma stepping out of the inn.

“Can we talk, son?”  Velma asked, her voice calm and tender.  Her eyes were heavy, as if she had been wrestling for nights with something too difficult to fully comprehend.

“Aw Granny Velma, you know I hate it when you call me that…”  Casimer mumbled.

“I know, son.”

Casimer rolled his eyes and tied the laces of his boots.  “I know you don’t want me to go to those classes, Granny, but it’s the only way for us to survive here.”

Velma placed her frail hand on Casimer’s shoulder and offered him an understanding smile.  “Casimer, let me worry about money.  You need only focus on working.”

“Come on, Granny Velma,” Casimer started, shaking his head.  “You know that there’s so much more I can be doing for us.  I just need the opportunity!”

“I know that, Casimer.  You were always so curious and well intentioned… Just like your mother.”  Velma chuckled and her eyes sparkled.  “I guess I just can’t believe how much you’ve grown already.  It seems like just yesterday I was taking you in…”  A tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek, followed by two more.

“Hey, Granny Velma, don’t cry,” Casimer consoled, putting his arms around Velma’s shoulders.  “I’m still going to help you run the inn.”

“Oh, I know that boy,” Velma whimpered, tears falling off her chin and onto her dusty white apron.  “I just can’t believe that you’ll be leaving soon.  I’ve raised you for the past 17 years and in a few more, you’ll be on your way out.”

Casimer rubbed Velma’s back and sighed.  “Yeah, it is pretty crazy, huh?”  Casimer chuckled to himself and shook his head.  “You’ll always be like a mother to me.  You know that right?”  Casimer looked deep into Velma’s watery, olive eyes.  She met the electricity of his and gave a gentle smile.

“I know, son.  I’ll never forget when I first found you at my doorstep…  Gods, but you were cute.”  Velma grinned and ruffled Casimer’s fine blonde hair.  It was kept short and spiked up on the top of his head. 

Casimer gave a listless chuckle and fixed his ruffled hair.  “Yeah… Hey, you knew my mother, right?  What was she like?”

“Casimer, not a day goes by you don’t ask me that!”  Velma exclaimed with a chuckle, wiping the last of her tears from her eyes.

“I know, but you can tell me again!”  Casimer grinned and gave Velma a hug.

“Oh, alright,” She conceded, hugging the boy in return.  “Well, you look exactly like her.  I’ve never seen a child resemble their parent more than I have in you.  From the fine blonde hair, to the electricity in your eyes, to your smooth, feminine jaw!”

“That isn’t funny!”  Casimer exclaimed over Velma’s frantic, high pitched cackle.  Even though it was an ugly laugh, Casimer always felt a wave of serenity wash over him.  To him, her laughter was home.

“Oh, I’m sorry boy, but it’s true.  You have a very smooth jawline!”  She broke out into laughter again, but quickly settled down.  “Anyway, I used to work with your mother when I was, oh, twenty something years younger.  Far less wrinkles, believe me.”  Casimer rolled his eyes but grinned at her sense of humor.  “Well, she was quite young, hardly reached her twentieth winter, but she had fallen in love with some mysterious catch of a man.”

“My father, right?”  Casimer inquired, looking up at Velma with the eyes of a much younger child.

“Yes, boy, don’t interrupt.”  Velma scolded, shaking her head.  “Well, she always spoke very highly of him, as if he could do no wrong.  One day, it was the middle of Melanova’s Bounty, I believe, she doesn’t show up to work.  I think little of it, figuring that she’s decided to take the day off.  However, she misses the next day as well, and I start to get suspicious.  I assume she’s run off with this man to gods know where, and that I’ve now been left all alone to tend to the bar.” 

Casimer was holding on to each of her words like a beggar given a few coins, greedily hording the information he was receiving in the pivotal recesses of his mind.  “Well, she disappears for a few months, and I’m forced to hire a new waitress.  I wish I could tell you exactly where she was at this time, but I haven’t a clue.  All I know is that, nine months or so later, I hear a faint crying at my doorstep and discover you, the greatest blessing I could have ever received.” 

Casimer sighed and shook his head.  “I wonder what happened to her…”  His voice trailed off as he let out a dejected sigh.

“Aye, me too, son.”  Velma shook her head and put her arm around Casimer’s shoulders.  “But I know one thing for sure: if she could see you today, she would be indescribably proud of the young man you’ve become.”

Casimer looked up at her with wet eyes and gave her a tremendous hug, resting his head on her shoulder.  “Thank you Granny Velma, for everything.”

Velma returned the hug and ran her fingers through Casimer’s hair, lovingly.  “And thank you, Casimer, for being a part of my life.  Now come on inside and wash up for your classes.  We can’t have you making a bad impression on your teachers.”

College of the Arts

 

Casimer left the Common Cup Inn as the sun reached its peak in the sky.  He was greeted with the cacophony of marketplace commotion and the bewildering intensity of the late summer heat.  Casimer could feel sweat condensing on his forehead and neck, and it would only be a matter of time until the sweat was pouring down his face in rivers.  Taking a deep breath of the dry marketplace air and then letting out a hearty sigh, Casimer made his way through the marketplace, pushing and shoving his way past the hordes of women, children, vendors, and, occasionally, guards that elbowed their way through the marketplace.

            As Casimer rounded the corner of the marketplace and the main street, a small, young girl ran into his legs and fell down into the dirt.  She let out a gentle cry as her friends all gathered around her, gasping as they looked up at Casimer.  Out of the corner of his eye, Casimer noticed a small leather ball bouncing down the street.  He chuckled a little and gave the girl a sympathetic smile as he bent down and offered her his hand.  She sniffled and allowed him to take her dainty, slender hand.  Casimer lifted her off the ground and apologized to her, offering her a gentlemanly bow.  She giggled and forgave him, then ran after the ball she and her friends had let escape them.  Casimer chuckled to himself and continued down the street. 

            On his right, Casimer saw one of the town’s bakers through the enormous window in the front of his shop.  Casimer grinned and waved at him, making his way towards the bakery’s front door.  The baker caught his wave out of the corner of his eye and waved back.  A small bell chimed as Casimer opened the door.

            “Casimer, how are ya, lad?”  The baker welcomed, pushing a lump of dough into a scorching stone oven.  The sleeves of his earthy red tunic were pulled up to his elbows and his arms and hands were coated with flour.  He scratched his rough, umber brown beard, covering it with a layer of flour.  “Weren’t ya here but a few hours ago?” 

            “Yeah, well, funny thing, actually,” Casimer began with a chuckle.  “I was taking our daily purchase back to the inn, and once I got there, one of the regulars stumbled into me and knocked the bread out of my hands.”  Casimer grinned apprehensively. 

            “Bad bit of luck there, huh?”  The baker laughed, taking a freshly baked loaf of rye bread out of the adjacent oven.  He placed it on a large wooden shelf to cool.  “I’m assuming you’ll be wanting to purchase more bread, then, hm?”

            “Yes, sir, Mr. Diarmaid,” Casimer nodded.  “I can pay you right now, if you’d like.”  Casimer reached under his white tunic and pulled out a small, brown leather coin purse. 

            “Oh, that won’t be necessary, Casimer.”  The baker shook his head and gave Casimer a toothy grin.  “I’ll cover this one for ya.” 

            Casimer gawked at the baker, his mouth hanging open.  “Are you sure?  I have the money…”  Casimer’s voice trailed off as he scratched the back of his head, speechless. 

            “Aye, boy, I’m sure.”  The baker moved to a counter and began kneading a clump of dough.  “It might take me a few hours, but I assume I can have all of your bread ready before your evening rush begins.”

            “Thank you so much, Mr. Diarmaid!”  Casimer grinned and placed his coin purse back in his pocket.  “If there’s ever a way for Granny Velma and I to repay you, just say the word!” 

            The baker grinned and waved his hand.  “Don’t mention it, lad.”  He wiped his hands on his apron and reached up to an overhead shelf, grabbing a small jar of gooey honey.  He dropped a dash of honey in the fresh dough and placed the honey back on the shelf.  “Just be back for your bread in a few hours.”

            “I’ll stop by after my class at the college!”  Casimer turned to leave, but felt the stout grip of the Mr. Diarmaid’s hand on his shoulder.

            “Are you going to the college right now?”  His grin had disappeared and he stared into Casimer’s eyes with the cold, sober tenacity of his darkened, deep-set chocolate brown eyes.

            “Well, yeah…”  Casimer fought with his fumbling tongue to no avail.  He could only mumble a small string of mostly inaudible syllables.

            “Well, if you’re heading to the college soon, would you mind bringing my daughter this small lunch basket?”  The baker gave Casimer a tremendous, toothy grin that pulled his eyes closed and flared the circular nostrils of his fat, tan nose.  Casimer could have sworn he looked like a small child who was begging his parents to buy him a piece of candy from the market.

            Still startled, Casimer stumbled for more words.  “Your daughter…?  Amanda, you mean?”

            “Of course!”  The baker interjected, bellowing.

            “Oh, uhm, sure, I guess I could do that…”  Casimer muttered, his tongue still numbed with shock.  He grabbed the dull brown cedar basket from the baker’s outstretched hand and gave him a timid smile.

            Mr. Diarmaid patted Casimer’s shoulder and chuckled.  “Thanks, son, you’re doing me a huge favor.”

            “Yeah, don’t, uhm…  Don’t mention it.”  Casimer murmured, opening the door of the bakery.  “Have a good day, sir!”

            “You too, Casimer!”  The baker waved his hand as he returned to his work, stoking the wood beneath the oven.

 

 

 

 

            The College of the Arts was a large, rectangular wooden building with two half-circles attached to either side of it.  The upper floor was built like a smaller rectangle atop the larger.  Large, tinted, pane windows lined the building, distorting the classrooms within.  The musty caramel colored wood of the college laid, log upon log, in a perfect line.  The entrance was an enormous cedar door, with the college’s emblem, an open book in front of two clashed blades, engraved into it.  A stout stone chimney rested at the back of the building, grey billows of smoke rising into the air.  Hanging from the roof in streaming waves of slightly rumpled fabric were banners boasting the king’s crest.  The violet nightshade purple faded into black and the raven carrying the crescent moon was colored in bone white.

            As Casimer approached the College of the Arts, he noticed a hoard of guards that had gathered at the college’s entrance.  From behind the heavy, close faced maroon helmets, they glared at passersby, wary of all who entered.  Casimer could feel their eyes drilling into his soul, picking him apart, piece by piece.  Casimer took a gulp and lumbered toward the college’s front door.

            One of the guards pointed his lance at Casimer’s chest, stopping the boy in his tracks.  He poked the basket with the tip of his sharpened lance.  The pole was made of steel and had leather laid upon it near the middle and the end to enhance the soldier’s grip.  The tip was long and sharp, and, like a sword, had a cross-guard separating the pole from the blade.

            “What’s in the basket?”  The soldier demanded, his warm green-yellow eyes contradicting the harsh venom in his voice. 

            “Just a lunch for a friend.”  Casimer mumbled, sweat trickling from the nape of his neck.

            The soldier sneered with callous glee.  “Ah, thanks for bringing me lunch, then, friend.”  The four guards surrounding him roared and guffawed, patting each other on the back.  The guard grabbed the handle of the basket and brought his face down to Casimer’s.

            “Now, let go of the basket, kid.”  Casimer could smell the guard’s breath and he turned his head to his right in time to see a slightly taller boy walk up to him. 

            The strange boy placed his hand on Casimer’s shoulder and gave it a neighborly squeeze, as if they were close friends.  “Ah, there you are,” the boy said, his voice bold and friendly.  Casimer looked up and saw the boy’s eyes, a warm black ash that seemed to absorb the light.  “Come on!  The headmaster needs to see you immediately!” 

            With a persuasive nudge, the boy ushered Casimer past the guards and through the college’s massive cedar door, leaving the guards to squint at each other, stupefied.  Looking down at his clenched fists, Casimer noticed the basket, still in the safety of his rather relentless grip.  Casimer looked up at the boy, incredulous.

            “What… What just happened?”  Casimer stammered, still unsure of who the boy was.

            “I saw you having trouble with those soldiers.”  The boy explained.  His voice had become more cold and monotone and the warmth in his almond shaped eyes was replaced by an alienating, cold black.  “Figured I could at least help you get into the college before you caved into their demands like a coward.”  The boy ran his fingers through his fine, mid-shoulder length soot black hair, straightening it as best he could.

            “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he began, strolling down the corridor to his left.  “I have somewhere to be.”

            Casimer watched the boy leave and scratched the back of his head.  He looked around what appeared to be a common room with three hallways leading away from it.  There were a few scattered groups of chairs and benches around ornate wooden tables.  All around the room hanging banners boasted the college’s emblem over the fiery orange and crimson red fabric.  Casimer noticed a handful of students lounging in the common room, enjoying each other’s company.  Once more, Casimer scratched his head, then headed down the left corridor, meandering through the hallways of the college, searching for the classroom he belonged in.

 

 

 

 

            Casimer opened the door to his class and entered into a large, auditorium like classroom.  The back of the classroom had stairs leading up to the back row of desks, which were all connected together, as one lengthy, curved desk.  There were six rows of desks, each with fifteen wooden chairs resting at them, but only about forty were being used.  Casimer scanned the rows of desks, looking for Amanda.

            Her chestnut brown hair with the one streak of honey blonde was the dead giveaway.  She twisted the locks of blonde in her hand, twirling it between her fingers, curling then straightening it again or braiding it while her mind was clearly preoccupied.  She glanced over at Casimer and shot him a lively grin.  He smiled back at her and made his way to the desk she was sitting at.  The seat to her left was empty, and he sat down next to her, handing her the lunch her father made her.

            “Your dad asked me to give this to you.”  Casimer handed her the basket with a friendly smile.

            Amanda snickered and took the basket from Casimer.  “So, you like to spend time with my dad, huh?  I thought that was my mom’s job.”  She taunted with her bubbly, high-pitched voice.  Casimer blushed a bright pink and Amanda laughed and shook her head.

            “I had to get more bread for the inn…”  Casimer listlessly protested.  He grunted and leaned back in his chair.

            Amanda giggled and leaned forward in hers, resting her cheek on her fist.  “I’m just teasing, Casimer.  How’s Granny Velma doing?”  Her voice was airy and bubbly and paired with an amicable grin.

            “She’s great.  Business has been looking up recently since we began shipping in that Cherry Rose Mead from Frantel.  People love fruity alcohol, apparently.”  Casimer shrugged.  “What about you?  How’ve your parents been?”

            “You’d know better than I would,” Amanda muttered.  “My dad works all day, my mom spends most of her time weaving her baskets and selling them in the market, and I’m so busy working with the sick in the temple that I never get to see them.”  Amanda huffed and played with her hair again.

            “Gee, Amanda, I’m sorry.”  Casimer shook his head.  “At least you get to see them in the evenings, right?”

            Amanda looked to her right and sighed.  “Yeah, I guess.” 

