Chapter 3: An Old Friend, She Said… (2/2)

Fel could hear a distant voice calling to him. It felt so familiar, yet he could not put a name to it. It felt warm yet stern, and he followed it blindly like a pig chasing a carrot. He could almost make out the words sprouting from what felt like an endless abyss. The boy had gotten so close that he could start to make out the murmurs, but at the same moment a big brick wall, blackened like charcoal, stood before him. It was neither tall nor lengthy, so he skirted it without breaking a sweat. Sadly, once he had turned the corner, he wished he had not.

He saw the burnt and bloody carcass of a rotting body. Upon a closer look, his body fell limp to the floor as he stared in disbelief at the mangled face of Historia, torn from left to right and seeping blood from her cold, dead eyes, which were being picked at by a scrawny crow slowly ripping away strings of fleshy tissue. Fel started pounding the ground with his fists like a toddler throwing a tantrum, and he couldn’t stop. His knuckles were bloodied and bruised, yet he kept striking the hard tiles, almost as punishment for himself. Feeling a cold sensation on his tattered hands, he looked at what now seemed like marble tiles beneath him. He looked up once more and saw an audience chamber filled with lords, nobles, and merchants, all staring at an empty throne. But as quickly as the darkness had appeared, it dispersed, and he woke to find himself still sitting against the wall with his equipment beside him and tears flowing down his cheeks.

The boy soon noticed a crowd beginning to gather near the glowing pillars. A few moments later the crowd split in two as a group of lower-city guardsmen known as the Lows walked through, making their way to the gate. The boy observed the knights as they approached the huge door. These guards were very different from those back in the Gallows. Instead of worn brown tunics and long cloaks like the Gallows guards, these men wore half helms with a bridge coming down over the nose. Without cloaks they seemed less impressive than the Gallows guards, but at least they were a lot cleaner.

As a line grew in front of the doors, Fel quickly gathered his things and followed the flock. The gates began to spread open as another group of guards pushed them from the inside and then took their posts in front of the doors, guarding them as if they were the beloved princess of a delightful king. The line moved quickly at times and slowly at others, which left Fel wondering what caused the difference. One thing he knew for certain was that each time the pause grew longer and the line stopped moving, he heard a loud screech, a mechanical sound to be sure, though he could not tell where it came from.

As he inched toward the front of the line, he could finally see what was going on inside, but even with a view of the matter he had no clue what was happening. He saw people walk inside one by one, and after a dozen or so he would hear a click, and guards would come walking out as the screech began again. The closer Fel got, the more excited he became. Fel had always dreamed of exploring the vast world, and he knew this was only the beginning. Soon it was his turn. The boy stood in front of a Low’s guard, and the man spoke without hesitation:

“Your name, weight, and number of passengers.”

Fel was confused, but before he could voice his discontent, the man yelled:

“Come on, boy, I ain’t got all day, and I’m sure the gents behind you don’t either!”

The boy mustered what little he had to say:

“Uh… I’m Fel, I weigh about 120 to 140 pounds, and I’m traveling alone.”

The man grinned beneath his half helm and said:

“Alright then, head on in, and don’t make any trouble, boy.”

Fel wasted no time and stepped beyond the gate into a big empty room about 100 feet by 50. It was a huge wooden room with chains reaching to the roof in each corner. Only about ten commoners were gathered inside, and the door behind them soon began to close. Fel had a worried look on his face and fixed his gaze on the moving oak door. A big, bulky fellow began to stare at the boy from across the room and slowly started to make his way toward Fel. Before the boy could react, the entire wooden room began to tremble, and the familiar sound began to screech again. Fel reached for his sword, putting his left hand on the hilt and holding his scabbard with the other. The orc-like man began to speak:

“First time on the old Lift, boy? Seems like it. Your knees are trembling more than the room itself.”

The man then began to laugh in a deep, grotesque way, almost like two metal shields banging against each other over and over.

“Lift?” answered the confused boy.

The man looked back at him and said:

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Felanor, but most call me Fel,” he answered with annoyance.

“Well, Fel, I’m Hogus of Ironstone, a wandering hedge knight, and my hobbies include gold and pretty women.”

He laughed again with the same annoying laugh, which echoed in the wooden chamber.

Fel was a bit confused about why the man had dodged his question. Perhaps the man didn’t quite know what a lift was himself. He went to ask again, but the trembling stopped and he felt his body twitch as everything and everyone began moving upward. The man grinned again and said loudly:

“See, boy? We’re lifting. That’s what a lift is!”

Fel was no fool. He understood damn well what “lift” meant. He just didn’t understand how it actually lifted. One would guess the chains, but the platform they stood on must have weighed at least twenty war horses by itself, and with their weight added, the total mass was not one easily “lifted” by four measly chains.

