From the outside, it looked rather cosy. Rich pine beams and volcanic stone made up most of the building's outer structure, with large, fogged windows emanating light from within. Sounds of songs sung in many deep voices escaped through the cracks, punctuated with the clinking of beer glasses. Inside the tavern, a fire roared. The blast of warmth from the open door revived the feeling in his numbed fingers. Outside, Lazeria was a far colder country than he remembered. Freezing. Stolas sat at the closest vacant table to the fire pit and attempted to dry his last set of clean clothes. Inside it was the usual sight. Packed. Keeping to himself had worked until now, but tonight was different. In Woodpine, he needed to find any information on the location of the man named Caine. Unfortunately, the information his father gave him was far too vague. Thanks to his loose tongue, he now had to interact among a crowd of strangers and not hide in his cocoon at home, as he usually liked to do. "Excuse me," Stolas called out to an oncoming waitress. He tried his best to adjust his tone to one that would be less likely to identify him as noble. He kept his hood up and gaze downwards. "I'm searching for a man named Caine VanCourts, do you know of him?" The barmaid eyed him suspiciously. Stolas was a blatant stranger, and through his efforts to conceal his appearance resembled an unsavoury character.
"Who's asking?"
"I was directed to him by a friend for personal reasons. He doesn't know me except by name." Stolas guessed this man would at least know he existed, if not only as a formality, as an acquaintance of the crown. Her frown deepened.
"Talk to someone else."
"Wait!" cried Stolas, trailing off as she vanished behind the counter. He furrowed his brow, pressing his mouth into a hard line, frustrated. His blurred language worked to push his increasing negative impression, yet Stolas figured another reason she ignored him. Bribery, he thought, I need to pay them. Most of his money he stored in small pouches stitched into the lining of his horse's saddlebags, but a few coins remained in the one attached to his belt. Enough, he hoped. In the palm of his hand lay five gold. Five gold for five people. Stolas analysed the crowd for anyone who could hold any link to wealth or that displayed evidence of academic interests. A short gentleman with thin spectacles caught his eye. He sat perched on a small seat, reading a thick book with visible focus. Maybe him, he pondered. Observing the room, he picked out three more candidates: a woman with expensive-looking hair and a pair of men with huge bets on a losing game. However, his gaze settled on the barman, who had the waitress glued to his ear, whispering frantically. He was tall with long rusty blonde hair tied into a half bun and shadowed eyes boring into him with an unwavering stare. Stolas shivered as an icy chill ran down his spine. But this was progress. The name may mean something to him, he thought as he bounced off his seat. He strode up to the bar and threw down all five coins. "Do you know a man named Caine VanCourts?" he demanded. "I'll pay you, please tell me where he is. I'm not a threat." His confidence surprised him, or more likely desperation. Talking to one person is more comfortable than talking to five. The waitress drew back with a guilty look on her face. The barman looked at him unassumingly and placed his polished glass down next to the scattered coins.
"I don't know anyone with that name." He said flatly. His voice was low and gravelly. A pang of disappointment twisted in his gut.
"Are you sure?" he asked, disheartened.
"Sure." said the barman as he picked up one of the gold coins and spun it, leaving it to tire itself out. "Why are you looking for this man? It seems urgent." Stolas hesitated.
"I want to be his understudy, if he'll have me."
"If you are here to become a student, then why are you dressed as if you want to become a murderer? Take your hood down." Laughed the barman, reaching for it. Stolas recoiled, pulling his hood over further.
"I can't do that." He said, flustered. The barman tilted his head and leaned against the beam behind him, looking at Stolas with an element of curiosity.
"I see." He paused. "Why not?"
"I'm hideous." he blurted, "I don't like people seeing my face. Which is why I want to see Caine. Because, uh, he does surgery and that makes you look better. Like dying your hair. Everyone wants black hair now. Not that your hair is awful! You suit blond. Anyway, I tried to dye it myself, but I ended up with a terrible result, so he is going to fix it for me." Stolas flushed bright red. This humiliation he would think about for years to come.
"You want to be a barber-surgeon?" Asked the barman, eyebrows raised. Stolas stiffly nodded. "Right. Well, if I hear of the man you're looking for, I will let him know you were here. Something which would be easier if I had a name to give?"
"It's Éirean Lanoste." he tensed as an arm was slung over his shoulder. It belonged to a weedy-looking man somewhere in his late fifties with a smoking pipe hanging from his smiling lips.
"I know the man you're looking for."
"You do?" Exclaimed Stolas, louder than intended. His eyes widened with excitement.
"Sure, I do. Come and have drinks with us," He gestured to his companion, who was sitting directly in front of the fire. "Can we count on you buyin' the first round?"