            Casimer frowned, perplexed by her sudden distant and peculiar sigh.  It wasn’t the sigh of somebody who was disheartened.  Rather, it was a longing sigh, a sigh of desire.  Casimer followed the direction of Amanda’s smoky, golden brown eyes and rested his vision upon the same boy who had helped him get past the guards.

            He nudged Amanda’s elbow with his own.  “Who’s that guy?”  He asked, his brow furrowed with intrigue.

            Amanda just shrugged.  “No idea.”

            Casimer glared at her.  “What do you mean you have no idea?  You’ve never seen this guy before and you’re just staring at him all googly-eyed?”  He chided her in a hushed whisper.  His fist was clenched at his side, but he didn’t notice.  He never did.

            Amanda playfully slapped his arm.  “I have too seen him before!”  She ran her fingers through her hair then crossed her arms.  “I’ve seen him around for the past three years or so.  One day he just… Showed up out of nowhere.”  She shrugged and returned to her ogling.

            Casimer nodded insightfully.  “But you have no idea what his name is?  So you’ve been stalking him for the past three years?”

            Amanda slapped his arm again, a little harder.  “No!  I’ve just… Admired him.  From afar.”  She giggled and her fingers returned to her hair.  Casimer rolled his eyes and made a small, irritated grunt.

            The crashing of the classroom’s wooden door jerked the heads of everybody in the room.  A tall man wearing a silver mask that covered the left half of his face entered the room, slamming the door shut behind him.  He took a seat in the chair behind the teacher’s desk and folded his hands together.  His rich, honey amber eyes scanned the room around him.  His fine, shoulder length sable brown hair swirled with each turn of his head.  After an unsettlingly long moment of silence, he stood up and spoke.

            “Welcome, students,” he began, his voice deep and smooth.  “My name is Zak Iliev, and I will be your professor for this class on the history of Terrakia.  We’ll first discuss the significant historical events of the past fifty years, then move on to discussing cultures of ages past.”

            Zak continued his lecture as Casimer leaned towards Amanda.  “Why are we taking this class, again?”  He whispered, his mouth cupping his hand in her direction.

            “It’s interesting,” she whispered back.  “Pay attention, I don’t want to get on the teacher’s bad side.”

            “Well, not on the first day, at least…”  Casimer muttered under his breath.

            “… And does anyone know what event occurred roughly thirty years ago that set all of Terrakia into a new ruling era?”  Casimer’s attention snapped back to Zak’s lecture.

            Amanda tentatively raised her hand in the air.  Zak nodded at her and encouraged her to answer.  “Well, I believe that was when Emperor Zeke began his Conquest.”

            Zak nodded his head slowly.  “Exactly.  Thirty years ago, on the Carny Island nation, Zeke garnered support for a conquest of Terrakia’s nations.  This is the driving force of recent history, so we will focus on the events leading to Conquest, then focus on the war itself before we study anything else.” 

            Casimer yawned and looked past Amanda to the window at his left.  Outside the college, he spied the same guard who had given him trouble earlier.  The guard was squinting at the college and sneering.  For a moment, Casimer could have sworn that they made eye contact, and that the guard’s thin lips had peeled over his teeth in a grisly sneer.  As soon as he did, however, the guard turned on his heel and headed towards the marketplace.  Casimer shook his head and attempted to return his attention to Zak’s lecture, but he couldn’t escape the anxiety the guard had given him.

Home

 

Casimer and Amanda walked through the barren streets of Kaneele, sweat trickling down their necks in slow, lazy rivulets.  The sun had just begun its western descent but the heat remained relentless.  The cobblestone streets glistened with the light of the sun, reflecting the burning beams of light into Casimer’s eyes.  Amanda had just finished telling him a story about a man she had been taking care of at the temple when he turned to her, a drop of sweat running down his cheek.

            “Pretty hot for Sun’s Descent, huh?”  He chuckled, wiping the sweat from his cheek with the back of his hand.

            Amanda nodded and wiped some sweat off her brow.  “Yeah, probably the hottest in years.”  She groaned, straightening the front of her light blue dress.  The sapphire blue surcoat was fastened to her dress with leather strips.  It hugged her chest like a corset.

            Casimer kicked a small rock down the street, watching it skip over the cobblestone with dead, distant eyes.  Amanda studied him, her eyes squinted with concern.  Suddenly, he turned to her, as if sparked to life by an electric shock.

            “Hey, did you have to deal with any guards outside the college earlier?”  He asked, his eyes deep and curious.

            “No, I don’t remember seeing any guards when I got to the college,” she shook her head, frowning.  “Why do you ask?”

            “There was this group of guards outside when I got to the college,” Casimer muttered, scratching the back of his head.  “I have no idea what they were doing, but I couldn’t escape this… Feeling about one of them”

            Amanda just stared at Casimer for a moment, then broke out in uproarious laughter.  She clutched her stomach and gasped loudly for air, but found herself unable to control her ceaseless laughter.  Casimer’s eyes narrowed and his lips twisted into a confused frown.  “What’s so funny?”  He demanded.

            “Nothing, nothing,” she began, her wild laughter slowing down.  “I just never pictured you having a crush on an Imperial Guard.”  Amanda tried to stifle more laughter, but to no avail.

            It took Casimer a moment to register what she meant, but once he understood, his face twisted with disgust.  “No!  Not the kind of feeling I was talking about!”  Casimer shouted in protest.  “It was more like a… Nervousness, I guess.”

            Amanda managed to contain her laughter and looked at Casimer inquisitively.  “Nervousness?  About what?”

            “I have no idea.”  Casimer pondered, his eyes drifting towards the street again.

            The duo continued to stroll down the street, passing the occasional guard or group of children at play.  The road came to a fork with a general store sitting on the corner between the roads.  There were doors to the store available at either road and a battered sign hung from the roof at the corner of the road.  It read, on the painted golden yellow background “The Glowing Elf Trading Post”.  Beneath the name was an image of an overly pointy-eared elf with a sickly yellow skin tone holding a half-eaten mushroom.  The elf’s eyes were half closed in a pleasant and suggestive daze.  As Casimer and Amanda approached the general store, Amanda’s eyes lit up with a nostalgic glimmer.  She turned to Casimer and pulled on his arm, dragging him towards the shop.

            “Casimer!  Do you remember when we were children and we would come to this shop?” 

            He looked up at the weathered sign and his cheeks lit up with a grin.  “Of course I do,” he reminisced.  “We would use the coins Granny Velma gave us and we’d each buy a slice of honey cake.”  Just thinking about the sweet cake topped with roasted, honeyed almonds made Casimer’s mouth water.

            “Come on!  Let’s get some cake!”  Amanda grinned childishly and urged him towards the shop. 

            Casimer chuckled and shook his head.  “I would if I could, but I’ve got to be getting back to Granny Velma soon.” 

            Amanda’s lips fell into a fake pout and she crossed her arms in front of her chest.  “Don’t you want to take me on a date, Casimer?”  She shook her head and sighed.  “I was giving you every opportunity to, ya know.”

            “What?!”  Casimer exclaimed, his cheeks flushing a dark red.  “I mean, y-yeah!  Let’s go!”  Casimer reached into his pocket and pulled a few copper coins out of his coin purse.  Amanda giggled and shook her head at Casimer, turning around and heading back the way they came.

            “You’re so easy to fluster, Casimer,” Amanda laughed, walking back towards her house.  “Come on, let’s go home.” 

            Casimer’s heart was racing as he looked at the cobblestone street, processing what just happened.  He gave himself a moment to regain his composure before he jogged to catch up with Amanda, who was a ways ahead of him.  As they walked back to Amanda’s house, Casimer couldn’t help but smile.  Despite the heat and his apprehension towards the guard he encountered earlier, Amanda’s presence cleared his mind of such negativity.  He smiled as she told him the story of how her father burned himself on the oven last week, all the while walking as slow as he could to extend his time with her.

 

 

 

 

            Casimer left the bakery with a large cedar basket full of bread.  He thanked Mr. Diarmaid and took off down the streets, hurrying back to The Common Cup Inn before the late afternoon rush could begin.  His boots clicked against the cobblestone as he strode passed the crowd of afternoon shoppers in the marketplace.  Casimer noticed a mother frantically trying to tear her young daughter away from a vendor selling sweets and pastries.  He chuckled under his breath and made his way to the front door of the inn.

            Even before he opened the door, Casimer noticed something was out of place.  The inn exuded an uncanny silence that Casimer didn’t recognize.  The only thing he could hear from behind the oak door was the faint sound of whimpering and crying.  Casimer yanked the door open and ran into the inn as it crashed behind him. 

            The Common Cup Inn was a pitiful mess.  The stools at the bar had been flung across the room and were lying on the floor in splinters.  Tankards of mead had been thrown to the ground, spilling their contents upon the yellow and red rug on the floor.  On the bar, a small, cracked cask was still spilling warm ale all over the wooden bar.  Several pieces of artwork that had once decorated the walls of the inn were now strewn upon the floor, torn and shredded.  Several goat horn candle sconces were even knocked to the floor, their flames extinguished.

            In the center of the room, Granny Velma sat on her knees, her legs on either side of her.  Her hands rested on her face, stifling her whimpers and cries.  Tears were streaming down the sides of her face and her hair rested in a wispy mess around her head.  The man Casimer had spoken to earlier that morning was kneeling beside her, his arms around her shoulders as he attempted to console her.  Velma merely shook her head and continued to cry.

            Casimer’s eyes were wide open and he could feel his slow, heavy pulse in his temples.  He placed the basket of bread on the floor beside him and slowly began running to Granny Velma, his legs heavy and slow like molasses.  He dropped to his knees in front of her, grabbed her shoulders, and, pulling her head onto his shoulder, held her in a close hug. 

            “Gods, Granny Velma, what happened here?”  Casimer whispered, softly rubbing Velma’s back.  Casimer’s eyes fell upon a picture sitting in a broken frame.  It once depicted a ship sailing upon the light blue sea, but there was now a hole punched into the ship’s hull and the frame holding the picture had been fractured and strewn about the floor.

            Velma was whimpering too hard to respond, her body shaking up and down with her breaths and cries.  The man who had been comforting Velma knelt beside Casimer and placed his large, meaty hand on Casimer’s shoulder.  Casimer looked up at the man, his electric blue eyes swirling with anger and confusion.

            “The guards, boy,” The man began, his voice deep and rumbling.  “They sacked this place.  I’m so sorry, lad…”  His voice trailed off and he headed towards the stairwell, where a rested Mr. Habar was looking on. 

            Casimer held Velma’s face in his hand, wiping her tears away with his thumbs.  He stared into her wet, olive eyes, his brow wrinkled towards the center of his face, his forehead creasing in long, horizontal lines.  Velma stared back into Casimer’s eyes and managed to slow her tears and whimpers down to occasional tears and little sniffles.  After she had composed herself enough she reached up and ran her hand against Casimer’s left cheek.  Casimer could feel her wrinkled fingers run against his own smooth skin.  He offered her a sympathetic smile.

            “Granny Velma…” He began, unable to find the rights words.  “Why would they do this?”  His eyes watered up with tears and his lip curled downwards, into a trembling frown.

            She held his face in her hands and shook her head, sniffling.  “The men, t-they wanted their drinks for free.”  Velma whimpered, her tears drying on her cheeks as a few lone tears drifted down Casimer’s cheeks.  “When I told them they had to p-pay, they accused me of trying to incite a r-rebellion!”

            Velma began to weep again, tears pouring from her eyes like streams.  Tears crawled down Casimer’s cheeks as he held Velma’s face near his own.  He looked deep into her olive eyes and whispered.

            “Did they hurt you?”  His voice was husky and shaken badly.

            “W-what?”  She mumbled, whimpering.

            “Did those bastards lay a finger on you?”  Casimer’s electric blue eyes appeared dark to Velma, who swore she could see them growing cloudy, like the sky before a storm.

            Velma shook her head, nearly dazed.  “No, but,” she began, suddenly coming to a tear-filled revelation.  She pointed to a broken portrait lying in front of the hearth.  “They d-destroyed Sarkus and Oscar!”  She cried between tears and whimpers.  Casimer stood and walked to the hearth, wiping a few tears from his cheek.  He lifted the punctured image and stared at it, mindless.  It had once depicted an image of a young man and his older father, both looking nearly identical.  The elder had hair like coal, peppered with specks of grey and a goatee of matching color.  His hickory brown eyes were stern and deep-set, but his son’s eyes were not.  They were a warm cinnamon with flakes of a darker chocolate set into gentle, round eyes.  The younger man had the same hair and facial structure as his father but he had no facial hair.  They both wore fine, black and red velvet and leather tunics with white fur cloaks.  The tunics were fastened to their hips by black leather belts with buckles on the fronts.  Casimer found himself unable to take his eyes off of the unfamiliar men in the portrait.

            Leif Habar had moved from the stairwell to help Velma stand.  He helped walk her over to Casimer, who was still fixedly examining the men in the portrait, as if he hadn’t seen it in all of his seventeen years living with Velma.  Leif glanced at the portrait, then at Velma. 

            “Who’re the people in the picture?”  He asked, his voice shaky from his lingering hangover.

            Velma smiled remorsefully and sighed.  “The young man was to be my husband once.  The older gentleman was his father.”

            “So then they’re…”  Leif started, his eyes nervously darting around the floor.

            “Yes, Leif,” Velma sighed.  “They’re dead.”  Velma took the portrait from Casimer and sat down in a chair beside the glowing hearth.  “The elder here, Sarkus, built The Common Cup Inn when he was a young man.  He ran it for nearly thirty years before he passed.  I had been working for him for about four or five years before his son, Oscar, and I were married.  Unfortunately, Sarkus passed three years after that, Oscar followed him some four years later.”

            Velma began crying again, her tears falling onto the tattered fabric of her husband’s portrait.  “Sarkus had no heirs left, and Oscar and I never had children, so ownership of the inn fell to me.  I’ve been taking care of it ever since.”  Her whimpering became sobbing as she clutched the broken portrait to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks in fountains.  Casimer ran to her and held her close as she wept bitterly.  “The inn is all I have of him!  It’s the only memento I have left!”

            Leif left Velma and Casimer to comfort each other and headed to the man at the stairwell.  After a brief silence, they both agreed to start helping Velma clean up the inn.  Leif found a rag behind the bar counter and used it to clean up the spilled ale from the cask.  The man collected the splinters from the bar stools and took them outside to toss them away. 

            After a few minutes, Velma wiped her eyes and smiled at Casimer and he did his best to fake a smile.  She rubbed his cheek with her thumb and kissed his forehead before standing up.  “Thank you Casimer, I’m feeling a little better now.”

            “What do we do now?”  Casimer asked, his voice shaken and low.

            “Now,” Velma began with a chuckle.  “We fix this place up and carry on as if nothing happened.”  She went into the kitchen and grabbed more rags for Leif.  Casimer sat on the floor for a minute, baffled by Velma’s apathy.

            Casimer looked around at the ruined inn and Velma and the two regulars trying to fix all the damage the guards had left.  He looked down at his clenched fist and grunted softly.  Slowly, he took a deep breath and released it, then ran his hands through his soft blonde hair.  Casimer stood up and headed towards the door, opening it and calling out to Velma.