“So, where are you heading, little lad?”

Hogus took off his rusty half helm, revealing greasy midnight-black hair with almost a purple tint to it. Fel could not forget that face. The man had a serious yet goofy manner, a deep, dangerous gaze, and eyes fierce as fire, but his big round button nose and square jaw made him look a bit cartoonish. Even his untrimmed beard, which tried to hide some of the shape, could not change his face in the slightest.

“None of your business, bush knight Hog.”

The knight stepped a yard closer to Fel. Even over that short distance, the man towered over him, forcing the boy to tilt his head back to look up at him. Feeling the pressure of the mighty foe before him, Fel gripped his sword even tighter.

“Watch your tongue, Fel. I’m a nice fellow, but don’t burn what short fuse I have left, boy.”

“Better call me Sir Hogus next time you address me, brat,” Hogus added in an ominous tone.

“Or what, Hog?” said Fel in a mocking tone.

Fel didn’t really know why he said that. The words seemed to spit out of his mouth like a burst of air blown out of one’s lungs after a punch to the gut. One thing he did remember was what Historia always said: “In a battle of fists or words between strangers, the one with the confidence and the wits to best the other always wins without fail.” For what seemed like a millisecond, Fel felt proud of the words he had said, but that pride soon turned to regret.

The man took an even bigger step toward the boy, only inches away from him. Fel went to draw the sword on his belt, but the veteran warrior Hogus grabbed his wrist as the boy held the hilt. The knight then wound up his right arm and slammed it squarely into the bridge of Fel’s nose, splitting it instantly and spraying blood on them both. The man, already another step ahead, swiftly tripped the lad with a shove of his leg from behind while yanking the arm he held sideways, like ripping a knife out of a stump.

Fel, who was far from new to scrimmages or to broken noses, drew Krashing Fyr as he fell and slashed as best he could at the man. He sliced Hogus’s cheekbone and continued along his armor, cutting through it like a hot knife through butter, leaving a deep cut in the chest plate and even managing to scratch the old hedge knight’s stomach. He soon hit the ground, and what was supposed to be his fatal blow seemed more like an angry threat than anything else. Hogus wiped the blood dripping from the side of his face with his wrist, looked at it, and then let out an even more obnoxious laugh, though this time it sent chills down Fel’s back.

The big man finally opened his mouth to speak:

“A tad further and you would’ve chopped my head clean off, boy!” he snickered while regaining his composure.

He held out his hand to Fel, which the boy was quick to take, but as he pulled the lad up, he tripped him again, sending Fel tumbling onto his arse.

“That’s for my chest plate, brat! Hahahahaha!”

The man held out his hand again, but Fel was not about to be fooled twice and stood up on his own.

“Smart move, Fel. You’ve got quite the warrior’s instinct. I’ve been looking for a squire. The last one bit the dust a little too fast for my taste.”

“What happened to him?” Fel blurted out quickly.

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The man answered vaguely but with confidence:

“Couldn’t keep the bandits off while I took a piss, I gather.”

“Plus, now you owe me, boy! And unless you’ve got the money to pay for this chest plate, ya better get to work, rascal! But since you seem like a fair lad, I’ll only borrow you for a few days,” added the man, staring down at Fel.

Since parting with his remaining coins was the last thing the boy wanted, he reluctantly accepted the deal.

“Fine, Sir Hog, but I have one request. I need to head to the land of the Lunas, to the third holy cathedral of crowns,” the boy bargained.

“A boy becoming a man, eh? Well, I can’t argue with you, little lad. A boy has a right to grow.”

Hogus responded with a crooked smile, showing more gums than teeth, but it still felt warm like a summer breeze and relaxed the boy in a way he hadn’t felt since that last hug with Historia.

“Although I ain’t heading out of the mid-city till I’m done with my business, boy. We’ll do a few errands and head out on the morrow. How’s that?”

Fel nodded as a large clank shook the huge cabin. They had finally reached the top, and the heavy oak doors were pulled open by a pair of guards wearing full helms and grey silk cloaks.

“Welcome to the Middle Citadel, or more commonly, the Merchants’ Meadow!” Hogus yelped while slapping Fel on the back.

They slowly passed the guards and entered the city. The instant Fel looked up, he felt a sense of freedom and dignity rise in him as he gazed upon a buzzing city filled with finely clothed ladies and men in either merchant’s robes or sturdy armor, with sigils and heraldry aplenty showing off their noble status. What was more impressive were the tremendously high towers and shops, reaching heights far beyond anything he had seen in the lower cities. Even though he could see only a few roofs, as the others were too high, he could still make out the glittering silver shingles that paved them and shone light wherever anyone might spot them.

