The land was greener since they had come out of the mountains. The warm golden sun bathed the vast pastures of the plains in soft late-afternoon light. Here and there clumps of purple heather bloomed, and among the grass were little red flowers. Before them, perhaps a league away, a huge gray castle loomed above the plains, perched on the craggy crest of a hill. Beneath herself, Elysia could see the walls of a city and the smoke rising lazily from numerous chimneys.
She felt more relaxed and she reckoned they would reach the city before night fell. Saliva filled her mouth at the thought of cooked beef and fresh bread. She was really sick of the dwarves' field rations they had picked up at the fortress-city of the five peaks: hard biscuits and strips of dried meat. Tonight, for the first time in weeks, she could rest easy under a safe roof and enjoy the company of civilized people; she would even have a chance to drink a little beer before retiring to bed. The tension began to leave her, she felt her shoulders relax and she realized how nervous and alert she had been during the journey, as she constantly strained to discover any hidden threats that the dangerous mountains might harbor.
She turned her eyes worriedly towards Frey. Although she was not visible due to the helm, the dark hero's countenance was pale and she often stopped to look around her with an air of utter confusion, as if she could not quite remember why they were there or why they were there. What were they doing. Apparently, the blow to her head had affected him a lot, although Elysia herself didn't know why, since she had seen Frey receive much worse blows than that one.
"Are you okay?" she asked her, almost hoping that Frey would answer her with a growl.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine" Frey replied, but his voice was soft and reminded Elysia of an old man.
♦ ♦ ♦
After the cold, clean air of the mountains, and the fresh perfume of the plains, the city of Frickburg was a shock to the senses. From a distance, the tall, narrow houses, with their red tiles and whitewashed walls, looked neat and tidy, but even the dim light of the setting sun could not hide the cracks in the bricks or the holes in the tiled roofs.
High piles of rubbish were piled up in the narrow labyrinthine streets, and starving dogs moved from one heap of rotting vegetation to another of filth, defecating everywhere. The cobblestone streets smelled of urine, mold, and grease, which dripped onto the fire where meat was roasting. Elysia covered her mouth with her hand and retched, at the same time that she noticed the red stain of a fresh flea bite above her knuckles. "Civilization at last." She thought wryly.
Vendors had set up lanterns to illuminate the market square, and prostitutes stood under red lights near the door of many houses. The day's work was done, and the atmosphere of the place changed as people came to eat and party. The storytellers gathered small circles of people around their charcoal braziers and competed with the conjurers, who made little dragons appear from clouds of smoke. A would-be prophet stood on a stool beneath the statue of the city's founder, the hero Frick, exhorting the crowd to return to the virtues of earlier, simpler times.
People were everywhere, their lively movements dazzling Elysia's eyes. Street vendors tugged at her sleeves to offer her lucky charms and trays of cinnamon rolls. At the entrance to a narrow alley, some children kicked an inflated pig's bladder and ignored the cries of their mothers, who ordered them to enter the house because it was already dark. Above their heads, tattered laundry hung from ropes stretching from window to window in the narrow alleys. Wagons, now empty of cargo, swayed toward the carters' yards, rattling over outcropping roots and kicking up loose pebbles.
Elysia stopped at an old woman's food stall and bought a piece of stringy chicken that she had roasted over a charcoal brazier. As she gobbled it down, her warm juices filled his mouth. She then stood still for a moment in an attempt to place herself in the hubbub of colors, smells, and noises.
Looking out over the crowd, she felt unsettled. There were soldiers dressed in the tabard of the barony, and richly dressed young men eyed the girls on the street and exchanged witticisms with their guards. Outside the temple of the Mother, beggars raised hideous stumps toward passing merchants, keeping their eyes carefully fixed in the middle distance and their hands on the bag. Ruddy-faced peasants wandered drunkenly through the streets, gazing in wonder at buildings more than a story high. On the front steps of the houses were old women, their heads covered with tattered scarves, gossiping with their neighbors, their wizened faces reminding him of sun-dried apples.
