Chapter 13

The city of Farvale was a completely different world than their small village of Eldham, and not just because of the cobblestone streets and large stone buildings. The place was crawling with people everywhere they looked, and all of them moving with the same urgency as people being chased by wolves.

And the noise. It was all-consuming.

Merchants hawking their wares, saws and hammers and all other sundry tools clanging away in workshops, people in small and even large gatherings in every direction, and children laughing and darting between their legs or the small gaps between groups.

There were so many people.

“I know this is a far cry from Wolfridge,” Osric said, craning his neck this way and that. “But I don’t remember the capital being so ... busy.”

Rowan chuckled and said, “Because it isn’t. Wolfridge is a larger city and has more people, but these border towns move at a pace like nowhere else. So many trade goods go through here on their way down to Everton and the four corners, especially out of the Western Forest, where it doesn’t make sense to carry them all the way up to Wolfridge just to bring them back down the Great Road. So yeah, a lot of the bustle filters out by the time it gets that far. Also, the market is on the edge of town, not near the center, so that makes a big difference.”

“You’ve been to Southwatch?” Osric asked, now staring at Rowan with as much amazement as he had looked at the town.

“Only as far as Everton, and not on Ranger business. Our purview doesn’t go past our barony, but I picked up a fugitive from the crown and there’s an outpost for the Knights of the Gold there where I could hand him over.”

“And you met the knights?” Osric asked, even more fascinated.

He’d met a few Knights of Greenwood, who served as liegemen to the baron, when they’d come to Master Ironhand for repairs to armor or weapons. Those, however, were a far cry from Knights of the Gold, who were liegemen directly to the crown itself, which only accepted the most elite warriors.

“Some. Bunch of jumped-up bastards, if you ask me. Too good to talk to someone from out in the sticks.”

Osric wasn’t sure he’d call Greenwood the sticks. Sure, it was the barony furthest from the crown, well, with the exception of Easthaven, just north of Greenwood. But it sat on an intersection of the Great Road and the road to the kingdom of Brackendale, and also shared a northern border with the Caellond League, so it seemed to get more credit than Greenwood.

Osric went back to admiring the city as they continued to push through the crowds towards its center. That was made easier by Rowan and Cinder. While Greenwood Rangers might be less common in this area, he was sure one accompanied by a full-grown wolf, which they probably assumed belonged to the ranger, was something most had never seen before.

Cinder, for his part, seemed unperturbed by the attention. The street turned a sharp corner, and it became readily apparent they were close to their goal. It opened up into a vast central square, dominated by a sprawling open-air market. Stalls of every color jostled for space, their owners loudly proclaiming the quality of their goods. The air was thick with the scents of exotic spices, fresh-baked bread, and the musk of livestock.

But what caught Osric’s eye was the building on the far side of the square. Rising above the surrounding structures was a grand mansion of pale stone fronted by large arched windows.

“That must be it,” Talia said. “Miriam said it was the biggest damn house she’d ever seen.”

“That isn’t a house, it’s a castle.”

Rowan laughed again and said, “Far from it. Come on.”

The three of them made their way up the ornate carved granite stairs to a large pair of double doors with massive golden door knockers in the shape of lion heads. Osric looked at the other two and then reached up and rapped the heavy knocker three times.

A minute passed where nothing happened. Osric was about to reach up and knock again when a thunk could be heard from the inside, followed by the door creaking open, revealing a young girl of no more than fourteen. The harried expression she had on her face shifted to one of curiosity as she took in the strange party. Osric couldn’t blame her. With him now in good metal armor, a full-grown wolf at his side, accompanied by a girl with an ornate staff and a Greenwood Ranger, they were a strange collection.

“Good day, miss,” Osric said, giving her what he hoped was a warm and disarming smile. “We’re here to see your master. Elder Miriam from Eldham sent us.”

The girl blinked, then nodded. “Please, come in. I’ll see if he’s available.”

She stepped aside, ushering them into a grand foyer. Marble floors gleamed beneath their feet and massive tapestries adorned the walls. On pedestals here or there were small but well-crafted golden statues and delicate vases. Making sure they knew to stay there, the girl hurried off down a long hallway to their left.

Osric turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. “Can you believe this place?”

“I knew city folk lived well, but this...” Rowan said. “The Rangers pay a gold a month. If I’d known working in a city paid like this, I might’ve considered a career change.”

“There’s no way this comes from a city salary,” Talia said. “Even for a former member of the Conclave. This wealth is immense.”

“My master will see you now. Please, follow me,” the girl said, reappearing a few minutes later and giving them a curtsey.

She led them down the hallway and through a set of double doors into a study that made Elder Miriam’s book collection look paltry. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with leather-bound tomes. A massive desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered in parchment and strange, glinting instruments.

The line of bookcases was only broken on one wall by three, amazingly carved, wooden and metal statues. The materials twisted together until it was unclear if the wood was woven, or the metal grown. The detail was so fine that Osric could even make out the faces of the statues, each with a unique look that made them stand out as much as strangers in the street would. The one thing they all shared was a sour, cruel expression.

They were beautiful and hideous all at the same time. Why someone would want these around them, Osric would never know.

