25th Day of Searing, 120 AoS
Whenever they finished a few jobs and decided it was time to go home, Arlen and his tribesmen would sing ‘take me home country road’ in their raw voices that were not accustomed to such vocal demands. Sure, it kept the majority of the fauna away but it was also a way for them to pass the time.
So why was it that he couldn’t get the tune out of his head? The tribe’s settlement was good ten days behind him and there was no promise of returning any time soon. Yet, he heard it in his head over and over again. It tugged on the broken strings that once tied him to that place.
The first ten days of his journey to Kamdin Arlen hitched a ride with a caravan. He made a point not to work. He simply did not want to. For once, he wanted to travel like a regular citizen without the need to always be present and aware of everything around him. And so perhaps that was why the first leg of the journey was recalled as a haze. It was not boring, but somewhat overwhelming.
After all, this was the first time he left the Free Cities of the North and ventured into another country. The moment they entered Atinaw was like stepping into an entirely new world. He was still trying to get his head around the ideas of kinships and their rule over the land. To Arlen, they sounded awfully similar to tribe affiliations but something told him that things may not be as simple as he tried to understand them.
Kamdin itself didn’t host him for long. It was a large city, busting with activity. In more ways than one, it reminded him of Kalzasi. That alone brought back the thoughts of the Warren and the horrors within. He could only bear to spend a day or two in the city before finding another caravan that travelled further south.
Another day, perhaps, he thought to himself with a sigh of relief when they left the gates and headed for the open road.
Generally, Arlen was welcomed to join caravans as long as he had his supplies and means of keeping up. Yet some would steal a glance at his sword, either with eyes overlaid by a hint of doubt, or relief. Again, he did not ask for compensation for his presence. He did not desire to travel as part of a convoy. No one pushed nor asked him to do so and that was fine by him.
So it was that the next ten days or so he spent on the road yet again until the walls of a city came into view. The rampart wasn’t as imposing as in Kamdin, hinting at a more subdued, smaller community within. Or so Arlen hoped.
“Town of Loras, that is,” a travelling merchant told Arlen as he walked next to the merchant’s cart. “Terras kinship takes care of it now. Good people.” The merchant nodded his head.
Arlen was walking next to that cart for a good portion of the day. Part because the merchant’s dog took up the rest of the available seat, part because Arlen was happy to stretch his legs. Until Loras came into view, they spoke of their lives now and before. Arlen shared some of his histories as a convoy and the merchant imparted on him more knowledge about the land of Atinaw.
Now, Arlen looked from the merchant to the fortifications that guarded the city. “How big is the town?”
“Pft, it’s a small town really. Couple hundred strong, maybe a bit more? But busy. Halfway between Kamdin and Grimholdt. Good for the coin,” the merchant winked at Arlen and the black-haired man returned with a nod and a whisper of a smile.
“Do you plan to stay awhile?” The merchant asked.
“Aye, maybe,” Arlen answered as they were nearing the gate.
“Well, Duedrop Inn has the rooms. And I’ll know where to find a pair of hands if I need them,” the merchant said adding another wink before bidding his farewell as they entered the town, leaving Arlen behind.
Loras, he thought, looking around. It wasn’t much different from other towns. But after Kamdin and further ten days or so on the road, it was a welcomed change of scenery. Unlike in Kamdin where everyone was too focused on their own business, Arlen noticed immediately that people of Loras were much warmer, having received a few greeting nods and smiles here and there.
His feet took him along the main road to an open square with a fountain in the middle surrounded by a few stands. Workshops, five-and-dimes and other shops hemmed the periphery. Without a doubt, this was the heart of the place. It was boisterous with people talking, merchants calling their crafts and people walking back and forward. But it was manageable. So much so that Arlen allowed himself to join the crowd.
“Young man! Young man! Can I interest you in some leatherwork? Finest quality, I swear it!” Arlen heard one of such calls. Looking around, he wondered if the merchant was addressing him or someone else. The black-haired man certainly wasn’t young anymore. But when the merchant’s eyes remained locked on him, there was no denying it.