"Um, yes," mumbled Stolas, suddenly feeling guilty for abandoning his conversation with the barman.
"Three pints, please." Said the man as he dragged Stolas over to his table. The barman scraped the coins off the counter and pocketed them, displeased at the interruption. "Sit down," Stolas obliged. "So, what's your name?"
"Éirean Lanoste," said Stolas again, ashamed of his lack of creativity. Éirean wouldn't mind. "May I ask yours?"
"My name's Ferin. This is Iana." He gestured to his friend, who had her attention fixed on him. She was pretty, had light features and platinum hair down to her waist. They were a weird pairing, Stolas remarked.
"It's nice to meet you both, but please, tell me about this man I'm looking for," he said. Ferin's face fell.
"Straight to the point, aren't ya boy." Stolas cringed. Perhaps it was rude to ask immediately. "How much is this information worth to you?" he continued, this time with a smirk.
"Uh," He faltered. Stumped. Stolas remembered having used money over influence twice in his life. Both times to bribe the kitchen staff.
"Four gold coins for his address and one more for anything else you know." He replied enthusiastically.
"For that, we'll take ya there ourselves!" Ferin cried out in a hearty laugh before pounding the table. Stolas let out a nervous chuckle. Seems he'd offered too much.
"Okay then, that sounds good…"
"From a noble family?" Iana piped in, smiling as she reached out under his hood and curled a strand of his hair around her fingers. Stolas jumped back.
"No, I just came across some money recently." She smiled and rested her head on her interlaced fingers. Stolas couldn't make himself look her in the eyes. He turned back to Ferin.
"So, you will take me to him then?"
"Yeah, in the mornin' though. I need some alcohol in me tonight." As if on queue the barman arrived, consigning them their drinks. Stolas met his gaze for a moment. He seemed somewhat harsher than before. Tense. "Eh, why are you here, isn't it the pretty girls that wait on us?"
"You can cope," he said, utterly apathetic, as he retreated between the tables.
"Bah!" said Ferin, "That guy's damn attitude."
For the next few hours, Stolas continued his attempt to tease out further information from the pair, but when it seemed they had nothing more to tell him, the conversation turned to drink and gambling. They played a myriad of games - which Stolas lost, hoping to gain further favour - into the wee hours of the morning. He noticed now the tavern had filtered out most of its patrons, and the only ones left were a few unconscious men propped up against table legs.
"I'm going to retire for the evening," he said, getting up from his seat.
"We've got a room upstairs," said Ferin. Iana produced a key from a fold in her dress. "You must sleep on the floor though," Stolas recalled many times when he had fallen asleep on the landing after being too lazy to climb up to his cocoon. He accepted, although spared a thought for his healing rib.
The three wandered up to the second floor, which was a long corridor spanning the length of the building, with four doors on one side. Upon unlocking the third, they greeted a small, cold, dingy room lit by a single candle on the windowsill. There were four beds, two with people in them, lining the far wall. In the dim light, he spotted spider webs coating the clouded glass, glistening with drops of condensation. As they stepped in, the floorboards creaked and groaned beneath their feet, causing the other residents to stir. Stolas could already feel his morning backache. Even to his poor standards, this was the worst room he would ever have slept in. He curled up next to the door. Even locked, it was flimsy enough to kick down if he, or maybe anyone else, had to. A fact which didn't help him decide whether sleeping there was the safest option. Though, despite being on edge, Stolas nodded off feeling satisfied with the knowledge he was going to find Caine.
The little boy looked up in alarm as his brother burst into his room, brown eyes wild with excitement. He dressed in peasant clothes and without shoes, his curly hair frizzed into messy ringlets, hiding his raised brows. "Come on, Stolas, let's go. You need to get changed too." He said with a toothy smile. Stolas closed his book, groaning.
"But I don't want to go outside, it's scary there," At five, Stolas carried the small appearance of a three-year-old, and Kalou that of a ten-year-old although being only barely his senior. Despite his young age, he already acknowledged the difference in strength between them and didn't trust he could defend himself outside the palace gates if it came to it. "I like to explore with books more."
"I want to introduce you to my friends." Kalou moaned. "I've told them all about my cute little brother, and... and the girls want to meet you!" Stolas fidgeted, fumbling with his fingers.
"But dad said to never-"
"He won't find out!" Kalou interrupted, grabbing for the clothes he stashed earlier in preparation. "It's fun out there. You can play games and the other children are not like Eloise or Tsura and Menowin, they're nice." It could be his own adventure, he thought. The pull of curiosity egged him to go, but the fear of getting caught kept him grounded.
"When I'm bigger," he said. Kalou put his hands to his hips and huffed.