            “Hey, Granny Velma, I’m going to go to the Diarmaid’s and ask them for some help cleaning up the inn.”

            Velma thanked him and waved her hand at him.  Casimer nodded and strode off to Amanda’s house, his fists clenched still.  He could feel his face going red as he walked, but he didn’t care.  “Who in the hell do these Imperial scumbags think they are…”  Casimer thought, his fists ever-tightening.  He tried to shake the thought away, but all he could think about on the walk was how good a rebellion truly sounded to him.

 

 

 

 

            “Tomorrow morning, Rachelle and I will go to the carpenter and get you some new barstools.”  Mr. Diarmaid told Velma, washing up the bar counter with a wet rag.  “I believe the merchant down at The Green Quill came into some new pieces of artwork, so we can get some new pieces to liven the place up some.”  He grinned at Velma and chuckled.  “Might even be able to repair that portrait!”

            Velma smiled and thanked him as she brought a new cask of ale onto the clean bar counter.  Rachelle, Mr. Diarmaid’s wife, brought two clean mugs for the counter and placed them next to her husband.  Her fingers were long and slender, and there was a modest, silver ring with a gold amber topaz gemstone embalmed on one of them.  Her arms were frail and thin and matched her skinny frame.  Her hair was a wiry, stringy brownish blonde and her eyes were deep-set, sunken, and some shade of brown like burnt pecans.  Her thin lips peeled over her teeth when she smiled.

             “If you need anything, just let us know, dear.”  Rachelle smiled, squeezing Velma in a stiff hug. 

            “Thank you, everyone,” Velma said, her wrinkled cheeks pulled into a great smile.  “If we can ever repay you in any way, please don’t hesitate to-”

            She was interrupted by the booming laughter of Mr. Diarmaid.  “Nonsense, Velma,” he blared, his large, meaty hands gripping his burly stomach.  “We’re your friends!  We’re here to help whenever you need it!”

            His wife chimed in her agreement and turned to her husband.  “Should we get going, Lucjan?”  She whispered, her hands on his shoulders.  “You had some bread in the oven, remember?”

            Lucjan’s chocolate eyes lit up and he quickly excused himself to the door.  “Sorry again for the mess, and please feel free to visit us should you be needing anything!”   He called as he ran out the door, leaving Rachelle and Amanda behind.

            Rachelle chuckled to herself and hugged Velma, kissing her on the cheek.  “Take care, hon.  And please come visit some time!  I’ll brew some tea and we can have some lady time!”

            Velma thanked her and agreed to consider her offer.  After the door closed behind Rachelle, Velma strode over to Casimer and Amanda, who were sweeping near the hearth.

            “Ah, Amanda, going to go join your parents?”  Velma inquired, her eyes soft and friendly. 

            Amanda glanced over at Casimer, who was subtly shaking his head.  “Uh… No, Ms. Foss, I think I’m going to, uh, stay here for a bit.”  She muttered, the ends of her lips pulled into a confused frown.  Velma chuckled and headed into the kitchen to prepare a bowl of potato soup for the late night customers.  Once Velma had left, Amanda hit Casimer on the arm and glared at him.

            “Would you mind telling me what’s so important that I can’t go home with my family?”  She demanded, her lips pulled into a full frown and her golden brown eyes glaring at him with a fiery glow.

            Casimer glanced around the bar and, seeing no one, whispered into Amanda’s ear.  “I can’t talk about it here.  Come on,” he said, grabbing a lantern from the ground near the hearth.  “We’ll go to the old Kinley Farm and talk there.”

            Amanda looked at Casimer, puzzled and intrigued, then shook her head.  “Sure, let’s go.”  She conceded, shrugging.  Casimer led the way to the door and held it open for her.

            “Hey, Granny Velma,” he called, already out the door.  “Amanda and I are going to chop some wood for the hearth.  We’ll be back in the evening!”  With the slam of the door, Amanda and Casimer left The Common Cup Inn without waiting for so much as an ‘okay’ from Velma.

The Barn

 

From their perch in one of the apple trees that lined what remained of the Kinley Farm, Amanda and Casimer watched the sun slowly descend past the sea of grain and corn that filled the farmlands to the west of Kaneele.  The fading sunlight painted the skyline with hues of blood orange and reddish violet.  Casimer hung his lantern on one of the branches and lit the candle inside the glass frames with a match.  The faint orange glow from the lantern only grew stronger as the sun continued to set. 

            Amanda picked two red apples from the branch beneath her and tossed one to Casimer, who was sitting on the branch above her and to her left.  She took a bite from the crunchy, tart fruit and looked up at Casimer.

            “So,” she began, with a mouthful of juicy apple.  “What’s so important that you couldn’t tell me at the inn?”

            Casimer swallowed and looked down, his brow ruffled and his eyes focusing on nothing.  After a moment of silence, he locked eyes with Amanda.  His eyes glowed with the light from the lantern, the electric blue acquiring a darker, more serious tone.

            “Somebody has to stop them,” he started, trailing off.  Amanda’s eyebrow rose as she cocked her head to the side, waiting for him to continue.  Unwittingly, her fingers began twirling her single lock of blonde hair.  “These soldiers are thugs and criminals!  They’re supposed to keep us safe, but they keep us living in fear…”

            “Shtop them?”  Amanda asked, apple juice dribbling down her chin.  After swallowing her mouthful of apple, she scratched her head.  “What do you mean?”

            A determined grin grew on Casimer’s lips, the lantern casting dark circles under his eyelids.  “I’m going to liberate Kaneele.”

            Amanda met Casimer’s eyes with her own and was nearly taken aback by the dark and sinister glow they had taken.  “Gods, you’re serious!” Amanda scoffed, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised to her forehead. 

            “Of course I am!”  Casimer affirmed, the grin growing on Casimer’s face.  “Will you help me?”

            Immediately, Amanda broke out into hysterical laughter, forcing the resting birds to flee from their nests higher in the tree.  “If I had all the time in the world, I would never be able to list the reasons you could never liberate the city!” Amanda chuckled as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. 

            “How hard can it be,” Casimer scoffed, taking a bite of his fresh, red apple.  “All I have to do is get some people to fight off the Imperial Guard and we’re free!”

            “‘Some people’?  You seem to be underestimating Zeke’s trained soldiers,” Amanda noted, her fingers running through her hair.  “Besides, what makes you so sure you can find anyone who’s interested in freeing Kaneele?”

            “There’s plenty of talk at the inn!”  Casimer protested, spitting small apple chunks.  “I could start a small rebellion right now, and I could grow it over the next few weeks!”

            “Okay, let’s pretend you actually managed to liberate Kaneele, and you can’t, may I remind you,” Amanda lectured, dropping her half-eaten apple to the ground.  Her golden brown eyes bore into Casimer like a hot iron.  “You can’t possibly expect Zeke to just sit by, idling his time away while you steal his land.”

            “I would be reclaiming it, not stealing it!”

            “I don’t think Zeke is going to see it that way.”

            “So, what, I should just let the soldiers walk all over us?”

            “Well, no, but-”

            “But what?”  Casimer interrupted, his face slightly red.  “These animals are going to walk all over us until we do something about it!  I’m sick of waiting for someone to come and save our city!  I’ll do it myself if I have to!”

            Amanda stared at Casimer in silence, her lips pulled into a riled pout.  After a few moments, she finally spoke.  “If you want to end up at the end of a guard’s lance like Mr. Kinley, then I suppose that’s your business.”  With a dramatic huff, she leapt off the tree branch.  “I don’t want any part of that, though.”

            Casimer scurried down the tree in a hurry, trying to catch up to Amanda’s angry strides.  “Are you really this mad because I want to free my city?”

            Amanda swiveled around and gave Casimer a warning shove.  “No,” She began, her angry, furrowed brow returning to normal.  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt doing something so…” She trailed off.

            “Stupid?  Idiotic?  Boobish?”  Casimer suggested, finishing her sentence.

            She chuckled and gave him a tender smile.  “How about reckless?”

            Casimer nodded.  “Suits me well, I think.”

            Amanda chuckled again and gently pulled on Casimer’s arm.  “Come on, let’s go home.  My parents are going to start to wonder where I am.”

            “Sure, I’m just going to head to the barn and pick up some firewood first.”  Casimer nodded, pointing behind him to the rotted wood heap of a barn.

            “I’ll come with you,” Amanda smiled, taking the lantern from him.  “After all, you’ll need someone to carry the lantern.”  She gave Casimer a wink and started strolling to the dilapidated, wood barn, leaving him shaking his head.

 

 

 

 

            The old, ramshackle barn sat in the middle of the farm, surrounded on all sides by irregular fields of apple trees, corn, and grain.  The peeling reddish brown paint gave view to the rotten, vile wood beneath.  The roof was missing large sections of tiling, leaving the inside of the barn exposed.  As Casimer neared the neglected building, he could see a strong orange glow coming from the window pane above the large, brown double doors.  Gently nudging Amanda’s side, he pointed to the window and whispered.

            “What do you suppose that light is?”  The words left his lips in gentle huffs.

            “Probably just some local kids playing,” Amanda shrugged, continuing her strut to the barn.  “Come on, I want to be home before it gets too dark.”

            “I don’t know, Amanda,” he muttered as he trudged behind her, his eyes examining the barn from end to end.  “Something feels off.”

            Shaking her head, Amanda made her way to the large, weathered doors.  The paint was chipped off, but one could still see flakes of the once reddish ochre paint. 

            “You always have a bad feeling,” Amanda chuckled, placing her hand on the rusted, iron door handle.  “Now how about you help me open this door so we can get home, huh?”  As she gripped the handle tighter, Amanda felt rust shavings scrape onto her hands, coating them with their burnt orange chalk.

            Chuckling, Casimer grabbed the handle with Amanda, the same chalk rubbing itself into his palms.  “Touché, Amanda.  How much firewood do yo-” he stopped midsentence, the small grin fading from his face.

            Glancing over at him, Amanda put her hand on his arm.  “Are you okay, Casimer?” She asked, looking at him.  Her brow furrowed and she fought against the urge to twist her hair with her slender fingers. 

            Casimer held up a finger and pressed his ear to the musty, wooden door, the flakes of paint clinging to his cheek.  Straining to hear out of his left ear rather than the right, Casimer gently closed his eyes and held his breath, praying to the gods they would let him hear what he thought he heard.

            From inside the barn, Casimer could hear two men speaking with great gusto.  The first spoke with deep and smooth clarity, such that Casimer could practically make out exactly what he was saying.

            “We need more –pons, Alld.  How fast –an you for- them?”

            The second voice was powerful and gruff, and it practically rumbled the entire barn.  There was no need for Casimer to strain himself to hear the boisterous Glacydilian; he was loud enough to be heard from outside.

            “It’s very hard with such a small forge and such… ah, strict, government regulations.  I’ll need a more private area if I’m going to fill this order.”

            “Of course.  Perhaps we could set up a –ew fo- here.  You –an work in pri- when you can.”

            “Anything for the revolution.”

            Casimer stepped back from the door, his eyes wide and breathing heavy.  Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, soaking into his collar, and forcing the hairs on his to stand on edge.  With a thud, Casimer fell to the ground, covering his pants with a thin coat of dirt and grass.

            Amanda grabbed his hands and lifted him back to his feet, helping him regain his composure.  She gently placed her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes, concerned.  “What’s the matter Casimer?  Do you need to see a physician or an alchemist?”

            Shaking his head slowly, Casimer motioned to the barn with a limp toss of the arm.  “There are no kids in that barn, Amanda,” he began, his eyes pointed to the ground, yet focused on nothing at all.  “There’s a rebellion in there.”

            Cursing under her breath, Amanda frowned and tugged on Casimer’s sleeve.  “Come on,” she whispered, motioning to the town.  “If we head home now, we can pretend we never heard anything.”

            “Why would we leave now?”  Casimer asked, grinning from cheek to cheek.  “This makes everything so much easier!”

            “What are you talking about?”  Amanda shouted under breath, glaring at Casimer as a flicker of fire burned from her eyes.  “If the city guards ever find out we were here, we’ll be killed!”

            “Exactly why they won’t find out we were here.”  Casimer assured with a sly wink.  He grabbed the iron door handles and looked over his shoulder at Amanda.  “Now are you going to help me open this door or not?”

            “No!”  Amanda hissed, her impatience raising the volume of her voice.  “We’re leaving now, Casimer!”

            “You can leave if you want,” Casimer snapped, fire burning in his own eyes as he stared down Amanda.  “But I’m going inside this barn and joining this rebellion.”

            Amanda scoffed and shook her head.  “What makes you think they’d even let you join?”  The stern look fell off Casimer’s face as one eyebrow rose higher than the other while he tilted his head.  Amanda chuckled in self-satisfaction.  “You’re hardly seventeen, Casimer.  I’m sure most, if not all, of the people in there are going to be adults in their twenties and thirties.  They probably don’t want to hang out with a teenager all day.”

            “I never really thought of that…” Casimer mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  A grin crept over Amanda’s face, but quickly became an unamused frown.  “Not my problem, though!  I’m going to join this rebellion if it’s the last thing I do!”

            “It just might be the last thing you do, you idiot…”  Amanda grumbled, twisting her hair in stress.  “Why do you want to do this so badly, Casimer?” She pleaded, her voice heavy and soft.  “Aren’t you worried about what could happen?”

            Casimer nodded, his mouth twisted in a half smile of sympathy.  “Of course I am, Amanda.  I know how Zeke responds to rebels… Mr. Kinley was too real an example of that…”

            Twirling her blonde hair between her fingers, Amanda shook her head.  “Then why do you want to become a rebel?  You’re just going to get yourself killed, you know.”

            “Maybe,” Casimer began, staring into the light of the lantern, his voice airy and distant.  “But I owe it to people like Granny Velma to try and bring this city some peace.”  He chuckled and shook his head, scratching the back of his head.  “I mean, she gave me everything I have, so the least I can do is give it all back for her sake.”

            Amanda gave Casimer a gentle smile, followed by a close hug.  “I understand,” she whispered, releasing him from their embrace.  “If it’s what you feel you need to do, there’s nothing I can do to stop you, I guess.”

            “Thanks, Amanda,” he began, smiling brightly at her.  “I-”

            “Don’t misunderstand me, though,” Amanda interrupted, her eyes locked onto his.  “I want nothing to do with this.”  Casimer nodded his head quickly, his eyes wide and innocent.

            Smiling, Amanda waved her hand and began walking towards the city.  “Well, I’m going home, then.  Have fun in there!”  She grinned, shooting him a wink.  They both broke out into subdued giggles as Amanda picked up the lantern and swiveled around on her heel.  The giggling, however, was cut short, as Amanda walked right into the chest of a boy dressed in all black wool.  Amanda gasped and dropped the lantern to the ground with a metallic crash.

            The boy pushed the soot black, mid-shoulder length hair out of his face and menacingly grinned from the corner of his mouth.  “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”  He asked, his voice cold and monotone.  “Quite the night for spying, wouldn’t you say?”