“Aye, aye. You look like a journeyman. Tough road getting here?” The merchant asked when Arlen approached, having nothing else to do, no other place to be.
“Not really, just long,” Arlen admitted, looking at the pouches and purses, straps of leather worked and raw. Even skinned furs were on display at the back of the stall.
“I hear an accent in there. You coming from…?”
“The north.”
“Kamdin?”
“No, a little bit further,” Arlen corrected with a brief smile and a look at the merchant’s face. He caught that glint in the merchant’s eye and the opportunistic silent oh.
Of course, Arlen thought, but did not let his knowledge betray him. He had seen this behaviour before, either in person or in the merchants whose caravans he was protecting. Neither matter, so he inspected the items on offer some more. Until his eyes settled on a few things that weren’t just useless decorations or proclamations of status.
“How much for these?” Arlen said, moving the satchel across his shoulder so it wouldn’t fall as he picked up a set of an archery glove and a bracer. Both of which needed replacing.
“Ah, I see you’re a hunter,” the merchant said, moving over.
Arlen cast him a look, wondering if the man really did not see the bow and arrows strapped to his back or he was just trying to make conversation.
“Yes, I am. But I need a replacement for the ones I have.”
“These ones are locally made. Good quality. The leatherworker here sources only the best skins from the hunters. High standard bar...” Arlen entertained the man’s fancy to lift the set to prime quality with sales talk although it looked more common than fine. After all, this was not the first set he was buying. However, Arlen was willing to listen so he entertained the man’s fancy.
“I’d say...200 for both,” the merchant said at last.
Arlen pulled in his cheeks, turning the items in his hands. There was nothing he could fault them for. Not that he wanted to, but two hundred farthings was a lot for a man with no stable income.
He inspected the table once more. There was something else that caught his attention. “What about those?” He picked up a pair of long leather gloves, which would also do the job he needed them to. Disregarding the fact that during the hotter, his hands were likely to get sweaty in there. But better sweaty hands in gloves, then fewer farthings in the purse...if the gloves were cheaper.
The merchant looked from Arlen to the gloves, pursing his lips. This time, there was no speech incoming. There was only so much one could say about the advantages of local supply chain and craftsmanship that the merchant seemed to have exhausted his creativity well in that regard.
“Well, those are for a hundred.”
Arlen put down the bracer and archery glove and with a wide smile fished for his coin purse. “In that case, I’ll take them,” Arlen said.
“Are you sure? I am not certain how well they will do with shooting a bow…”
This time Arlen mouthed a silent ah and proceeded to try the gloves on. He extended his fingers and then balled them into fists a couple of times.
“They fit fine. I can see at least a year’s worth of use. You see, I don’t hunt so often and the leather is thick enough so it won’t tear right away. And if it does, it’s me who loses, not you. If anything, I’ll come for the archery set instead.” And this time, Arlen gave the man a wink. Though the black-haired man was not one for spending his money as a folly, he knew his needs.
So the exchange happened and Arlen pocketed the new gloves.
“Is there anything else that I might tempt you with?” The merchant asked, spreading his arms to encompass his stand.
“Actually yes,” Arlen said, catching a glimpse of the spark in the man’s eye again. “I’m looking for lodging. I’ve been told Duedrop Inn is supposed to have some rooms?” Just at the mention of the place, the merchant smiled even wider not even minding that there would be no more coins coming from Arlen.
“Aye, aye. It’s right there.” He pointed across the square. “Hopefully they will still have some rooms available. Oh, oh! Their bakery is best around here, be sure to try. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.”
“Thanks, I’ll take your word for it,” Arlen answered and said his goodbyes.
And so there he was, in a new town twenty or so days from his tribe with Searing heating up like the insides of an oven. It was almost good enough to make him forget why he left the tribe. Almost.
