Elysia woke up surrounded by the smell of boiled cabbage and the stench of dirty bodies. The coldness of the stone slabs on the floor had seeped into her bones, and she felt old. Sitting up she found that the pains from the beating she had received the night before had returned. She fought back tears of suffering and groped for the painkillers the alchemist had given her.
Light filtered through the vaulted ceiling, revealing the bodies that littered the temple hall. Poor wretches from all over the city had flocked there for shelter for the cold night, and they had all been locked up together. The great double doors were barred, though the people there had nothing to steal, and Elysia marveled at the precautions. The doors on the other side of the room, where the priestesses were setting up a wicker table, had also been barred. Last night she had heard the heavy bolts slide, after the front door had been closed. Then she wondered if there really could be people capable of robbing the poorest of the poor. From what she had seen so far in Fricksburg, she thought so.
The icons of the martyrs looked down with melancholy wooden eyes at the ragged crowd. Despite their crude construction and low cost, they had been placed too high for someone in the lobby to reach them without using a ladder. "How little trust there is in the world!" she thought. "It is really sad that the servants of the Mother have to protect themselves from those they help." Looking at the people around her, she thought that she was really sad… but cautious. Those people seemed tough.
An old man lay crying on the ground. During the night, the wooden leg had come loose from the stump of the knee, and someone had stolen or hidden it. He was frantically shuffling back and forth, asking the others if they had seen her.
An old woman, her face ruined by syphilis, was sitting up and coughing into her mouth with a bloodstained handkerchief.
Two young boys who had barely reached their teens lay on the floor with their arms around each other for warmth. Where were their parents? Had they run away from home or were they orphans? One of them sat up, yawned and smiled. She was a shaggy blond-haired girl with the hopeful expression of her youth, and Elysia wondered how long it would be before she was beaten to death.
The insane old man who had been bellowing all night that the end of the world was coming had finally fallen asleep. Her rantings about cancers afflicting the world and rats gnawing at the bases of mountains had seeped into Elysia's dreams to give her nightmares revolving around the things she had seen beneath the city-fortress of the five Peaks. The catgirl pulled her cloak tightly around her and tried to ignore the searing pains that shot through her shoulder blades.
All around her, beggars were beginning to struggle to their feet from beds of straw and, scratching at their flea bites, shuffled toward the makeshift table set up at the other end of the temple hall. The priestesses of the goddess, dressed in white, served cabbage soup in wooden bowls from a huge brass tureen.
"You'd better hurry up if you want breakfast," said a grimy old warrior, whose ear looked swollen from repeated blows. The smell of cheap alcohol on his breath was almost overwhelming. "Here, the first to arrive is the first to be served. The bounty of the compassionate goddess is not unlimited."
Elysia lay on her back and looked at the cracked plaster of the ceiling. A mural of the goddess curing the five hundred in the river was beginning to flake from the dampness, and the pigeons perched on her shoulder were almost shapeless blurs.
Frey lay on a bed of straw in front of her, and snored loudly. Asleep, his face had a peculiar innocence, as the deep lines that eroded his hard-featured countenance disappeared, returning him to an almost boyish look. For the first time, Elysia wondered how old Frey was. An air of security surrounded him that suggested long experience, and surely everything about Frey pointed to the fact that he had endured more than enough suffering for the life of any being.
Currently Frey was wearing a worn t-shirt and fleece pants, along with old boots. Elysia, for Frey's own safety, had left the black plate armor in the alchemist's custody; It wasn't that she fully trusted the old alchemist, but it was safer for Frey to have her equipped.
Elysia thought about Frey's life expectancy. She knew he wasn't human and but somehow she was sure he wasn't immortal, was he like the elves? Which were said to have long lives. How old would Frey be? She shook her head, for this was another mystery. It was surprising how little she knew about her mate, given how long they had been traveling together. Of course, in the present situation, Frey was unable to give answers to those questions.
She touched Frey with the toe of a boot, at the same time that she noticed how damaged the leather that had once been the best was. She glanced around her to see the score of tramps and beggars lining up before the priestesses and filling the air with throat clearings, coughs and spitting sounds.
She took in the shabby surroundings and their attire, and to her horror realized that she didn't look out of place in the least. The priestesses did not give them a second glance, because she and Frey seemed to be in her element among the beggars.
She thought of Frey's wish to be remembered as an epic hero. "Does he want me to mention this in the novel I am writing?" Elysia wondered. "Did any of the great heroes have to put up with this?"
Of course, the troubadours did not mention it. In all these stories, things always seemed clean and well defined. The only time a hero had ever visited a beggar's hostel, she had done so in disguise and as part of a cunning plan. "Well, maybe when I compose this episode within the play, I'll present it that way." She smiled wryly as she thought of all the stories of wandering heroes she had read during her early youth. Perhaps the other narrators had made similar concessions, and it was possible that it had always been so.
The old woman began to cough loudly and long. She seemed like an endless cough and she rang inside her chest as if her bones were loose. She was thin, pale, and it was evident that she was dying, and for a brief moment, looking at her, Elysia saw the face of her mother...
She raised her eyes once more to the mural of the goddess on the ceiling, offering a silent prayer for Frey's healing and for her mother's soul; but if the Mother heard her, she did not give any sign.
Elysia touched Frey with her foot again.
"Come on, hero! It's time for us to get going. We have to get out of here. We have to climb mountains and we have a long way to go."