            “Wh-what?”  Amanda stuttered, staring into the boy’s deep, ashen eyes.  “We were j-just…” 

            “Don’t hurt yourself,” the boy began, glancing over at Casimer.  “And what about you?  Do you enjoy doing the Imperials’ dirty work?”

            Casimer scrunched his brow as he studied the boy’s face.  “You’re that guy… The one from the college!”  He shouted, his eyes lighting up as he recognized the boy. 

            The boy nodded, rolling his eyes.  “Well, there are lots of ‘guys’ from the college, but I do seem to recall helping you out of some guard trouble, though I can now see that I was mistaken.”

            Amanda shook her head, awe-stricken by being so close to her crush of three years.  “What are you talking about?  What do you want from us?”

            The boy pulled a thin, steel longsword from the holster on his hip and pointed it at Amanda and Casimer.  “You spies are now the prisoners of the People’s Liberation Rebellion of Kaneele.”  Casimer and Amanda looked at each other and gulped as they were led into the barn as the large, rotted ochre doors of the barn opened before them.

People's Liberation Rebellion

 

A great, orange fire in the middle of the barn lit up the faces of two hundred men and women, each staring at Casimer and Amanda in rage and confusion, murmuring amongst themselves.  In front of the crowd, two men stood, facing the incomers, their faces stoic and stern.  The man on the left was much larger than the man on the right.  He had thick, shoulder length white blonde hair and bright, sky blue eyes which studied Casimer and Amanda inquisitively.  He wore a ragged, sleeveless blacksmith’s tunic, and Amanda could see the scars and tribal tattoos that covered his arms, twisting from shoulder to wrist, like writhing snakes.  A long, straight scar covered his squat nose in a line from cheek to cheek.  He glanced at the smaller man on his side, as if looking for guidance.

            The man on the right studied the two prisoners with rich, honey amber eyes.  His lips were thin and pursed tightly as he examined the situation, practically communicating wordlessly with the boy who brought Casimer and Amanda into the prison.  His fine, sable brown hair reached to his shoulders and flitted about whenever he moved his head. 

            “Why have you brought these two here?”  The smaller man asked, his voice muffled by the silver mask covering the left half of his face.  His eyes glared at the boy, stern and demanding.

            The boy cleared his throat and motioned to Casimer and Amanda.  “I caught them spying on us just outside.  I assume they are spying on us for the Imperial troops, so I’ve brought them here to face the rebellion’s justice!”  Some in the crowd cheered, raising their fists in the air, while others peered around the barn, hesitant to add to the growing tension.

            The tall man nodded his head and scratched his chin, as if considering which of the myriad of punishments the crowd ought to dole upon these villains.  Casimer looked around the room, taken aback by how many people were in this barn, plotting a rebellion.  Amanda, on the other hand, was fixedly staring at the man with the mask.  After a moment, her eyes lit up, and she snapped her fingers.

            “You’re Zak Iliev!”  Amanda shouted.  “You’re a professor at the College of the Arts.”

            The man in the mask chuckled and raised an eyebrow.  “That would be me.  You must be one of my students.”  He scratched his head, trying to recall her name.  “Er, Amanda, correct?”

            Amanda grinned and nodded.  “Yes!  We’re both your students at the College!”

            Casimer nodded his eager confirmation.  “Yeah!  If we’re students, then we couldn’t be spies, right?  Why would an Imperial want to be at the College, anyway?”  The crowd murmured, considering Casimer’s point, much to the dismay of Casimer and Amanda’s captor, who grunted his growing discontent.

            “I imagine the bastard Imperials would like to infiltrate the College to keep tabs on its professors.”  The taller man boomed in the thick, nasal accent of the Northern Glacydilians.  He crossed his arms and flexed, sending the snake-like tattoos on his arms on a wavy dance.

            Zak nodded, crossing his arms as well.  “That’s true.  Being students doesn’t mean you’re not spies.”  Glancing between Casimer and Amanda, he grinned from the corner of his mouth and turned to the crowd.  “Can any here speak for the integrity of the accused?”  He shouted into the crowd.  His voice echoed around the barn, demanding the attention of everybody present.

            There was a hushed silence from the crowd for a few seconds.  The only sound Amanda and Casimer could hear was the soft snicker of their captor.  A warm bead of sweat crept down Casimer’s neck, dampening his collar.

            “That’sh Granny Velmer’s kid…” Slurred a lone voice from the back corner of the barn.  The crowd began to part as a drunken figure staggered to confront Zak, bumping into the occasional rebel with a grunt.  “A-yup,” The man confirmed, spilling his tankard of ale as he pointed to Casimer.  “That’sh Casimer.”

            “And who are you, sir?” Zak questioned, eyeballing the drunken mess before him. 

            “Mr. Habar!” Casimer interrupted. His grin stretched from cheek to cheek.  “Er, Leif, I suppose.”

            Leif staggered backwards, spilling more ale onto his coarse, yellow tunic.  “That’s shme awlright!”  He hiccoughed.  “He worksh at the Common Cup wif ‘is moffer.  That’sh Granny Velmer.”  He mumbled with his eyes half shut.  Some of the crowd murmured amongst themselves, debating the validity of Leif’s claim.

            The tall man beside Zak furrowed his brow and stared at Leif with narrowed eyes.  “How, do you know that, exactly?”  He bellowed.  Zak nodded his head in agreement, urging Leif to explain.

            “I’m alwaysh there.” Leif mumbled, stumbling into the crowd.  There were cries of anger as he spilled more ale over himself and the mob.  “Got noffun else to do ‘sides drink.” He spat.  The crowd watched in pity as Leif tripped over his own feet, landing on a thin veil of yellow hay covering the dirt floor.

            Zak shook his head and turned to Casimer, who glanced back with a shrug.  “Granny Velma and I figure he’ll be safer with us looking over him.” He explained moving forward to help Leif up.

            The dark haired captor raised his longsword and pointed it at Casimer.  “Don’t move, prisoner!” He shouted, his eyes narrowing, honing in on his target.  Zak held up a hand and with a look of wide-eyed shock, the boy sheathed his blade.  He looked at Zak and mouthed ‘why?’ as Casimer picked Leif up and helped him to stand.

            Zak looked at his taller companion and gave him a knowing nod.  Turning to the crowd he spoke in a low and booming shout.  “It is my opinion that Leif is telling the truth.”  The crowd murmured amongst itself, but silenced when Zak raised his hand and continued his speech.  “Leif represents what Zeke’s rule brings all of us: ruin!  It is clear that Casimer has given aid to one of us, in a time of great need.  If he shows one of us such compassion, how can we deny it to him?  I say we let the boy join our ranks!”  There was a cheer from some in the crowd and even Leif raised his tankard in a salute of victory.

            The dark haired boy groaned and rolled his eyes.  “So perhaps the boy isn’t a spy for the Imperials, but what about the girl?  Nobody has spoken for her!”  Amanda gasped and furrowed her brow at him, incredulous at the accusation.

            “If she came in with Casimer, I imagine that he will speak for her integrity.”  The Glacydilian man boasted.  He gave Casimer a nod and raised his eyebrows, his sky blue eyes pushing Casimer to testify.

            Casimer cleared his throat and pointed towards Amanda.  “Well, she’s been my best friend for about as long as I can remember, and she’s never really been sympathetic to the soldiers.  She’s a priestess at the Temple of Divinity, too!”

            Raising an eyebrow to the man beside him, Zak scratched his chin and looked at Amanda.  “A priestess?  So you’re rather religious, then?”

            “Not really,” Amanda mumbled, shaking her head.  “I’m more of a healer, less of a priestess.”  She shrugged and eyed the dark haired boy with uncertainty as he drummed his fingers on the handle of his sword.

            The Glacydilian man scratched his chin and gave Zak a subtle grin, which Zak was eager to return.  Zak raised his hand and motioned to Amanda.  “You’ve heard it for yourselves, she’s a healer!  And with her help, we can rid this country of its Imperial infection!”  The crowd roared in approval and raised their fists to the sky, where the embers of the great fire rose, sending hundreds of bright orange sparks up through the air.

 

 

 

 

            “… Let’s all meet back here next week to begin formal combat training.”  Zak concluded his speech to the crowd, scratching the back of his head.  “Alld should have made us some more weapons by then,” he motioned to the Glacydilian man at his side, who nodded and crossed his arms.  “So we should be able to begin the basics of handling our weapons.”

            After one final cheer, the crowd began to leave the barn in small groups of ten.  The great fire had begun to die and it spewed fewer embers through the stiff air of the barn.  As the crowd dispersed, Zak and Alld gathered by the dying firelight.  Alld pulled a letter from the breast pocket of his white, cotton shirt, and began to point at it, referencing something for Zak.

            “Do you want to get going?”  Casimer asked Amanda as he stretched his arms.  “I imagine your parents are worried about you.”

            She merely nodded and pointed towards Zak and Alld.  “Sure, I just need to ask Zak a couple of questions first.”  Casimer nodded and headed to the corner of the barn, where Mr. Kinley stored firewood.  Leif was lying down, passed out on the ground.  His head rested on the small wood chopping stump and his tankard of ale was completely spilled on the dirt beside him.  Casimer gave his shoulder a few nudges, trying to wake him, and then proceeded to toss what little ale remained in the tankard into Leif’s face.

            “Excuse me, Zak?”  Amanda called, her voice wavering.  She twisted her hair between her fingers.  Zak looked back at her and raised his eyebrows, urging her to continue wordlessly.

            She cleared her throat and folded her hands together.  “What’s the purpose of this rebellion?”

            Zak and Alld exchanged a quizzical, raised eyebrow before looking back at Amanda.  “What do you mean, Amanda?”  Alld asked in his gruff accent.  “We want to free our city from the control of Zeke’s oppressive forces!”

            Amanda shook her head continued to twist her hair around her finger.  “I know that, what I really meant was ‘where do you see the rebellion ending?’”

            “I think you already know the answer to that, Amanda.”  Zak explained, crossing his arms.

            “I suppose I do…”  Amanda trailed off with a sigh.  “You want to take this directly to Zeke in Kaneke.”

            Alld chuckled and placed his letter back in his breast pocket.  “It would be pointless to only free Kaneele.  Zeke’s forces would swarm our homes and kill us all.”

            “The only way to have true freedom is to end Zeke’s rule, completely.”  Zak finished.

            “Disestablishing an entire monarchy is impossible for two hundred untrained citizens, much less two hundred trained ones!”  Amanda protested, her golden brown eyes appearing heavy as her eyebrows squinted.  “I urge you to consider this all the way through!”

            Laughing, Alld patted Amanda on the shoulder.  His hands were firm but his touch gentle, though partially off-putting.  “Don’t worry, we’ve already considered that.  We have a plan for all of your concerns.”

            “Why don’t you go home and rest for the night?  Give your mind some time to relax.”  Zak added, stroking his chin.  “Come speak with me tomorrow after your classes if there’s anything left for us to discuss.”

            Amanda nodded and thanked them both, then shuffled to Casimer’s corner of the barn, where he was helping Leif onto his feet.  The drunk man stumbled and groaned, but, after some encouragement, was able to stand on his own.  Casimer waved to Amanda as she approached and started gathering some chopped firewood.

            “I wouldn’t want Granny Velma to think we were out doing something we shouldn’t.”  Casimer teased with a wink.  Amanda rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help cracking a smile.  Leif looked between the two of them and scratched the greasy, unkempt hair atop his head. 

            Casimer glanced over at Leif, then grimaced in concern.  “Let’s get out of here quick, Amanda.  I think Mr. Habar needs to get some rest before he throws up.”  Hearing his name, Leif gave a thumbs up, then placed his hands on his knees and hunched over slightly.  Amanda grabbed a rusty lantern from a hook on the wall and lit it with a candle the rested beside the lantern hook.  She led Casimer and Leif to the barn doors, then led them out into the dark night, guiding their way back to the city with the orange light from the lantern.

 

 

 

 

            The trio walked in a silence that was only broken by the sounds of the night.  The occasional screech of an owl above the rhythmic chirping of the crickets provided them a midnight ambience to accompany their stroll through the woods.  Before long, Leif had chimed into the cacophony as well with drunken renditions of ancient war songs.

To the sky, rise the battle cry

On this field the blood does dry

Steel meet steel, let the arrows fly

By this time, come morning, the king will die

            “Get him to shut up, Casimer!”  Amanda whispered harshly.  “We’re almost in the city and the guards can’t hear him singing that!”

             Casimer nodded and grabbed Leif by the arm.  “Hey, Mr. Habar, if you stop singing, I’ll have Granny Velma offer you a round of ale on the house when we get back to the inn.”

            Leif squinted at Casimer, scrutinizing the boy.  “A round of ale?  I dunno…”  He trailed off.  He lurched forward, then backward, then stumbled into a regular walk.  “Me ‘ed ish pounding.  It feelsh like it’s ‘bout to fall off!”

            “Well, how about this, then:  If you stay quiet until we’re back at the inn, then I’ll cook you a filling meal to make your head feel better?”  Casimer proposed with a nod and a toothy grin.  Leif scratched the greasy, brown hair on the back of his head, then nodded with drunken lethargy.

            “Pheasant wif garlic and herbsh?”  He asked with a grin.

            “If that’s what you want, sure.”  Casimer chuckled, shaking his head.  “But remember, you have to stay quiet!”

            The drunk nodded and brought his finger to his lips, promising Casimer his silence.  As they all approached the city streets, new voices were added to the midnight symphony.  The screeching owls became more infrequent, but they were replaced by the howling of stray cats searching for a late night meal from any scraps of trash they could find.

            Their footsteps echoed off the cobblestone streets as they trooped through the streets of Kaneele.  Hanging lanterns and suspended, wooden torches lit the empty streets, bathing them in their orange splendor.  Casimer grinned as he pointed to the Common Cup Inn at the side of the marketplace.

            “Look, Mr. Habar, we’re here!”  Casimer chuckled, patting the drunk on his sweaty back.  “Why don’t you go have Granny Velma pour you a drink?”

            Leif staggered towards the grey building while he muttered something about another round of booze, but he was stopped in his tracks as he bumped into a wall of maroon steel.  Leif fell to the ground with a thud while the Imperial guard glared down, his green-yellow eyes barrowing into the man’s soul.

            Nudging Leif with his lance, the guard looked at Casimer.  “What’s his problem?”  He grunted.  Casimer could see the guard’s yellowed teeth as the man grimaced, his face contorted into a disapproving frown.

            Shaking his head, Casimer strolled over to Leif, helping him to stand.  “Sorry, sir.  He’s drunk and he has no idea what he’s doing.”  Casimer apologized with a subtle bow.  Amanda twisted her strand of blonde hair between her fingers and gently bit her lower lip, her brow furrowing.

            With a grunt of pure disdain, the guard withdrew his lance to his side.  “Get him out of the damn streets, kid.”  The guard spat, his mouth contorted into a vile sneer.  “If he soils my armor, I’ll soil these streets with his blood.”

            Casimer and Amanda nodded and trudged to the Common Cup Inn’s large oak door.  Amanda glanced at Casimer and sighed.  “Is he going to be okay?”  She asked, glancing into Casimer’s electric blue eyes.