Behind the desk sat an elderly man, his white hair and beard neatly trimmed. He wore robes of deep blue, embroidered with intricate silver patterns. As they entered, he looked up from the parchment he was studying, his piercing blue eyes taking in the group.

“Welcome,” he said. “I am Godfrey Harrow. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“Master Harrow, thank you for seeing us. My name is Osric Yarrow, and these are my companions, Talia, Rowan, and Cinder. We’ve come seeking your help. We’re looking for someone, an older man who lives in the forest, or at least older than us, I should say. We don’t know his name or exact location, but we know he has a well-stocked library, including some very ancient tomes. His home is not in a large city, but rather one of the smaller woodland huts or cottages in the Great Forest.”

“Interesting,” Godfrey said, leaning back in his chair. “And what makes you think I might know of this individual?”

“We were sent to you by Elder Miriam of Eldham,” Talia said. “She said she knew of you by reputation from her time at the Conclave.”

“I do not know anyone named Miriam, but it is good to know my reputation precedes me,” he said with a small, self-satisfied smile. “However, I must admit, your request is rather unusual. You know what this man’s home looks like, what he looks like, but not his name or precise location?”

“I know it sounds strange, but it’s what we have. The information came to us secondhand, and all Elder Miriam was told was that there was a man in the forest who might be able to aid her,” Osric said.

“And why, exactly, is this elder of yours seeking this man’s assistance?”

“She is doing a search for a copy of a very old book and heard of a transcribed copy in the possession of this man, but the person who told her that only knew that he lived in the forest. Miriam is getting on in years and a search like this would be difficult for her, so we offered to take on the task instead,” Osric said.

“What is this book, exactly?”

Osric exchanged a glance with Talia before responding. “We don’t know, since honestly it didn’t matter for what we were sent to do. We were just directed to come and ask you in person if you know who this man is. Depending on where he lives, we would then determine if Miriam could travel to him directly or if we needed to go ourselves. It honestly didn’t occur to me to ask about the book itself. All I know is it’s very old, about the early days of the Aeloria, before the formation of the Conclave.”

“Before the formation of the Conclave? That is indeed very old. I can see why she would go to great lengths to find it. A book like that would be extremely hard to find. I, myself, am something of a collector, and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one from that time period.”

Osric gave a shrug. They were walking a tricky line, and everything he said seemed to pique the mage’s curiosity more and more. Which was something Osric absolutely wanted to avoid, if he could.

“Well, you may actually be in luck as I know a man that fits that description and does collect older works, although I wasn’t aware he had anything that old. Jasper Fitzwilliam is a washed-up old cleric, a collector of relics, who lives in a cottage on the edge of the forest where it passes into Eldamar. I’ve never been to his place myself, mind you, and that is still a large area, but I’m sure some of the locals might know of him. Although, from what I’ve heard, he’s something of a hermit, so perhaps not.”

“Really? That is excellent news,” Osric said excitedly, showing the first real emotion since they’d been escorted into the study. “Thank you, Master Harrow. This information is invaluable. We appreciate your help.”

As they turned to leave, the door to the study slammed shut, all on its own, followed by the noticeable clicking sound of a heavy latch securing in place.

“Off so soon?” Godfrey asked, a small smile on his face as he pushed himself up from his desk. “I think not.”

“What? Why?” Osric asked, confused.

“Do you think I don’t know who you are, boy from Eldham?” Godfrey said, his voice becoming menacing. “You’ve been very busy, running around the forest, killing my brothers and causing havoc. I know what you’re carrying too, and you’re going to give it to me.”

Osric’s blood ran cold. They’d walked right into the hands of one of the Brethren. Delivered themselves to him.

“You have no authority here,” Rowan said. “Release us or face the consequences of detaining a Greenwood Ranger.”

Godfrey ignored him, keeping his attention on Osric.

“The ranger and the girl can leave, but you’re coming with me.”

“We’re not leaving without him,” Talia said, gripping her staff.

“Dead is just as good as alive.” This time, the mage did look at her, ending his threat with a cold, hollow laugh.

Osric did not wait for the mage to make the first move.

“Cinder. Attack,” Osric commanded as his hand reached for his sword.

Cinder didn’t hesitate, leaping forward with fangs bared, to tear into the mage. Godfrey was prepared and moved faster than Osric would have thought someone his age capable of. His hands whirled around each other until he finally pressed one hand forward, fingers curled. Papers and even small objects went flying into the air, blown by an unseen blast of wind that struck the wolf, sending it tumbling sideways, smashing into one of the ornate bookshelves.

Godfrey didn’t pause to see what happened to the animal, his hands continuing to weave around him, faster and faster. As he finished the next progressions of movement, the air in front of him shimmered and a leathery lizard-like creature with wings that connected to its front claws materialized in mid-air, flapping its arms in steady strokes as it floated above the floor.

Osric had never seen a wyvern before, but he’d heard about them in fairytales and stories, although he’d imagined them to be much larger.

“Osric, Talia, watch out!” Rowan said as he took several steps back, pulling his bow off his back and pointing past Osric.

The three strange statues that had lined one wall had started moving, arms outstretched, coming for them. Osric pulled his sword, and Talia took a step back. Lifting her staff, she smashed the butt end of it into the ground, causing a bluish, shimmering light to reach up from the bottom of the staff and stretch around her before fading like water on sand.