They walked slowly, looking around and wandering seemingly anywhere. Fel did not care. He hadn’t been this far from home since he was a baby and, realistically, he still hadn’t left the city he was born in, still stuck beneath the high city and living on what it rejected. Fel held great resentment toward royalty, even though in reality he belonged to the second most important family of the kingdom. He detested what they inflicted on the lower cities, and the fact that they had killed and driven off his family to extinction did not help one bit. Even while filled with rage and pride, Fel could still appreciate and soak in the glory of wonders he had yet to become accustomed to.

After a long, silent walk, Hogus was the first to speak:

“Seems we finally made it! Damn, my head doesn’t remember as much after so many blows,” he added, bellowing another hefty laugh.

The boy was surprised. He knew exactly where they had arrived, but in all honesty he had not expected to be there. They stood in front of a beautiful stable engraved with different breeds of steeds and war horses. Fel had seen his fair share of stables, but those had been only for mules, as horses weren’t allowed in the Gallows, since the environment was too cramped for them, and those stables were usually very small and dirty. This one was big and grandiose, neighbored by a healthy, green side yard with a miniature orchard at the back and an inn on its left side.

Fel went to ask Hogus a question, but as always, timing was not on his side, as the man walked into the stable moments before the boy could make up his mind. Walking in felt like stepping into a nicely firelit room, warmed to perfection and smelling of wood and burning straw, with the sounds of horses, steeds, and mules echoing throughout the cozy establishment. Walking a bit further in seemed to trigger a little panic in the animals, making them agitated, which proved helpful, as a short red-haired girl, no more than sixteen summers old, walked between the beasts, murmuring peaceful blessings to them, calming them and soothing the atmosphere.

“Howdy there, sires and gents! My name is Mandy Melarouse, daughter of Maylor Melarouse, master and owner of this stable. How may I help you?” said the beautiful girl with natural ease.

“Well, hello there, fair young lady. I’m in need of horses, and fine ones at that! My previous steed had… an unforeseen accident, let’s just say that.”

He laughed maniacally again, which, in all honesty, was getting quite annoying.

“Is your sir father present at this moment, my young lady?” added the goofy yet serious hedge knight.

“He is, Sir… uh…” the girl uttered in embarrassment.

“Hogus. Sir Hogus of Ironstone, at your service.” He bowed his head.

“Thank you, Sir Hogus,” she said, bowing in courtly manner. “My sir father is presently in the bargaining room finishing with one of his clients. He should be with you in a few moments, if you don’t mind waiting, my sires,” she added with a crescent smile, resplendent as the stars in an empty sky.

“We’re in no hurry, are we, Fel? Oh, and this fella is just my squire, so no need for honorifics, my young lady,” said Hogus, rubbing his belly.

“Understood. Perhaps my sir could enjoy a cup of fresh Dichotomien tea while he waits for the master of the stables?” Mandy said quickly, trying to remain polite in a timely manner.

“Sure! Why not? Haven’t had the stuff in ages. How about you, Fel? Fancy a cup?” Hogus asked.

“Gladly!” Fel shouted with enthusiasm, drawing a smile from Mandy and making Fel even more enthusiastic.

“My thanks, sires. Please have a seat while I fetch your refreshments,” Mandy said with a glistening smile, pointing toward a bench not far from the desk where they stood.

As soon as the young lady walked away, Hogus began to talk:

“Quite a beauty, ain’t she, Fel? A bit too young for me, but right up your alley, pal. How about we rent a room at this inn for the night as well?”

Fel could feel his face light up and turn bright red as he struggled to find the right words. In truth, Fel was well acquainted with a woman’s body. The Shallow Gallows must have had a whore on every cornerstone, and Fel had run constant errands for the old man, so countless half-dressed prostitutes had thrown themselves at him despite his age. Fel never accepted such invitations, of course, as he lacked both the gold and the desire. Most of the women he had seen naked were old, bitter, and withering away, or simply plain ugly. Now Fel felt something different. He found himself wondering what she would look like in a bed beside him. All he could imagine was her face and red curls, her smile making his knees tremble. So many thoughts, but so little time to think. A smack to the head woke Fel in an instant. As he regained his senses, Hogus spoke with a frown, his hand planted in the air like a threat, ready to be thrown at any moment.

“You listening, boy, or do you need another one!?”

“Uh… no, I mean yes,” answered the dazed boy.

“Well, do you like her or not, you dimwit?” Hogus yelped.

“I dunno,” said Fel, trying to hide his red face behind the pommel of Falling Star, which stood in front of him between his legs as he steadied it with his left hand.

“Well, we’ll see what you say later, after a few glasses of ale, boy! Hahahahaha!” Hogus grinned, letting out that deep, annoying cackle of his.