            He nodded and sighed as he opened the door and helped Leif into the inn.  “Yeah, he’ll be fine.”  Casimer chuckled and shook his head.  “He probably doesn’t even realize what just happened.”

            Amanda gave him a half smile, followed by a hug.  “Stay safe, Casimer.”

            “Yeah, you too, Amanda.”  He smiled, holding her in his arms for a moment.  “Walk safe, okay?”

            “Of course I will.”  She laughed, breaking their embrace.  “Have a good night, Casimer.”

            Amanda gave him a wave and walked off into the night before he had a chance to respond.  Casimer sighed as he closed the door.  “You too, Amanda.”

The Diarmaid Bakery

 

Beams of sunlight peaked through the tan, linen curtains of Amanda’s room.  They fell on her pale face and bathed her in the white glow of day.  Amanda groaned and buried her face under her pillow, but it was too late; the sun had disrupted an already fitful sleep and all she could do now was wake up.  With a groan, she rolled off her bed and threw open the curtains, lighting up her entire bedroom with the warm embrace of morning.

            Amanda filled her family’s small, wooden tub with water, then slowly sat in the tub, shivering.  “What I wouldn’t give to bathe in one of those hot springs in Frantel…”  She muttered to herself, lathering her arms with a bar of soap.

            She dunked her head into the water and soaked her hair, washing away the sweat and grease from yesterday.  Amanda held her breath as her hair floated about in the water, as if suspended without gravity.  Lifting her head out of the water, she took a deep breath of fresh air.  The scent of cooking ham, fresh bread, and sizzling eggs filled the bathroom with their mouthwatering aroma.  Amanda let out a sigh and began ringing droplets of water from her hair.

            Water splashed to the wood floor as Amanda stepped out of the tub.  Shivering, she grabbed her black, cotton towel and wrapped it around her body, savoring the warmth as she dried herself off.  After she pulled on her undergarments, she pulled on a loose, white, linen under-gown, followed by the Temple of Divinity’s hooded, light brown robes.  She fastened the thin black sash around her waist, then shimmied her body until the robes were loosened to her liking.  She made her way to the kitchen, but despite the tantalizing aroma of breakfast, her stomach refused to growl.  Rather, it felt weighed down, like a rock sinking to the bottom of the ocean, unable to bring itself back to the surface.

            “Good morning, Amanda!”  Her father boomed as she entered the kitchen.  He was wearing an egg stained apron and Amanda noticed a smear of flour on his right cheek which lightly coated his umber brown beard.  “Going to the temple before your classes, I see.”  He noted with a smile.

            Nodding, Amanda grabbed a wooden plate and placed a slice of ham, two eggs, and a slice of fresh bread on it.  “The head priestess is considering extending my training to include alchemy,” she explained, spreading a tart, homemade raspberry jam on her bread.  “I’ll be there in the mornings until the late evenings.”

            “Is that where you were last night?”  Amanda’s mom asked, entering the kitchen.  Her wiry hair was hidden by the hood of a grey knit shawl and a fussy toddler was squirming in her arms.  With a groan, she bent down and placed the child on the floor, letting him run around the kitchen table.

            “Yeah, the head priestess showed me some basic medicines and tonics.”  Amanda lied, lifting her brother up by his arms and placing him in the chair beside her.  “And what about you, Mani?  Did you enjoy your night at the temple?”  She smiled, ruffling his fair, amber hair.

            The child shook his head pounded his palms on the table.  Amanda’s father placed a plate of pre-cut food in front of the child, who proceeded to shove it into his mouth with his chubby fists.  Amanda looked to her mother as she bit into her slice of bread.  “What did the priest say about Mani?  Does he have Merinas’ Touch?”

            Rachelle shook her head and sat at the table, across from Amanda.  “If by that you mean ‘does he have healing powers like you’ then no, I’m afraid the priest saw nothing like that in Mani.”

            Amanda nodded her head and looked down at her plate and picked at the eggs with her fork.  She glanced between the members of her family enjoying their breakfast as her mind wandered to memories of the night before, when she and Casimer had met the People’s Liberation Rebellion.  A knot twisted in her stomach and she pushed her plate forward.

            Lucjan raised a bushy eyebrow and stared, his chocolate eyes weighing down upon her.  “Is something wrong, Amanda?  You’ve hardly eaten.”  He sighed and looked over at his wife, his eyes heavy.  “My cooking wasn’t that bad, right?”  His wife rolled her eyes and rubbed her temple with her slender fingers.

            “No, dad, it was delicious!”  Amanda insisted, shaking her head.  “I’m just nervous about starting alchemy today, that’s all!”

            “What do you have to be worried about?”  Rachelle scoffed, feeding Mani a small chunk of bread.  “You’re a natural at all of that healing magic.”

            “You’re mom’s right, you know.”  Lucjan joined in, taking a bite of juicy ham.  “You’ll do great today!”  Even Mani appeared to be giving Amanda a thumbs up as he shoved a piece of slimy egg into his mouth.

            Amanda gave a limp smile and stood up, leaving the table.  “Thanks for breakfast, dad, it was delicious.  I’ll probably see you all after my classes.”  She sighed and walked through the kitchen towards the house’s storefront.

            “I love you!”  Amanda’s dad called out to her from the kitchen.

            “Love you too!”  She turned back and shouted as she walked into the kitchen.  She didn’t notice the tall, dark haired boy standing in the center of the shop, browsing Lucjan’s assortment of breads and baked goods, and there was nothing to stop her as she ran into him.  Her face became buried in the black wool of his long sleeve tunic.  Screaming, she leaped away from him, her face blushing bright pink as she stammered an apology.

            With heavy bounds the shook the building, Lucjan burst into the storefront, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring.  “Are you okay, Amanda?”  He shouted, putting himself between her and the boy.  He immediately began poking the boy’s chest, pushing him back towards the door.  “Who are you?  What have you done to my daughter?!”

            The boy raised his dark eyebrows in confusion while Amanda patted her father’s arm, begging him to stop.  “No, dad, this is a customer!  I didn’t see him and he surprised me is all!”

            “Oh.”  Lucjan muttered, apologizing to the boy.  “Well, welcome to the Diarmaid Bakery!”

 

 

 

 

            “So, that’s a typical day at the Diarmaid Bakery, huh?”  The boy asked Amanda as they walked down the cobblestone streets of Kaneele.  The sun had already dispersed the early hues of pink and set the sky a bright, clear blue. 

            Amanda scoffed and crossed her arms.  “We don’t usually have customers during our breakfast.”  She scolded.  The streak of blonde in her hair whipped across cheek as she shook her head. 

            “Fair enough,” the boy mused as he scratched the back of his head.  “I just needed to speak with you.”

            His black eyes met hers as she gave him a skeptical glare, her eyes squinting as she studied him.  “I don’t even know your name, yet you know where I live?  Should I be calling a guard over?”

            The boy’s eyes grew wide and he pursed his lips.  “There may be a small possibility that I followed you and your boyfriend home from the barn last night.”  He confessed, his apricot skin blushing a slight pink.

            “First of all, Casimer’s not my boyfriend.  Secondly, that’s creepy.”  Amanda admonished, her eyebrows knit together and her face twisted into a grimace.  “You can’t just follow people around!”

            “I know, I know…”  The boy sighed throwing his hands up.  “I just… I wanted to apologize to you.”  He mumbled, looking at the ground as they walked.  Dirt and grime were caked between the cracks of cobblestone, but Amanda was too focused on his expressions to notice.

            She looked at the boy with a red blush painted on her cheeks and nose.  “Apologize?”  She repeated to herself.  Twisting her hair between her fingers, she nodded at the boy, urging him to continue.

            His fingers ran through the back of his soot black hair and his almond eyes darted around, looking for anything to lock gaze with besides Amanda.  “I’m sorry that I accused you of being an Imperial spy…” he muttered, digging the heel of his black leather boot into the cobblestone.  “I was wrong and… Well, I wanted you to know that I feel bad for it.”  He took a deep breath and looked Amanda in the eyes.

            Amanda opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.  Warmth radiated from his ash eyes, and she found herself lost in a daydream before she shook her head, roused from her mental vacation.  “Oh, well, if you really wanted to apologize, I suppose you could start by telling me your name.”

            With a chuckle, the boy gave a grateful nod, beginning to stroll down the street.  “My name’s Floyde.  It’s nice to meet you.”

            “Yeah, under better circumstances, at least.”  Amanda chuckled, following him down the street.  “So, did you just want to apologize or was there more you were hoping to talk about?”  She asked, staring up at him with a brow cocked.

            Floyde shrugged and dropped three copper coins into the open palm of a fruit vendor.  “Your family seemed… Interesting.”  He chuckled as he picked up a faded green pear.  He bit into the ripe flesh and stared at Amanda.

            Releasing an exasperated sigh and raising her eyebrows, Amanda scratched the back of her head.  “They’re characters, all right…”

            “That doesn’t sound good.”  Floyde noted, raising an eyebrow as juice dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

            “It’s nothing bad!  After all, they’re my family and I love them, but…”  Amanda paused as she bit her lip and knit her brows.  “Things haven’t been the same since mom got sick…”

            Staring at her with pear juice dribbling down his chin, Floyde coughed and swallowed his mouthful.  “She was sick?  How, uhm, bad was it?”

            “She was sick for maybe 5 months, but she got better about a month ago.”  She sighed and shook her head before clutching a streak of hair between her fingers.  “The healers couldn’t tell what was wrong with her.  They didn’t even think she’d live…”

            “Gods, I’m so sorry, Amanda.”  Floyde looked at the street and shook his head.  “Is that what made you decide to be a healer?”

            Chuckling, Amanda shook her head.  “Nobody decides to be a healer.  Healing magic is different from other magics that anyone can learn.  You have to be blessed by the goddess Merinas at birth.”  Floyde gave an impressed grunt and rubbed his chin.  “But seeing my mom get sick did make me more serious about it, yes.  It’s why I began working at the temple.”

            “How did you father handle your mother’s sickness?”

            “He took it in stride, I suppose,” Amanda shrugged, looking down at the dusty, grey cobblestone streets.  “My baby brother, Mani, wasn’t even a toddler by the time she got sick, though.  It’s hard to be a baby when your own mother is closer to dying every day.  He hasn’t even tried to speak since the sickness…”

            Floyde kicked a rock down the street and nodded.  “By the gods, that’s terrible.  But what about you?”  Amanda glanced at Floyde with her eyebrow raised.  “How are you handling it?”

            “Me?”  She chuckled, flashing him a gentle grin.  “Things may be a little different, but it’s like I said: they’re my family and I love them.  That’s unconditional.”

            They walked up to the College of the Art’s cedar door, engraved with book and blades, and, with a grunt, Floyde glanced down the roads, then at Amanda.  “I know that you’re hesitant to join the faction.”  He whispered, continuing to peer down the roads.

            “The faction?  What are you talking about?”  Amanda asked, leaning in closer to Floyde.

            “The rebellion,” he hissed, the words slipping from behind clenched teeth.  “I know you’re hesitant to truly join.”

            Amanda chuckled and began twirling her hair in her fingers.  “What would ever give you that impression?”  She asked, her cheeks flushing a soft pink.

            “Trust me,” Floyde began, putting his hands in the pockets of his black, wool pants.  “I’m good at reading people, and right now you’re blushing, sweating a little bit, and you’re twirling your hair.  You and I both know that you’re apprehensive about the faction.”

            With a heavy sigh Amanda crossed her arms in front of her chest.  “What do you expect?  The ‘faction’ seems to have no plans to lead it and it only serves to hurt more people than it would help.  Families would be ruined.  My family would be ruined.”

            “I know.”  Floyde muttered, offering her a tentative half smile.  “Nothing great comes without sacrifice.  But the people are suffering, Amanda.  Together we can help them.”

            Glancing around the streets, Amanda spotted several guards approaching the College, their maroon armor clanking with a metallic slam.  “Listen, I have to go to the temple.  It was nice speaking with you, Floyde.”  She turned with a huff, but Floyde quickly grabbed her by the hand.  Amanda almost yelped as she spun around quickly, her face blushing a deep red.

            Floyde’s ashen, almond eyes locked on hers and he let out a deep breath.  “Just promise me you’ll reconsider, okay?”  Amanda nodded softly before turning from him and continuing down the road to the Temple of Divinity.

 

 

 

 

            The Temple of Divinity rested itself upon the crumbling city walls of Kaneele, beside the southwestern city gate.  Dark green ivy crept up the darkened marble walls of the temple, which led up to two great spires at the front-most corners of the structure.  The enormous oak doors were painted a deep mahogany with brass knockers in the shape of gargoyle heads.  Amanda pushed open the great doors and entered the dimly lit temple.

            A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, suspended by a thick rope.  The wispy, brass arms curled upwards towards the sky, each tipped with a flattened disc upon which a lone, cream candle rested.  The temple’s main room had five columns of pews, each with ten rows.  Each column faced a grand display of miniature statues and monuments, each dedicated to a specific god or goddess, which curved around a grand altar upon which was placed seven lit candles, a wide array of colorful flowers, some copper and silver coins, and a small stack of religious texts.  Amanda approached the altar, kneeled on one knee, and, whispering under her breath, thanked Merinas for the opportunity to approach the temple and perform works under her name.  After a brief moment of reflection, she stood and approached a small silver statue directly behind the altar.  The statue depicted a woman with angel wings folding her hands in a prayerful manner.  She took a candle from the altar and lit one of the few unlit candles beside the statue.  Amanda smiled and put her candle back on the altar, before giving a small bow to the statue and, yet again, thanking Merinas.

            Leaving the main room and heading to the right of the temple’s entrance, Amanda entered the Room of Healing.  Twenty cots with small straw mattresses sat on either side of the wall with a small curtain separating cot from cot.  A tall elvish woman with fair, olive skin tended to one of the sickly patients, her hands radiating a green glow as she passed them over the man.  Amanda cleared her throat softly, holding her hands behind her back.  The elvish woman looked up at her and nodded.  She patted the patient’s head for a moment, then, smirking to herself, walked over to Amanda.

            Amanda smiled up at the elf and greeted her with a small bow.  “Good morning, sister Alanis.  What shall be my training today?”  Alanis looked down at Amanda, her round, shamrock eyes glancing up and down.

            “I suppose I told you we would begin your alchemy lessons today, hm?” Alanis asked, her nasal voice resonating from her angular cheeks.  She ran her thumb and spidery finger up and down her chin, before her eyes lit up.  With a smirk, she beckoned Amanda to follow her and made her way through a linen curtain.  Amanda followed into a small, rectangular room.  Bookshelves were placed along the walls, each littered with books of varying sizes, their covers in varying conditions.  Some shelves had potions of varying colors which bathed the room in a low, colorful aura.  Candles resting upon iron, torch-like sconces lined the walls and lit up the small, square table on the furthest side of the room.  Pots full of foreign liquids were perched above a miniature stove and tubes ran from pot to pot, connecting them in a tapestry of winding glass.  Beside the pots was a mortar and pestle with some crushed powder still coating its base.

