Chapter 4 - The Summer Festival.
Aren stood at the edge of the cart and watched a man he didn't recognize approach them with a confident stride, his face, cut through with fine wrinkles, spreading into a mocking grin.
He stopped in front of Bernard and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Well, well. Looks like someone's letting himself go a bit more every year, can't even fit into his clothes anymore."
Bernard turned his head unhurriedly and gave the newcomer a hard look.
"That's called muscle, brat. It comes from hard work, though you'd hardly know that, sitting with a fishing rod for hours on end," he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching.
The man closed the distance and leaned against the side of the cart.
"Oh, come now. Hard work? You mean loyal service to Dara, like an obedient little dog?"
Bernard jumped down from the cart abruptly, gravel crunching under his heavy boots.
"I see you still haven't learned the weight of a woman's breast in your hand, seeing as you're showing your envy so openly, Erik," Bernard replied, stepping right up to him.
Behind them, Leo went quiet, and Aren's heart quickened.
Then Bernard's and Erik's faces broke into wide grins, and a loud clap rang out as they gripped hands in a firm handshake.
"Good to see you in good health, you little shit," Bernard boomed, shaking his friend's hand hard.
Aren let out a breath and felt the tension drain away, though his confusion remained.
Erik tipped his head back, squinting against the bright sun as he looked Elara over.
"Well, hello, beautiful. Every year you get prettier and prettier."
Elara smiled warmly and tilted her head slightly, hiding her eyes behind a loose strand of hair.
"Hello, Erik. I'm glad to see you too. How are things on the farm?"
The man planted his hands on his hips and let out a heavy sigh, surveying the bustle around the cart.
"The yield's leaner this year, and the fish aren't biting much either. But all in all, it's not too bad."
Elara frowned, her fingers going still on the side of the cart, then looked thoughtfully toward the city's central quarters.
"Interesting... ours has actually been a fairly rich harvest this year."
Bernard dropped a hard hand on his friend's shoulder and gave him a snide grin.
"Just like I said: someone's short on hard work. Sitting there with your fishing rod while the earth waits for a plow."
Erik only snorted, tried to shake off the blacksmith's massive hand, then turned to Aren.
"And you... a foreigner, are you?" he asked.
Elara leaned out quickly from behind the cart's high side and glanced at Aren.
"Oh, this is Aren, a friend of our family," she answered.
Erik came up slowly, with a slight roll to his gait, and looked Aren over from head to foot. Then a smile spread across his face, and he held out his broad, callused hand.
"Well, pleased to meet you, Aren. Name's Erik Ricks, but you can just call me Erik. I'm from Rallis, out by the western sea."
"Pleased to meet you too, Erik. So you're a fisherman?" Aren asked, shaking his hand in return.
Erik put his hands back on his hips, adjusting his leather vest with the same smile.
"Well, you could say that, though I end up dealing with the fields and the livestock from time to time too."
Letting go of Aren's hand, he clapped Bernard on his sturdy shoulder.
"I picked out a spot for you at the north edge of the fountain. There's a high wall there that gives shade, so I figure it'll suit your tinctures just fine."
Bernard nodded approvingly and climbed back up onto the driver's seat of his cart.
"Lead on, then, brat."
Aren kept walking alongside the cart, trying not to knock shoulders with passersby. Ockhaven's market square was packed with stalls of coarse unbleached canvas, their counters heaped with mounds of grain, bundles of dried fish, and thick bolts of woolen cloth.
They passed a Green Order patrol, its guards in dark green cloaks standing at the mouth of an alley, gripping broad-headed spears, one of them tracking the group with a long stare.
Erik stopped at an open spot beneath a stone awning and waved a hand at the place to unload.
"Set up here. I'll help with the crates until mine get brought up from the docks."
Aren went around to the back of the cart and gripped the edge of the first crate, its rough wood biting into his palms as glass vials clinked dully inside, while Leo, already down on the cobblestones, pulled at the securing straps.
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When they finally finished unloading, the last crate of Elara's herbal tinctures came to rest on the wooden counter they'd quickly assembled from folding panels beneath the stone awning.
Aren wiped the sweat from his forehead and felt a layer of city dust on his skin, as Erik helped Bernard secure the awning's side posts and Leo sorted the vials by size.
Then the general din of the Eastern Market began to fade and gave way to a rising murmur of anxious voices. Aren heard a sharp, synchronized clang of metal against the cobblestones, approaching fast from the direction of the main gates.
The crowd at the square's northern entrance stirred and began to part, as people pressed themselves against the walls of houses and stalls to clear a wide path.
Aren turned, one hand still braced on the side of the cart, and saw a company of Green Order knights crossing the square. Their steel cuirasses caught the sunlight, and their dark green cloaks swayed evenly with each step.
They held broad-headed spears and formed a living escort around two figures at the center of the column.
A man and a young woman, no older than twenty-five by the look of them, stood out sharply against Waldruhm's own people. Austere black uniforms of dense fabric with bright red trim and high collars. The strangers' skin was pale, almost porcelain in tone, and their neatly styled hair was a deep, dark blue.
They walked with their eyes fixed straight ahead, cold and serious, and paid no attention to the commotion around them.
Bernard froze mid-swing over the stake and frowned, while Elara took an involuntary step back, close against the cart.
"Aisengarders... A delegation from the Syndicate, looks like, heading for the castle," Erik said quietly.
Aren glanced at Leo, who was still up on the cart, his eyes shining after the black uniforms.
"They look more imposing than I expected," Aren said, his eyes on the Aisengarders' retreating backs.
The boy hopped down onto the cobblestones and came over to Aren, adjusting the bandage on his finger and speaking in a whisper.