"Fricksburg, compared to Riverheim, is a village." She told herself; there was no need to lose heart, a small town. The only thing that happened was that she had gotten used to the stillness and solitude of the mountains and she had lost the habit of feeling closed in a city. However, it should have taken a few hours to adjust back to being in the safe walls of a city.
Standing in the crowd, she felt alone; He was just another face in a sea of faces. Listening to the cacophony of voices, she heard no friendly words, only haggling over prices and rude jokes. There was energy in this place, the vitality of a flourishing community, but she was not part of the flow. She was a stranger, a nomad from the wilds, and she had little to do with those people who had probably never ventured more than a mile from the home where they lived. She was shocked at how strange her own life had become.
Frey was slowly wandering around the market and looking stupidly at the stalls selling clothes, amulets and food, as if he didn't quite understand what was going on; he seemed stunned.
Disturbed by the behavior of her companion, she Elysia took him by the shoulder and led him towards the door of a tavern, on which there was a sign with a painted dragon; he looked lazy and growled at them from above.
"Come on," Elysia said. "Let's have a beer."
♦ ♦ ♦
Wolf Ladmer shoved the waitress off his knee. In an attempt to resist the kiss he intended to give her, she had stained the high velvet collar of his jerkin with her red lips.
"Go away, bitch" he told her with the most commanding tone of hers.
The young blonde glared at him, her pretty peasant face flushed under the mask of clumsily applied powder and paint, and distorted by her irritation; she had an elongated golden tail which ended in a white tip, her nails were a little longer, sharper and more resistant than those of a normal person and on her head there was a pair of canine ears.
"My name is Greta," she replied. "Call me by my name."
Greta was a Kitsune. She was a humanoid with characteristics of a specific animal, more specifically a fox-type Feral. Ferals were commonly called all races of humanoids that had animal characteristics, but were less conspicuous and savage than those of a beastman. The only thing that physically differentiated a Feral from a human was her peculiar animal traits. But in reality the Ferals, as races, were superior to humans in most ways, having special racial abilities, better-than-average traits, and extraordinary abilities that made them stand out.
"I'll call you whatever I want, bitch. My father owns this tavern, and if you want to keep the job you got so recently, you'll speak politely."
The girl swallowed the answer that she was going to give him and she hurried to put herself out of reach of the young man.
Wolf smirked. He knew that the young woman would return; they always came back. His father's gold saw to it that way. To him, Greta's behavior was repulsive. How dare a dirty animal try to seduce him?
With a well-manicured hand, he wiped the red lipstick from her neck, then surveyed her aquiline, bearded features in a small silver mirror to make sure her smooth white skin was not smudged by her makeup. . He ignored the sniggers from his sycophants and the amused looks from the thugs he employed as bodyguards. He could afford it. Thanks to his father's wealth, he was the undisputed leader of the gang of elegant young dandies who patronized this tavern. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ivan, the tavern manager, scold the young woman. The man knew that he could not offend the owner's son and heir. He watched as the girl swallowed an angry retort, then started back.
"I'm sorry I messed up your outfit," she said softly, and Wolf noted the two dots of color on her otherwise pale cheeks. "Please accept my humblest apologies."
"Of course," Wolf replied. "Since your clumsiness is only outweighed by your stupidity, and your stupidity is only outweighed by your unattractiveness, I must pity you. I accept your apology. I'll tell Ivan to deduct from your pay the price of a new jerkin to replace the one you ruined for me."
The girl's mouth fell open, but she said nothing. Wolf knew the jerkin was worth more than she could earn in a month. Although the young woman felt like arguing, she knew it was useless, because Ivan would have to take the dandy's side; finally, she dropped her shoulders. Then Wolf noticed the way her breasts were exposed through the neckline under her bodice, and an idea occurred to him.
"Unless, of course, you wish to pay off the debt in another way. Let's say... visiting my quarters tonight at midnight." Although the Kitsune was not much to Wolf's liking, in a way, his exotic quirks, like his tail and ears, excited and attracted him like a magnet. Did the Ferals have the ability to attract a mate in some supernatural way? Or was it simply due to the fact that he wanted to taste things that a human woman did not possess?