            “This is incredible!”  Amanda gasped, her golden brown eyes surveying the alchemy lab.

            “Yes, I suppose it is nice…”  Alanis muttered, rubbing her chin.  “Anyway, why don’t you take a book from one of the bookshelves and begin studying.”

            “You want me to spend the day reading?”  Amanda groaned, grabbing a book with a tattered, light blue cover from the shelf nearest her.  In faded gold lettering, the title read Alchemical Basics. 

            Alanis scolded her with a puff.  “You can’t very well begin your alchemy without any ideas of how to do it.”  She shook her head and ran her spidery fingers over the spines of each book on the shelf.  “Most of these have been published by priests and priestesses that either worked in this temple or visited it for a period of time.  This one,” she smiled as she pulled a light brown, leather bound journal from its place in the shelf, “was written by my own mentor.”

            As the fond half-smile faded from Alanis’ face, she placed the book back on the shelf and turned to face Amanda.  “Always remember this, Amanda.  Our aim in alchemy is to heal others of their ailments.  This is always our goal.”  With a nod, Alanis exited the alchemy room and returned to the Room of Healing.

            The spine of Alchemical Basics creaked as Amanda opened the dusty book.  Her eyes glazed over the words with growing distance as her mind wandered.  By the time she had reached the second chapter on the function of the tubes and basins used in typical alchemy tables, she was entirely engrossed in the thoughts of the rebellion that swam through her mind.  She shook her head and returned to the book.  She couldn’t hear the slamming of the great oak doors, nor could she hear Alanis’ shouts for her help as blood was spilt on the marble floors of the Temple of Divinity.

The Hunter In the Market

 

The great oak doors of the Temple of Divinity smashed against the marble walls with a thundering crash.  Alanis stepped through the curtains dividing the Room of Healing from main room of the temple and, in an instant, began screaming for Amanda.  At first, Amanda heard nothing, as her mind wandered while she attempted to read the third chapter of Alchemical Basics, but as Alanis entered the Room of Healing and began screeching, Amanda was roused from her meditations.  She dropped the book on the table and threw open the curtains to the Room of Healing.

            Blood.  The marble floors of the Temple of Divinity were painted in its crimson.  Alanis was standing over a cot with her hands on the stomach of a young man.  Sweat poured down his dark, carob brown face and, despite clenching his teeth tightly, a scream escaped his mouth.  Beneath Alanis’ glowing hands, blood was pouring from the man’s stomach.  His yellow tunic and the light, linen jacket he wore were both stained crimson red.

            Alanis glared up at Amanda and shouted to her.  “What are you waiting for?  Get over here and help me close this wound!”  Amanda nodded and promptly dashed to the man’s side.  She placed her hands above the man, closed her eyes for a moment, and concentrated.  Her hands began to glow a faint green as a single bead of sweat crept down Amanda’s temple.  Suddenly, with a gasp, the glow burst into a fruitful emerald aura.  Alanis removed her own hands from the man’s wounds, the glow around her hands subsiding, and ran into the alchemy room.

            Amanda could feel sweat coursing down the back of her neck.  She let out a wince and strained her neck to see behind her.  A small congregation had gathered, their eyes wide and mouths agape as they watched Amanda work.  Gasping, she returned her attention to her healing spell.  She knew if she allowed her mind to wander too much, she would be unable to direct her energy into the spell.  The man beneath her squirmed and cried, his hands balling into tight fists.

            “Keep your spell up, Amanda.”  Alanis commanded as she returned with a phial of glowing, red liquid in hand.  “I’m going to try and get him to drink this healing potion.”

            “Of course, sister.  What’s wrong with him?”  Amanda asked, panting for breath.  “Why is his body fighting us on this?”

            “His body is in shock.  He has no idea what’s happening.”  Alanis pointed out as she pulled to cork from the phial with an audible pop.  Using her free hand, she cupped the man’s jaw and forced her slender fingers between his teeth until there was enough space for her to place the phial in his mouth.  As the red liquid slid into his mouth, Alanis gently tilted his head back, forcing it down his throat.

            The man was still for a moment and the only sound in the room was Amanda’s labored breathing.  She dared to look up at Alanis and smile, but as she did, the man’s body immediately began to convulse.  Amanda screamed and leapt back as the emerald aura disappeared from her hands.  Blood spat from the man’s stomach onto the cot he lay in.  Alanis pinned the man to the cot by his shoulders, and, composing herself, Amanda returned to his side and cast her healing spell again.

            The congregation looked on as the two healers calmed the man from his frenzy.  Slowly, the man’s convulsions ceased; he slowly unclenched his fists and his jaw and, with a tentative gasp, let out a sigh before taking a deep breath.  Underneath the crimson tatters that was his tunic, Amanda could see that the wound had stopped bleeding and closed itself.  She took a labored breath and stopped her spell.  She placed her hands on her hips and attempted to catch her breath.

            “Well done, Amanda.”  Alanis smiled, her lips pursing against her teeth in a small grin.  “You did well controlling your healing spell.”  She opened a small drawer and pulled out a clean wrapping of white bandages.

            “Thank you!”  Amanda smiled, turning to the congregation behind her.  To her disappointment, the congregation had parted, either returning to their prayers or returning to their humdrum daily activities.  “If you’d like, I can bandage the patient.  I’d appreciate the practice.”

            Alanis nodded and handed her the bandages.  “Thank you for your help, Amanda.  You’re becoming a great healer.”  Amanda thanked her and removed the patient’s jacket and tunic.  He laid still on the cot, his eyes shut and breaths slow.  His brown, cotton pants were stained a dark crimson.  With tender movements, Amanda placed a few drops of healing salve on the man’s wound, then began wrapping the clean bandages around his stomach, gently moving him in order to get the bandages underneath him.

            There was a groan as the man’s eyes groggily opened and his whole body jolted for a moment.  “Where am I?”  He demanded, his eyes darting all around the Room of Healing, taking in the cream colored curtains that separated him from the rest of the world.

            Placing her hand on his arm, Amanda spoke her softest.  “You’re okay, now.  You’re in the Temple of the Divines.”  The man took a deep breath and nodded.  His wet, walnut eyes looked up at Amanda with confusion painted on his ruffled brows.  “What’s your name, sir?  And what happened to you, if you don’t mind me asking.”

            “My name’s Kamal.”  He muttered, gently rubbing his temple.  “I was on my way home after a hunt.”  He paused and looked up at Amanda.  “I’m a hunter.  Anyway, I was on my way home, and I had a sack of small hares and squirrels that I had trapped.  I think I had gotten to the marketplace when one of the Imperial guards stopped me.  He claimed I had stolen goods in my sack, which was a lie, and tried to steal my bag.”

            Amanda listened with apprehension, twirling a blonde streak of hair between her fingers as she bit her lower lip.  Kamal continued his story.  “I wrestled him for my bag, and another guard showed up with these… Piercing green eyes.  He ripped the short bow off my back and beat me over the head with it, then I think he stabbed me with his lance…”  Kamal trailed off and clutched his stomach gently.  “I’m sorry, I think that’s when I passed out…”

            “It’s okay, Kamal, it happens to the best of us.”  Amanda comforted, placing a dampened, cold washcloth on his forehead.  Water dripped into his curly, black hair, but Kamal didn’t seem to care.  “Do you have anybody that we can get in contact with, to let them know what happened?”

            Kamal nodded and sighed.  “My wife, Migle.  She’s probably wondering where I am right now…”  Giving him a gentle smile, Amanda patted his arm and returned to the alchemy room.  She grabbed an inkwell, a quill, and a scrap piece of parchment, then sat down and began writing a letter to Migle.  Amanda shuddered as she wrote the letter, imagining her father in Kamal’s place.  How could the guards be so cruel to someone who simply wanted to provide for their family?  She signed the letter with a quivering hand, then dropped the quill in the inkwell with a gasp.  Staring at what she had written, Amanda fought back bitter tears and placed the letter in an envelope, which she sealed with wax and a searing hot stamp bearing the symbol of Merinas at the Temple of Divinity: an angel with wings outspread.

 

 

 

 

            Amanda left the Temple of Divinity just as the sun was beginning to descend.  She waved farewell to Alanis, who simply nodded and continued her chores.  Amanda then opened the great oak doors to escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the temple.  People were bustling about and carts clattered over the cobblestone streets, the sounds creating a tapestry of noise that penetrated Amanda’s ears.  Looking down at the bottom of the marble steps, Amanda spied Floyde, biting into an apple tart that was covered in powdered sugar and honey.

            “I hope you brought me one!”  Amanda chuckled as she bounced down the steps towards Floyde.  He glanced at Amanda with a start and chuckled as well.

            “I’m afraid I only got one for myself, but if you’d like I’ll share.”  He smiled and offered her half of the tart pastry.

            She thanked him and took a bite, closing her eyes and savoring the tart and sweet flavors permeating her mouth.  “This is delicious!”  She cried in awe, smiling at Floyde.  “Did you get this at The Glowing Elf Trading Post?”

            Floyde shook his head and wiped his hands clean on the side of his pants.  “No, I got it at a small pastry stand in the market.  Oh!  Speaking of the market,” his ash eyes lit up as he spoke, his voice springing to life from its monotonous rest.  “You wouldn’t believe what I saw.”

            Amanda handed the tart back to Floyde and shook her head.  “Could it have been the guard attacking a hunter?”

            “Yeah,” Floyde grunted, finishing what was left of the tart.  “It was pretty brutal…”

            “Did the man even do anything?  Did he-”

            “No.”  Floyde interrupted, placing his hands in the pockets of his black, wool pants.  “The man was trying to purchase some salt from a vendor.  Some guard came out of nowhere and grabbed the man’s bag, then another came, hit him over the head, and a third stabbed him in the stomach…”  He trailed off, staring at the ground as he gritted his teeth.

            “I know, Floyde… It’s… It’s criminal.”  Amanda whispered, placing a hand on the cotton sleeve of his arm.  “It really makes me think…”

            “About?”  Floyde asked, looking at her hand, then to her.  He cocked an eyebrow and gave her a faint half-smile.

            She blushed slightly and folded her arms over her chest.  “About my family.”  Floyde nodded, looked to the ground, and cleared his throat.  “I healed that hunter, you know.”  Amanda muttered.  “His name is Kamal.  He has a wife, Migle.  Probably has kids, too.”

            “Is he going to be okay?”

            Amanda nodded and twisted her hair between her fingers.  “He’ll be fine, but what if I couldn’t have saved him?  What would happen to his wife?  To his family?  Gods, Floyde, what if it had been my family?”

            Floyde placed his arm on Amanda’s shoulder and stared into her eyes, his face sullen.  “I know, Amanda.  It’s scary to think about, but this is the cost of Imperial rule.”

            “I see your point, Floyde.”  Amanda sighed, her eyes locking onto his.  “I’ve thought about the faction some more-”

            “Not here,” Floyde hissed, motioning with his eyes to some guards on the road, their maroon armor clanging as they marched toward the temple.  “If you want to talk more, we should do it at the College.  It’s safe there.”  Amanda nodded and followed Floyde as he weaved in and out of the traffic of the city. 

 

 

 

 

            Their feet smacked against the cobblestone path and blended in with the smacking of a hundred more; each step further separating the pair from any guards in a sea of similarity.  They made a dash to their right when the road forked, then followed the street all the way to the College of the Arts.  Floyde hurriedly pushed Amanda through the cedar doors and into the main hallway.  Sunlight filtered into the room from a window above the doors, but they were the only two to witness, as all of the other students had already left for their classes.

            “Couldn’t we have stopped by my house first?”  Amanda demanded, crossing her arms.  “I don’t exactly have a change of clothes and I’m still wearing my robes!”  Floyde rose his eyebrows as he glanced down Amanda’s robes.  He hadn’t noticed the small crimson stains on the sleeves and the lower torso.

            With an apology, Floyde motioned to the hallway on their right.  “If you follow that hallway and then follow the first hallway to your left, you’ll see a set of double doors on your right that will lead to a small, indoor sparring room.  There’s a changing room for students there and they do have tunics and pants you could borrow.”

            She rolled her eyes and gave him a sarcastic thanks.  “As I was saying, I’ve been thinking more about the ‘faction’.”

            “And?”  Floyde encouraged, placing his hands in his pockets.  He met Amanda’s eyes and nodded to her, urging her to continue.  Amanda glanced at the floor before continuing.

            “I still have my reservations about the cause itself, but I can see that Zeke’s Empire is a threat to the innocent.  It’s a threat to the hunter…”  Amanda paused and looked at the ground with a sigh.  “And it’s a threat to my family.” 

            Floyde nodded and gave her a grin.  “So you’re ready to join the rebellion?”

            “Gods no!”  Amanda laughed, shaking her head.  “I’m not going to join your rebellion, Floyde.  I don’t believe that the rebellion will defeat Zeke, but I think they could keep the streets safe from the Imperial guards.

            “So…”  Floyde muttered, holding his chin in his hand.  “You want to free Kaneele from Zeke’s rule, but you don’t want to join the rebellion that aims to do just that?”  He gave a condescending chuckle and shook his head.

            Amanda frowned and placed her hands on her hips.  “I don’t want to join a rebellion that wants to try and overthrow Zeke.  Have you or Zak actually considered just how big Zeke’s army must be compared to your own?”

            “We’re small in numbers but we’ve only just begun our mission!  Give it some time and we could muster up a full fighting army to take on Zeke’s!”

            “Not from Kaneele, you couldn’t.”  Amanda corrected, folding her arms.  “Zeke has an entire continent worth of soldiers at his disposal.  You have some angry adults from a single city.  You could possibly free the city with that, but there’s no way you could hold off the tidal wave of Zeke’s forces that would follow.”

            Floyde grinned and nodded his head.  “You’re right.  But we have a plan for that.  We have a plan for an entire, full-scale war with Zeke.”

            “You’re full of crap.”  Amanda rolled her eyes.  “I know you’re not a military strategist, and like I said before, Zeke has an entire continent at his disposal.”

            “But he doesn’t control all of the people within that continent, does he?”  Amanda shrugged and nodded.  “Plus, he doesn’t formally rule some of the countries on the continent.  Technically, Zensin is a self-governed country that only pays some taxes and ‘royalty fees’ to Zeke.”

            “Gods, Floyde,” Amanda gasped, narrowing her eyes.  “Do you actually have a plan?”

            Floyde shot her a grin and extended his hand to her.  “Are you in the rebellion or not?”  Amanda stared at his hand, then into his pecan shaped, ash eyes.  His eyes were narrow and enticing in the hubris of his grin, and she found herself shaking his hand while staring into his eyes, a grin spreading across her own lips.

            “I’m in.”  She whispered.

Floyde's Lesson

A rusty creak scraped Leif Habar’s ears as Casimer opened the back door of the Common Cup Inn.  He had a small bucket in his arms and his eyebrows raised slightly as he saw Leif lying by the well, half asleep.  An empty bottle of wine sat on the ground beside him.  The red liquor had left a stain on his shirt and the ground by his side.  It had attracted a stray dog who lapped it up with its pink tongue.  Casimer approached the drunk and shooed the dog away as he sat the bucket beside the well.