"I read in the seekers' records that there's no room for chaos in Aisengard. Even their walk is that synchronized because they value discipline and functionality above everything else."
Leo tipped his chin toward the spot where the delegation had already disappeared.
"Did you see how pale they were? Aisengarders often have a grayish tint to their skin, and the really amazing part is what's under those uniforms. They've got to have mechanical prosthetics that work better than regular arms or legs!"
Bernard walked over, laid his hand heavily on Leo's shoulder and cut the lecture short.
"Enough chatter about the northerners. Time to get to work," Bernard said, frowning.
Aren and Leo traded a smile, then sighed, squared their shoulders, and set to arranging the labeled decoctions and tinctures on the shelves.
Before they'd even finished, the first customers had already arrived, interested in the decoctions that helped with sleep.
In a gap between them, Elara turned to Aren.
"Aren, could I ask you to go with Erik to the other markets and find the goods written on this list?" Elara said, and pressed a small sheet of paper into his hand, a list in ink.
Aren took the sheet, his eyes running over the short lines in Elara's sprawling hand.
"Of course. Where are the other markets?"
Elara counted out change for her first customer and turned back to him. She pointed toward the central street leading deeper into the Lower City.
"Erik will show you. They're usually on squares like this one, though they can also stretch along the wide streets. And... Erik."
She caught the fisherman's eye, paused a moment, and sighed.
"Please keep an eye on him. And don't go looking for trouble."
Erik pushed off from the awning's support post and straightened his leather vest.
"Don't worry. We'll just walk the rows. There's too much guard presence in Ockhaven today for anyone to try anything stupid."
Aren tucked the list into the pouch on his belt, where the parcel Ingrid had given him before they left still sat.
Out from under the awning they headed toward the market's main artery, and the noise of the crowd instantly grew louder as Erik walked ahead, weaving confidently between clusters of townsfolk and hawkers touting fabrics from overseas lands.
As they made their way along the stalls searching for what they needed, Aren was also trying to work out how to reach the Upper City and find the reagent shops, where, according to Ingrid, Magister Kyle could usually be found.
"Listen, what if we head straight to the Upper City? There should be squares and markets there too," Aren said to Erik, who had already gotten distracted by a set of exquisite daggers brought in by a traveling merchant.
Aren touched Erik's shoulder and drew him back from the hefty blued-steel blades with Hardun's characteristic rough forging. The fisherman reluctantly tore his eyes from the weapons, straightened up, and looked at Aren, shaking his head slowly.
He silently adjusted the strap on his shoulder and set off down the street, pulling Aren along with him, away from the weapon stalls.
"The markets in the Upper City are a different thing entirely. That's where the Intendants live, the fencing masters, and the Green Order knights," he explained, weaving between passersby.
"The squares up there usually trade in rare Maris-Vitrum crystal and League silk. Prices run in gold, and the guards check anyone who looks poorer than a duke, especially now, with Aisengarders sitting in the castle."
The air hung heavy with the smell of blood and spices as they passed a row of butcher stalls.
Ahead, a massive inner archway came into view, separating the Lower City from the climb to the inner ring that circled the rocky edges of the hill where the royal castle rose, girded by its own circle of stone walls. Four guards in full armor stood beside it, searching every carriage carefully.
"We need to find everything on Elara's list down here first," Erik added, checking his bearings against the streets.
"The reagent shops and apothecary rows are right at the foot of the hill. If we're lucky, we'll get through the western checkpoint, since the guards there are usually lazier."
The next turn took them into a narrow alley, where the white stone walls of the houses stood so close together they nearly blotted out the sky.
Aren followed behind Erik, memorized the turns and noted the positions of the watchtowers set at even intervals into the ring of city walls.
They came out into the next square, where the rows of stalls ran denser, and there they quickly found linseed oil, imported herbs, and powders, filling nearly every free space in his bag.
Aren unfolded the sheet and squinted at Elara's handwriting.
"So... looks like we've got everything we need."
Erik clapped him on the shoulder and pulled his attention off the list in an instant.
"Let's head back before we miss the good part!" he said loudly, striding ahead toward Elara's stall.
Aren set the weighty bag down on the plank floor of the stall, where Elara was already taking payment from another customer, tucking the coins into her belt pouch with practiced ease.
She glanced briefly at the bag's contents and nodded.
"Can we go now?" Leo asked with a wide grin.
Elara finished counting the loops and looked at her younger brother.
"All right. Just remember, stay alert and careful, don't go looking for trouble, and listen to Erik."
The fisherman, who until that moment had been eyeing a passing carriage with interest, spun around abruptly, his eyebrows shooting up.
"Huh? What? Me? Why me? I don't want—" he started, but cut himself off mid-word as Elara and Bernard both turned their heads toward him at once.
The blacksmith slowly crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles pulling taut beneath his shirt, while Elara held the fisherman's eyes without a word, until Erik swallowed and looked away.
"Fine, fine, I'll keep an eye on them..." he muttered, straightening his vest.
"Hurray! Aren, come on! The Hunt's about to start!" Leo shouted, grabbing Aren's elbow and pulling him toward the city's southern quarter.
Aren could barely keep his feet under him and did his best not to knock into passersby in the narrow gap between the stalls, as the noise of the market fell behind them and gave way to a swelling roar of the crowd from the direction of the Southern Gate.
"The Hunt? What are you talking about?" Aren asked as they went.
"The Sacred Hunt! Once a year, Waldruhm's warriors go into the Great Forest to hunt magical creatures!" Leo answered without turning back, ducking under a horse's nose.
They burst out onto a wide roadway leading toward the fortress wall.
Ahead, at the thrown-open gates, warriors, adventurers, and knights in green cloaks sat their horses.
The whole square before the road out onto the plains was packed with townsfolk shouting the names of their favorites.