♦ ♦ ♦
The tavern was almost empty, except for the innkeeper and a drunk fast asleep in a corner, curled up close to the ashes of the fire. There was also an old woman who was on all fours cleaning the wooden floor and whose face was hidden behind the gray hair that fell in front of her. Frey's huge sword was still propped up by the fireplace where he had left it.
In the daylight filtering through the textured glass, the place looked completely different from the night before. The dozen tables that had seemed so cozy at first were actually shabby. The cruel sunlight made every scratch and mark on the top of the bar visible, and made it possible to check the dust that covered the wobbly clay bottles behind it.
Elysia thought she saw dead bugs floating on the surface of the beer barrel. "Maybe they are moths." she decided her.
Now that it was no longer crowded, the tavern seemed larger and more cavernous. The cloying scent of tallow candles and meat roasting on skewers filled the air. The place reeked of stale tobacco and sour wine, and the absence of babbling drunken voices made everything echo when someone spoke.
"What do you two want?" the innkeeper asked coldly.
He was a large man, rather on the fat side, who brushed his hair sideways on his head to cover the bald spot on top. He had a ruddy face and broken veins on his nose and cheeks, from which Elysia deduced that he sampled her wares too often. Ignoring both the barkeep and her aching muscles, Elysia walked to the greatsword and picked it up. Frey stayed where she had left him and looked around with an expressionless air.
The weight of the weapon surprised her, since she could barely move it with both hands, so she struggled to lift it, while she imagined what it would cost to wield. It would be impossible for her, because the inertia of the huge blade of the sword would throw her off balance.
Recalling how Frey could wield it single-handedly using short movements and change the direction of the sweep in an instant using both hands, Elysia's respect for Frey's strength increased considerably.
He moved it clumsily with both hands and studied the blade. It was made of Adamantite, a material that did not resemble any mundane steel; it was dark navy blue, almost black, and covered in runes. The edge of it was as sharp as a razor, although Elysia did not recall ever seeing Frey sharpen it. Satisfying her curiosity, she handed the sword over to Frey, who easily took it in one hand and spun it around as if to inspect it and find out its usefulness. She seemed to have completely forgotten how to use it, and that was not a good sign.
"Did I ask what you want?"
The innkeeper was staring at them, and Elsia realized that beneath his boastful air, the man was nervous. His face was flushed and a thin mustache of sweat glistened on his upper lip; besides, there was a very slight tremor in his voice.
"We don't need your kind here. We do not want you to come and cause problems for our regular customers."
Elysia walked over to him and leaned over the bar, where she leaned on her crossed arms.
"I didn't start the trouble." she replied quietly and with a hint of menace in her voice. "But I'm thinking of doing it now."
The man swallowed hard. His eyes strayed and looked over Elysia's head, but his voice seemed to take on a bit of steadiness.
"Bah!... Penniless vagabonds, who come from the mountains and always create trouble."
"Why are you so afraid of young Wolf?" the catgirl suddenly asked. She felt that she was starting to get angry because she was not wrong. It was obvious that Wolf had some influence in this town, and that the innkeeper was siding with her out of her personal interest. She had already seen similar things in other places, and she had not liked them then either. "Why do you lie?"
The innkeeper put down the glass he was polishing and turned to look at the catgirl.
"Don't come into my tavern and call me a liar. I'll have you thrown out on the street."
Elysia felt the nervous flutter in her stomach that she always experienced when she saw violence coming and she warned her of it. She put her hand on her sword hilt. She wasn't really afraid of the innkeeper, but in the state she was in she wasn't sure she'd be able to take on the burly individual. However, her pride was still hurt from the beating she had received the night before, and she wanted someone to pay for it.
"Why do not you do it?"
She felt someone tug on her arm, and raising her eyes she saw that it was Frey.
"Come on, Elysia. We don't want trouble, and we have to get on our way to the mountains."
"Yes. Why don't you listen to your little friend and get out of here before I give you a lesson in good manners?"
She felt her feet slip and lose traction as Frey dragged her with irresistible force towards the door.
"Why do all the people I meet around here want to give me lessons in good manners?" she asked as her partner led him outside.
♦ ♦ ♦
The anger inside Elysia simmered, she was fed up with this repulsive city.
She with impetus, she opened the door of the alchemist's office.
"Good morning, young lady" the old alchemist Luthor Kryptan greeted her, but she Elysia had no time to chat.
"The armor" was the only thing she said in an intimidating manner.
Nervously, the old alchemist pointed one of his fingers in the direction of a door. "It's in the back store"
Without saying another word, Elysia headed to the indicated place.
When she and her partner left the shop, Elysia had Frey's black plate armor equipped, along with all the accessories, including the crimson cloak, that Frey always had equipped.
A magical plate armor made of Adamantite, a belt that greatly increased her physical capabilities, a crimson cape that greatly enhanced her strength, reflexes, and will; a movement-enhancing boots, a neck amulet that improves her physical defense, a ring with universal translation, and another ring with resistance against magic.
The only item Elysia didn't equip was the helmet, as she felt claustrophobic wearing it, so it was the only piece of armor she gave to Frey.
At that moment she felt invincible and unbeatable. Only a legendary champion or a mythical hero would be able to have so many magical items of such powerful qualities.
Now she, Elysia, was the legendary heroine of the story.