            “Mr. Habar, you need to wake up, it’s practically half past one.”  Casimer whispered, giving the man a gentle nudge.  Leif grunted and lazily batted a hand at Casimer, trying to get rid of him.  With a roll of his eyes, Casimer turned to the well and filled the bucket halfway with water, then splashed the water on Leif’s face.  The drunk’s eyes shot open and he began to sputter and cough.

            “Whart’d you do that fer?”  Leif shouted as he stumbled to get to his feet.  He looked down at the red stain on his shirt, gave it a sniff, and grimaced with a scrunch of his nose.

            “It’s well past noon and I figured you’d want to get started on your day.”  Casimer explained, filling up his bucket with water again.  “I also wanted to talk to you about something.” He whispered, darting his eyes down the alley and to the back door.

            Leif raised his eyebrows and peered around the alley as well, mirroring Casimer’s motions.  He glanced back at Casimer, confused.  “Whaddaya wanna talk about?”  He mumbled, blending his words together into a mush.

            “I want to know how you joined the revolution.”  Casimer said in a hushed whisper, his voice hidden by the roar of the marketplace on the other side of the inn.  Leif just shrugged and stretched his arms.

            “Ert was probably a little under a year ago when I first met Zak Iliev.”  Leif started, scratching the brown stubble on his chin.  “I’d been outta work fer a month er so, an’ I was goin’ ta the blacksmith, Alld, ta see if there was anythin’ I could do ta help him ‘round his forge, ya know?  Anyway, I overheard the two of ‘em talkin’ ‘bout a revolution an’ leadin’ a resistance against Zeke.  I wanted ta leave and ferget it, ‘cause it was only a few weeks after the Kinley Rebellion and I didn’t want ta end up like the old farmer, but somethin’ ‘bout Zak’s speech got ta me.  Zeke was the reason I’d lost me job and Zak offered me a chance ta fix that.  So I joined him!  Sometimes he pretends ta ferget who I am, though… Strangest thing, ya know?”  Leif opened the door to the inn for Casimer, who carried the bucket of water into the kitchen, leaving it on a countertop.

            “They’ve been planning this revolution for a year?”  Casimer muttered as he walked back out the back door, closing and locking it behind him.  “Was it part of the Kinley Rebellion?”

            Shaking his head, Leif walked with Casimer through the alley towards the street.  “Nah, but I think Kinley’s execution inspired ‘em.”  Casimer peered down the streets of the marketplace and nodded, holding a hand up to stop Leif.

            “I’d love to keep talking, but I need to get to class and I’d rather not have anyone hear us talking about this.”  Casimer shrugged, waving to Leif.  “If you want to go inside, I’m sure Granny Velma can get you a drink or something.”

            Leif shook his head and motioned to the empty wine bottle beside the well.  “I think I’ve had enough fer a while.”  He paused and looked around the alley before tentatively glancing back at Casimer.  “How’s about I go with ya ta yer class?  I’m goin’ to Alld’s anyways, and it’s on the way.”

            Nodding, Casimer walked into the crowded street followed by Leif.  The two followed the cobbled street, passing vendors selling various wares.  The smells of cooked meat, fresh spices, and stewing vegetables filled the air with a mouthwatering aroma.  “I hate walking through the market during meal time…”  Leif grumbled, placing his hands into the pockets of his ragged trousers.

            “So… What did you do when you were a town guard?”  Casimer asked, glancing up and down the street at the passersby.  He waved at Mr. Diarmaid, who was inside his shop, mixing together a fresh bowl of dough.  Mr. Diarmaid waved back with chunks of white dough falling from his hand onto his apron, sticking to him like large balls of gum.

            “Whart the Imperials don’t,” Leif began with a hiccup, sloppily waving at the baker.  “I kept the town safe.”  He chuckled and looked to the ground with a sigh.  “We used ta make the citizens feel safe, but nobody feels like that anymore…”

            “I was actually curious about your responsibilities, but yeah, that’s cool.” Casimer muttered, his eyes darting up and down the streets.  “I guess we should be glad no Imperials overheard that…”  Leif looked at the boy with a cocked eyebrow and shrugged.

            “Yer the daring type, though, ain’t ya?  What’re you afraid of the guards fer?”

            “I’m not afraid, I’m just… Cautious.  I don’t want to end up on the end of an Imperial spear.”

            Leif shrugged him off as they turned left down the street, staring face to face with the entrance to the College of the Arts.  Both males raised their eyebrows at the sight of a dozen Imperial guards standing around the college.  One guard stood in front of the others, speaking with the easily identifiable Zak Iliev.  His silver mask glistened in the afternoon sunlight, flickering like a candle in the dark.

            “What’s going on there?” Casimer asked, glancing up at Leif, whose amber eyes were narrowed as he strained to watch the soldiers.

            He muttered under his breath for a moment before speaking.  “Ert looks like the man at the head of the guard is making demands with Zak up there.  He probably wants Zak ta shut down the college.”

            “What?!” Casimer shouted.  “They can’t really do that, can they?”

            Shrugging, Leif continued.  “The College of the Arts is the last college in Zeke’s empire.  I imagine he’s suspicious about whart goes on in there and would rather see ert closed down.  Colleges have always been associated with rebels, and Zeke probably wants none of that.”

            Casimer clenched his fist as they watched the leader of the guards argue with Zak, his green-yellow eyes glaring at Zak’s emotionless face.  After a few minutes, the guards stormed off and Zak withdrew behind the doors of the college.

            “Well, ya better get to class.”  Leif said with a wave as he turned to leave.  “The days of this school are probably numbered.”

            Casimer watched as Leif walked down the street, disappearing into the crowd of bustling people, occasionally tripping and rubbing shoulders with a fellow pedestrian.  With a sigh, Casimer opened the doors of the College of the Arts, running his hand over the wood as if it were the first time he had ever felt them.  Entering the hall, he spotted Amanda and Floyde shaking hands, eager grins plastered on both of their faces.

 

 

 

 

            “What’s going on, guys?”  Casimer asked as he walked up to Amanda and Floyde.  The two jumped and glanced over at the intruder to their conversation.  Neither could see Casimer’s clenched fist in the pocket of his tunic, but his voice conveyed all the betrayed anger his fist would.  “Isn’t this the jerk that accused us of being spies in front of the whole revolution?”  He growled, pointing an accusing finger at Floyde.

            “First of all, my name’s Floyde,” Floyde began, his ash eyes glaring at Casimer.  “And second of all, I actually came to apologize to the both of you.  I made a mistake last night and I’m sorry.”

            Casimer simply huffed and glanced at Amanda.  “Can you believe this guy?”  He said as a joke, scoffing slightly.

            “He seems genuine to me.”  Amanda said with a shrug.  “Besides, he’s right to be suspicious of strangers, especially when he’s planning a revolution.”  She spoke softly, practically whispering the final word of her sentence.

            “No, Zak Iliev is planning a revolution.”  Casimer corrected, his lips pulled in a frown.

            Amanda just rolled her eyes before Floyde could interject.  “While we are on the topic of the revolution, though, I’d like you both to meet me at the college’s sparring room.”  Casimer and Amanda both stared at him with eyebrows raised.  “If you’re going to be a part of the revolution, you need to be trained like soldiers.”

            “Sure, I’ll be there after my class.”  Casimer resigned with a shrug, too tired to bother fighting with Floyde.  He turned to leave, but with a sudden energy, he spun around and pointed at Floyde.

            “Hey, did you see the guards confronting Zak outside just a few minutes ago?”

            Floyde shook his head and raised his eyebrows.  “No, Amanda and I saw some at the Temple of Divinity, but I don’t think they followed us here.  What were they doing?”

            “I’m not sure, but it looked like they wanted something from Zak.  Mr. Habar said that they’re going to try and shut down the college.”

            The taller boy scratched his chin, his black hair swaying by his shoulders.  “I’ll see you two in an hour.”  He muttered before storming off, his hair waving behind him like a cape.  Amanda glanced at Casimer and shrugged.

            “So, what class are you going to right now?”  She asked, walking down the hallway with him.

            “Business management with a focus on maintaining a ledger.”  Amanda gave him a cynical stare, her eyebrows raised and a smug grin on her lips.  “What?” Casimer began in his own defense.  “Just because we’re in a revolution doesn’t mean we can’t still go to school!”

 

 

 

 

            Sunlight filtered through the tainted windows in the sparring room where Amanda and Floyde waited for Casimer.  Amanda was wearing a faded tan tunic with similarly colored pants made from wool that she had borrowed from the college.  The outfit was scratchy and oddly stiff, but it was better than her temple robes, so she had no choice but to accept the clothes for now.  She glanced over at Floyde, who was staring at the door with a glazed look, his mind somewhere else entirely.  Amanda turned with a sigh and crossed her arms, tapping one arm with her fingers.

            There was a loud crash as the doors of the sparring room flew open, Casimer running into the room, panting.  “Sorry I’m late, guys…” he huffed, placing his hands on his knees.  “I kind of forgot that we were meeting here.”

            Floyde pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted, standing from the chair he sat on.  He walked towards a small weapon rack and took three wooden swords from it.  He handed Amanda the first and tossed the second to Casimer, where it clattered to the dirt by his feet.  “This will be your first training as real soldiers, and so I will be treating you as such.”

            Casimer and Amanda looked to each other with a curious look, then looked back to Floyde, who continued.  “The blade must be treated as an extension of your body.  Not only is it a weapon to inflict pain, but a tool to defend you from the same pain.  In order to make the best use of it, you must use it in addition to your posture and your motion.  Be mindful of everything around you.”

            “Wow,” Casimer began, interrupting Floyde’s speech, “that might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”  Floyde shot him a dirty glare while Amanda eyeballed the both of them, twisting a lock of hair between her fingers.  “It’s a sword.  You just stab another person and that’s all there is to it!”

            Lifting the wooden sword, Floyde pointed the dull, splintered tip of the sword at Casimer and shifted his left foot back.  “If it’s so easy to stab somebody, then try your best to stab me.”  He said, his lips curling into a challenging sneer.

            “Alright,” Casimer said, spinning the sword in his hand, “but if I break your nose, don’t bleed all over me.”  With a chuckle, he charged at Floyde, bringing the swinging the sword over his head.  It met the edge of Floyde’s sword with a crack, but Floyde hardly budged.  He pushed back against Casimer’s blade and threw Casimer back a few feet.  Casimer returned the charge, striking Floyde three times in the same location, trying to hit harder each time.

            As Casimer swung his sword down a fourth time, Floyde’s left hand shot up, grabbing Casimer’s wrist.  Although he struggled to get free, there was nothing Casimer could do as the edge of Floyde’s sword swung into the side of his ribs.  Casimer let out an angry growl as he ripped his arm from Floyde’s grip.

            “Lucky hit…”  He grumbled, trudging away, his feet shuffling through the dirt.

            “So you’re done, then?”  Floyde called, taunting him, his voice caught in a chuckle.

            “Yeah, I guess so…” Casimer mumbled trailing off.  In an instant, he spun on his heel, swinging the wooden sword at Floyde’s head.  Floyde grinned and blocked the attack with his own sword, the crack of wood reverberating around the sparring room.  Casimer pulled his sword back and spun himself around, swinging for Floyde’s knees.  Floyde leapt backwards, dodging Casimer’s attack, then kicked Casimer in the back, knocking the blonde to the ground.

            With a grunt, Casimer stood back up and charged at Floyde, swinging the sword from behind his back.  His sword swung down onto Floyde’s, and, with a ringing crack, Casimer’s sword splintered in two.  He threw down the shattered remains of the sword and continued attacking Floyde, his fists raining from all directions.  Floyde grunted and tossed his sword, using his palms and forearms to redirect all of Casimer’s attacks away from his body.  Spinning around, Casimer swung his right fist at Floyde, but the taller boy grabbed his fist, stopping him.  Casimer tried to attack with his left first, but Floyde grabbed that as well.  As much as he tried, Casimer couldn’t free his hands, so, mustering all the strength he could, he pulled his head back to headbutt Floyde.

            Casimer suddenly felt himself falling backwards as Floyde let go of his hands and pushed him backwards.  He tried to regain his footing, but it was too late.  Floyde’s fist slammed into Casimer’s chin, knocking the boy to the ground and leaving him with a bloodied lower lip.  He coughed and spat blood into the dirt, cursing under his breath.  Amanda ran over to him, putting a handkerchief on his lip and preparing a healing spell.

            “What the hell was that about, Casimer?”  She chided, slapping the back of his head.  “Why are you so hot-headed?”  The blonde just huffed and crossed his arms.

            “Perhaps you can take this opportunity to learn a lesson.”  Floyde chuckled, returning his wooden sword to the weapon rack he took it from.

            “Lesson,” Casimer scoffed, rolling his eyes, “the only thing I learned is that you don’t know how to teach!”  Amanda gave Casimer a dirty look that was highlighted by the faint green aura emanating from her hand.

            Floyde chuckled and shook his head.  “Amanda’s right, you know.  You’re hot-headed.”  He turned to look at Casimer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black, cotton pants.  “I’ll admit, you’re pretty strong, but you aren’t coordinated.  If that wasn’t bad enough, you’re telegraphing all of your attacks.  I can see them coming before you’ve even begun the attack.”

            Casimer opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it and lowered his head with a sigh.  Floyde walked to Casimer, his footsteps echoing in the quite sparring room.  “I’m happy to teach you how to be a soldier, Casimer.”  He began, offering the boy a hand.  Casimer stared at it for a moment and took it, but before Floyde helped him up, the dark haired boy leaned down and finished his thought.

            “But if you don’t heed my instructions, you will die in the coming revolution.”  Floyde helped Casimer up and returned to the weapon rack, grabbing himself a new sword and Amanda joined him.  Casimer stared at the two for a moment, his mind spinning in a fog that he couldn’t fully shake.  It took a minute for the feeling to pass, but once it did, Casimer rejoined the two, picking up his own wooden sword from the rack and practicing the basic postures Floyde was teaching.

 

The Bar

 

The sun had just set behind the gentle hills overlooking the farmhouses of Kaneele, leaving the city to the mercy of the encroaching twilight, its black hand reaching to smother the light.  Imperial guards made their rounds across the city, lighting the candles within the streetlights with long candle lighters.  The lights twinkled in the darkness, giving the city a secret life despite the dark, mirroring the stars in the sky above.  Though the streets were empty, the taverns and inns of Kaneele were filled with citizens spending their few coins on drink and food.

            Inside the Common Cup Inn, the evening rush continued.  Men and women from around the town had gathered in the tavern’s dining room, filling the inn with a cacophony of chatter, clinking mugs, and even music.  A bard from Struin Trad had decided to spend her night in the Common Cup Inn so she could be closer to the marketplace come morning, so with her lute, she sang tales of adventure and of woe, each chord she struck filling the tavern with a hum of energy and life.