As if on cue, Mandy rose from behind the curtain that hid the door beside the counter, holding a platter with two drinks on it. Fel stood up to take the drinks, but Hog held out his hand and pushed him back.

“’Tis a wench’s job, Fel,” remarked Hogus, pulling back his hand.

“My father has informed me that he has just finished with his client. He’ll be with you in a minute, once he has finalized the payment. Thank you for your patience, good Sir Hogus. Please enjoy this tea while my father draws near,” said the beautiful girl as she set the drinks on the round table in front of the men.

“You have my thanks, girl! Hopefully the next cup you bring us will have some more potent stuff in it!” replied Hogus, beginning to laugh hysterically, but this time Fel joined in, as if to impress the young miss standing in front of them.

Fel was not one to succumb to charm, but perhaps, since he had started stepping out of his comfort zone, it meant he was changing as those barriers broke. While Fel was contemplating his future with his new beloved wife, Hog was chugging down his tea as if it were a freshly poured pint of fine ale. The boy picked up his cup but was quickly interrupted by the entrance of a man into the waiting hall.

He was a fairly tall man, reaching a height of about an inch past six feet. He wore a thick red beard, oddly square-shaped, that reached all the way to his ears, which themselves supported round, gold-rimmed glasses resting on the tip of his nose. His back was draped in beautiful hazelnut silk with silver griffin heraldry embroidered into it with care and dedication, and he carried a comical cane made of a greyish, almost glassy wood, with a handle and tip of black velvety texture. As the man walked toward them, his greasy yet well-dressed, curly, dirty-brown hair flowed as if he were running against the wind in an open prairie.

“I wish you a most humble welcome, Knight Hogus of Ironstone. My name is Maylor Melarouse, master of this stable and headkeeper of the inn next to it. My lady daughter has informed me you are looking for steeds, correct?” the man said in a confident tone as he stroked his beard with his free hand.

“Spot on, Mr. Melarouse! Mind if I call you Mayl? Or Mel, if ya’d rather.”

“See, I lost my trusty horse Sturgis a short while ago in a tragic incident, and I’m looking to buy a war horse for a long journey, as well as a transport steed, or a mule at worst if push comes to shove. Ya get me, Mel?” Hogus added before Maylor could fit in a word.

“Well, Sir Hogus, you are in luck! I happen to have quite a selection of war horses at our disposal, though our selection of transport steeds is more limited,” Maylor responded, pausing to think.

“Perhaps I could send your squire to choose a transport steed with the help of my assistant, while you and I look at our best horses in the high stables,” added the merchant.

“Seems like a perfect deal, partner!” Hog turned around, looked at the boy, and added:

“I’ll be gone for a bit. Just sit here and wait for that so-called assistant of his, alright, Fel?”

The boy nodded, and just like that, Hogus walked through the thick drape covering the door Maylor had come through and disappeared into the stables.

A few minutes later, a loud bang was heard at the front door. No one came to answer this time, so the boy stood up, a little dazed by the sudden change in atmosphere. The instant he got to his feet, the door flew open as if it were made of paper, and three men clad in shiny black alloy entered with mischief in their steps. All three turned on a shim and stared straight at Fel. Instantly the boy knew something wasn’t right. He grabbed his things and the nearest chair and got ready to sprint, but at that very moment the man on the far left raised his hand, and a small gold chain fell and hit the floor, making an echoing yet quick qlink. The moment the sound echoed through the chamber, Fel’s body crumpled to the ground and all his muscles contracted, as if he had just run thousands of yards. Fel let out a horrific scream as all his limbs seized and cramped like flowers being crushed in a palm.

The man on the right flicked his index and middle fingers to the right, and suddenly all noise ceased to exist in the room. Fel’s screams became nothing more than the sound of wind hitting the walls of an empty room. Finally the man standing in the middle lifted his helm, showing a handsome yet fierce face with a devilish smile painted on it. He walked up to Fel and leaned over him, observing and examining him like a piece of equipment about to be purchased. The man stood back up and walked out, putting his helm back on, and the other two knights picked up Fel’s belongings, and Fel himself, and proceeded to walk away as well.

Exiting the building felt like a hazy daydream, as Fel could not move a single inch of his body yet could see and feel everything around him. Beyond the door stood two shining high knights in resplendent silver, each holding a gigantic yet elegant two-handed claymore bearing the crest of the Ortumocorvis Empire. Both men stepped aside and raised their weapons in unison, circling them downward to create a magnificent arch of light that blinded the boy for a moment. When he managed to focus, he saw a doorway as black as night, like a hole in the middle of the arch of light, which had dimmed greatly with the appearance of the newly formed void, staring at him like the eyes of the abyss itself. As the knights carrying the boy entered the portal, Fel could not help but think:

If only I had found that old friend, as she told me… maybe things would have been different