            A cauldron of boiling broth and pans supported by trivets rested upon a large hearth, each being kissed by the gentle flames beneath. Casimer ran around the kitchen, grabbing, cutting, slicing, chopping, and throwing ingredients into pans, bowls, and trays.  He made a mess, running from one place to the next, then immediately back to his last location.  Sweat trickled down his neck as he stirred the cauldron and removed the pans from their trivets, placing them on a cork pad in order to cool.

            “The pheasant and potatoes are done, Granny Velma!” He called, running to the pantry to grab a sprig of dried thyme, which he threw onto the seared pheasant breast.  Granny Velma danced around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients, stirring the cauldron, and grabbing the plated pheasant breast, which she brought to the tavern and placed at a table in the back corner in exchange for a silver coin.  She bowed to the customer and made her way to the back of the bar, pouring another mug of ale for Leif Habar, who fumbled around his pockets for 15 copper pieces, which he scattered on the bar counter.  Velma rolled her eyes with a resigned sigh and gathered the copper, taking her earnings back to the kitchen with her.

            “It’s a busy night, boy!”  She laughed, rubbing the coins together in front of Casimer’s face.  She wrapped him in a tight hug and kissed him on the cheek before letting him go again.  “I’m glad you’re here to help me.”  She smiled and entered their bedroom, chuckling with glee.  She placed the coins into a lockbox beneath her bed before relocking it and returning the key to the keyring in her pocket.  Casimer watched her with a half-smile on his face, leaning in the doorway to take a break.

            Granny Velma returned to the kitchen and hit him softly with a rag she had on her apron. “If there’s time to lean there’s time to clean!”  She chided, her voice shrill, yet in jest.  “Go tend the bar for me, will ya?”  She waved her hands, shooing him away, so the boy left, raising his hands in resignation.

            Wiping down the bar with a damp towel, Casimer peered around the inn.  The bard was dancing around the center of the room, lute in hand and skirts billowing in fountains of reds, blues, and yellows.  Her colored dance lit up the room behind the sounds of the lute, the bard’s angelic voice, and the subtle clink of gold and silver bracelets loosely clinging to the bard’s slender, coffee wrist.  Her lips were highlighted by a bright, red lipstick which highlight her shining, white teeth when she smiled.

            A knock on the bar counter broke the trance that held Casimer spellbound.  “Be careful, Casimer, your jaw’s about to hit the counter.”  The familiar deep and commanding voice of Zak Iliev rang through the air, cutting a sharp line through the bard’s hypnotizing song.

            Casimer could feel his ears burning red and he shook his head.  “Oh, uh, hi Mr. Iliev…” he stammered, embarrassed.  He looked away and took a small handful of copper coins from a patron, grabbed a mug from beneath the counter, and filled it with mead from a small keg on the counter.  “What can I do for you?”  He asked Zak, handing the mug to the patron.

            “I was just looking for a table for myself and my friends.”  He began, motioning towards the two adults behind him.  The first was Alld, the blacksmith, and the second was a woman Casimer had not met before.  Her rich, caramel skin was covered in scars, some running from hand to shoulder, which was visible in her sleeveless tunic.  Her curly, black hair was held back under a green bandana.  A cigar hung from her mouth, filling the air around her head with a heavy grey cloud.  Her arms were crossed as she glared back at Casimer.

            “What, you’re going to stare at me now?”  Her voice was gruff and deep, muddied from years of smoking.  Again, Casimer blushed a deep red and looked back to Zak.

            “Well, feel free to take any open table you can find, Mr. Iliev.”  The boy mumbled, shrinking in his own orange tunic.  Zak thanked him and shuffled his way through the tavern, passing patron after patron until he reached a small table in the corner of the room, right beside the stairs.  It was mostly hidden from the main room and the stairs kept it mostly hidden in shadows.  Casimer watched them get settled into their wooden chairs, Alld sitting beside the strange woman, his arm on the back of her chair.

            Zak’s small group sat around, speaking of something Casimer couldn’t hope to overhear, even if he was beside them.  He continued to watch the bard, who had taken to singing a slow ballad of forlorn lovers, each from a different house of royal rivalry.  Her slender fingers plucked the strings of her lute, which sung sweet harmonies carried beneath her gentle voice.

            “It’s been ages since we’ve had a bard in here.”  Granny Velma sighed, appearing behind Casimer.  He jumped, surprised, and turned around.  Granny Velma just raised an eyebrow and chuckled.  “Didn’t mean to startle you, boy!”

            “I was enjoying the song, that’s all.”  Casimer mumbled as he wiped down the counter again.  Granny Velma chuckled and shook her head.  The sleeves of her long, mint green dress were rolled up to her elbows, revealing the wrinkles of age on her arms and hands.  A small silver, gem-less ring rested on her slender, brittle finger, and blue veins were clearly visible beneath the greying skin.  She patted Casimer’s shoulders and pointed to the back of the tavern, directly at Zak’s table.

            “Why don’t you go ahead and see if they want anything, dear.”  She insisted, taking the counter rag from him.  He gulped and nodded, leaving her to the counter while he glided through the tavern, making his way to a table of rebels.

 

 

 

 

            “How have things been on your end?” Zak asked the woman, who tapped the ash off her cigar into an ash tray she had taken out of her brown, bear fur backpack.  She grunted and shrugged, looking around the bar.

            “You’d think they’d be quicker to get a lady a drink…”  She muttered, returning the cigar to her mouth and folding her muscular arms across her chest.  Alld laughed loud enough to shake the table.  His white blonde hair brushed his shoulders as he laughed.

            “I’m sure they’ll be around soon, dear.”

            The woman punched his large bicep.  “I hate when you call me that.”  She said, blowing smoke in his face.  Zak cleared his throat, interrupting the duo.

            “Moving on, perhaps you can answer my question, Alinafe.”  Zak ordered, his voice deep and commanding, despite being the smallest person at the table.  Alinafe raised a black eyebrow at him and chuckled, a grin forming over her teeth.

            “That’s what we like about you, Zak.  You waste no time.”  She placed the remains of the cigar into the ash tray, blowing the remaining smoke from her nose.  “I managed to infiltrate the personal bodyguards to Bayert, the Duke of Zensin.”

            The conversation of the table went silent as footsteps approached them, slow and almost inaudible against the tapestry of sound being painted by the bard, who was just finishing the tragic story of lovers, who both died in gory suicides.  Alinafe glared over her shoulder at Casimer, who had nervously approached the table.  Zak’s expression softened and he smiled at the boy.

            “Can I get you anything?”  He asked the table, his hands resting awkwardly at his sides.  He couldn’t quite figure out whether to put them in his pockets, clench his fists, or just leave them, but he found himself becoming all too aware of his hands.

            “About time,” Alinafe began with a huff, “I’ll have a bottle of your strongest ale, and a venison steak, rare, cooked in butter with garlic and thyme.”

            “That’s my wife, all right!”  Alld roared, shaking the table with his laughter.  It was a laugh so powerful that Casimer could feel it rattle his bones.

            “I wasn’t aware that you were married Alld.” Casimer said with a smile.  “Congratulations.”

            Alld thanked him with a nod, but Alinafe scoffed folding her arms.  “Yeah, we’re married,” she grumbled, “but I’m not taking that stupid surname.  Ice-Breaker.  How idiotic.”

            Rolling his eyes, Alld continued.  “For me, I’ll just have whatever’s on tap.”

            Zak shook his head and waved his hand.  “Nothing for me, thank you.”

            “Alright, I’ll go ahead and get those for you.” Casimer nodded, turning to leave.  He danced across the bar floor and made his way to the kitchen, where Granny Velma was skinning some potatoes.  “Hey, Granny Velma, the woman at the table wants ‘our strongest ale’ and the big man wants some mead from the tap.”

            Her eyes sparkled as she left the kitchen to get the table their drinks.  Meanwhile, Casimer took an iron skillet and placed it on the trivets in the fire.  He then made his way to the basement, where they kept a small cooling chest.  Casimer grabbed a tender venison thigh he had purchased that morning and placed it on a table beside the chest.  Cutting a juicy steak out of the thigh, he put the remaining thigh back into the chest and brought the cut back to the kitchen, where he placed the steak in the skillet, searing it on all sides.  After it was lightly seared, he put a spoonful of butter into the pan, followed by six garlic cloves and three sprigs of thyme.

            Once the steak was finished, Casimer brought the steak out to Alinafe.  When he arrived at the table, a fourth member had joined.  “What are you doing here?” Casimer asked the newcomer.

            Floyde’s ash eyes glanced over Casimer, watching him hand Alinafe the steak, which she immediately dug into.  “Zak and I invited most of these people here.”  He said, waving his hand towards the lively room.  “It took me awhile to get here, sorry.”

            Casimer’s eyes narrowed as he stared around the room.  “What do you mean you ‘invited’ them?”

            “Isn’t it obvious?”  Floyde began with a chuckle.  “These people are here to enjoy the finest that the official bar of the rebellion has to offer.”

            The four at the table stared at Casimer with large smiles on their faces.  Their eyes pierced him like a blade, prying into his soul and leaving him vulnerable.  He stammered to try and respond, but it took him a moment to find his voice.  “G-G-Granny Velma isn’t part of the rebellion!”  He whispered, his voice harsh and shrill.  “I can take the risk myself, but I refuse to let her be a part of this!”

            Zak waved his hand, urging the boy to take a seat, which he slowly and clumsily did.  From the shadows and the mask, the only thing visible about him were his piercing amber eyes, which stared intently into the blues of Casimer’s.

            “I understand why you might be nervous to let a band of rebels make your mother’s bar their base of operations.”

            “She’s not my mother.”  Casimer interrupted.

            “Anyway,” Zak nodded in understanding, “you have nothing to worry about.  No one will need to know that this is a rebel bar, and Velma, er, Miss Foss, will benefit from the coin that we bring.”

            For a long while, Casimer sat at the table, thinking over Zak’s proposition.  His mind was filled with the scent of cigar smoke and alcohol and the sound of the bard’s lively song, although the words were completely lost on the boy.  “Fine.” He eventually decided, his arms crossed.  “You can use this bar as a ‘base of operations’, but I want your word that no matter what happens, the revolution will keep Granny Velma safe.”  His electric blue eyes met Zak’s with a renewed intensity, dropping the passive acceptance of a moment before.

            Zak grinned, only half of it visible from his mask, and nodded.  “You have my word, Casimer.  Granny Velma will receive the greatest, and most vigilant protection we have to offer.”  Casimer nodded and took a breath.  He hadn’t realized that he was holding it. 

            The blonde stood, nodded, and made his way back to the bar.  He felt somewhat lightheaded and he took stumbling steps passed the bard, who smiled at him as she sang a ballad of two shield brothers away at war.  The first felt his arrogance soothed by the second, and the second was most beloved by the first.  The tale struck tragedy, however, when the most beloved was killed in war, sparking a deep rage within the first that would prove his own undoing.  The bard shot Casimer a wink as she finished her tale to the applause of the bar.  He felt his face grow hot as he stumbled his way behind the bar counter.

 

 

 

 

            It didn’t take long for the main keg on the bar counter to run out.  Apologizing to Leif, Casimer took the empty keg into the kitchen.  “This keg’s tapped, Granny Velma.”  Casimer said to Velma, placing the empty keg on the kitchen counter.  It hit the counter with a satisfying, hollow thud.

            “At this rate we’ll have to buy more… Well, more everything!”  Velma said with a laugh, her olive eyes wide with joy.  “The Common Cup hasn’t seen this much business in, gods, years!”

            Casimer gave her a half smile and nodded, taking the empty keg to the basement and grabbing a filled one.  “Hey, Granny Velma, is it okay if we put the lavender mead on tap?” he called from the basement.  He waited for a response, but heard nothing.  “Granny Velma?”

            The kitchen was empty and Casimer couldn’t hear anything from the bar.  He crept out through the double doors to find Granny Velma behind the bar, staring at the Imperial Guard who had just entered the bar.  His maroon uniform was highlighted by a deep maroon helmet which came to a point at the top, which the guard removed, revealing a head of dirty blonde hair trimmed short.  His green-yellow eyes glanced around the room like the eyes of a hawk, searching for its first victim.

            Silence filled the entire inn.  Even the bard had stopped playing, watching the guard, who stared around the room with an ugly sneer on his face, his yellowed teeth bared like a wild animal.  The silence was first broken by Granny Velma, who cleared her throat.

            “Welcome to the Common Cup Inn, sir.”  Velma greeted, a nervous smile painted on her thin, greying lips.  “What can I get you?”  The guard responded with a grunt, moving to the bar counter.  A couple who had been sitting there stood and gave the guard their seats.

            “I’ll have a pint of your finest.”  The guard grunted, his stale breath filling the air before him.  Velma nodded and filled a mug with a keg beneath the counter, handing it to the guard once she had.  The guard took a sip of the foaming brew and sighed, nodding at Velma.

            The silence remained unbroken, outside the odd sips of beer from patrons of the inn.  Not a conversation nor note of song could be heard within the filled bar.  The guard grunted and looked around the bar again, watching all the eyes that had just been on him scatter.

            “Well,” he addressed the crowd, his voice gruff and heavy, “carry on with your conversations!”  He turned back to his drink, gulping it down.

            “Whart’s thish guy doin ‘ere?” Came a lone voice.  All eyes pointed to the stairwell at a plastered Leif Habar, his eyes red and his posture shaky.  He swayed in the stairwell pointing at the guard.  “Who invited ‘im?”

            The guard stood, grabbing the lance he had sat to his side, and strode to the stairwell as Leif stumbled over to meet the guard.  They met in the middle of the room where the guard towered over Leif, leering down at the drunk with a sneer.  “Who are you?”  He annunciated every word, his voice piercing through Leif’s soul.

            “Ah’m Leif.”  The drunk mumbled, looking around the bar for help.  While some watched on, curious to see what would happen, most were looking away at the friends or their drinks.

            “Well, Leif, if you’re quite finished, perhaps you wouldn’t mind accompanying me to the dungeon, hm?”  The green-yellow eyes glinted with something like joy.

            “Erm, nah”

            “Excuse me?”  The guard demanded, tapping his fingers along his lance.  “Would you like to end up on the end of this?”

            “Erm… Nah?”  Leif replied, looking around the room.

            The room was still for a moment, unperturbed by both men.  In a moment, however, the stillness was given momentum by Casimer, who brought the guard a mug of mead, practically shoving it into his hands.  From the distance, Casimer could smell his foul breath and he instantly recalled this guard as the one who had stopped him on his first day at the College of the Arts.

            “O-on the house, sir.”  Casimer stammered, avoiding all eye contact.  He fumbled to grab Leif’s wrist, trying to lead him up the stairs.  “Come on, M-Mr. Habar, you need to lie d-down for the night…”

            The guard took a moment to think, processing what just happened.  With a final gaze around the room, he grunted, took a swig of the mead, and threw the mug onto the floor, spilling mead everywhere.  He then threw a few copper coins into the mess, slamming the oak doors of the Common Cup Inn.  Zak watched him leave, stroking the sable stubble on his chin as the conversations around him slowly resumed.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 30.04.2018

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This is basically the culmination of 22 years of being a nerd and basically LARPing with my friends so here's to those good times