"How do you expect to grow stronger when you stay inside all day? You need to exercise if you want to beat anyone in a fight. One of the sewer rats could kill you as you are now. Though If you play with us, you might get some muscles." He spun around and marched to the door before languidly waving his arm. "But, if you want to stay small forever, then I guess you can stay here."
"No! No, I'll go," Stolas exclaimed, completely falling victim to his brother's taunts. Kalou grinned. With a hesitant sense of excitement, he let his brother dress him until they matched.
Together with his brother's practised guidance, they snuck through the hallways and past the guards into the palace gardens. Behind the spruce trees, some time ago, Kalou found a hole in the wall. It looked as if one of the basalt bricks fell loose and gradually led to the medium-sized section collapsing like dominoes, the opening just large enough to fit two small boys. With mild encouragement, Stolas followed through, greeting the dark forest he only ever saw from his window on the other side. They followed the wall left, letting the ivy-covered rock lead them past the palace to the lower town.
"Hey, Kalou, I don't know what my name should be. Us being princes, it's a secret right?" asked Stolas. Kalou smiled.
"You're right, we cannot tell them. Right now, my name is Ashe. I have told the others that your name is Micha, is that alright?"
"Like the hero Michaeas," Stolas said, recalling earlier texts he read, "Our ancestor who defeated the elder dragon Leviathan, on the slopes of Mount Lazarus."
"Ha-ha, when did you read the history books?"
"Well, I finished everything else," replied Stolas in a whisper, although inside he beamed at the alias Kalou had assigned him.
"You're such a bookworm. Proper princes need to learn how to fight, and you know, I heard dad is bringing in a teacher for us. He says he is the best fighter in all of Lazeria." He would have to get much stronger in time for those lessons, Stolas thought.
Kalou froze as unfamiliar voices came from in front and the boys came to a rapid halt, with Stolas even bumping into the back of his brother. Before he could say anything, Kalou pressed a finger to his lips. Cautiously, they approached, and Stolas heard the blood pulsing in his ears as his heartbeat quickened. This is why the outside is scary, he thought, stubbornly grasping hold of his brother's shirt and pulling him back.
"Kalou, no, let's go back," Stolas whispered, nerves tainting his tone. Kalou held his hand and calmed him with a smile.
"It's okay." he mouthed before creeping further forward. Crouched in the brush, he peered through the leaves, keeping Stolas behind him. His eyes creased as he squinted to see who lay ahead.
Stolas' skin crawled, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The light no longer fell on the ground beside him, and he bathed in a gigantic shadow that sapped the warmth away. His lip trembled, and he stayed glued to the snow, paralysed in fear while his brother looked away, unaware of whatever lurked behind them. It took all his might to look.
"Boo," Stolas screamed, scrambling backwards away from the monster of a boy who towered above him. Kalou whipped around in alarm, but to Stolas' confusion, his face did not twist into one of terror but delight.
"Graer!" He exclaimed with glee. This 'Graer' stood almost as tall as their father, muscled and gruff, covered from head to toe in dirt. He dressed in farmer's garments and carried a small shovel over his shoulder, with his messy mouse-brown hair cut short. His eyes, however, Stolas could only describe as kind. "You shouldn't sneak up on us like that, you scared my brother." More children appeared from the direction they had inspected. Two young girls who looked similar enough to be sisters dressed in common rags and a smaller boy than the previous with an untamed look and wild eyes.
"I couldn't resist," Graer conceded with a laugh. Stolas buried his face into Kalou's back, hiding away from the many peering eyes. "Is this Micha?"
"Yes," Kalou turned around. "Come on, say hello. They won't hurt you." Stolas let out a barely discernible greeting through a wobbly voice, but it seemed enough to sate them.
"My name is Silveste, I hope we can be friends." said the taller girl with a lovely smile. She had her hair tied into a braided bun, leaving her youthful face exposed, though under her light blue eyes lurked shadows that told of insomnia. Her sister shared the same tired look, but joy transformed her features as she bounded up to shake Stolas' hand.
"I'm Wesina, but everyone calls me Wes, so you can call me Wes too." She said, giggling.
"You have already met our joker, Graer," said Kalou with a sigh. He gestured to the other boy, who kept his distance. Unusually, he had dark hair, similar in shade to theirs, that cut off at his chin. Through the strands hiding the better part of his face, Stolas saw a gleam of green and a hint of a smirk. "This is Víđarr. He doesn't talk much, and he isn't trying to be rude. Think of him as if he were a cat in human form and most of what he does makes sense." Stolas nodded. His anxiety eased a little. These people seem somewhat nice, as Kalou said.
"Ah! That reminds me. We found something. It's why we were in the forest, to begin with." said Wes. They all headed back further into the trees whence they came, and the brothers followed hand in hand. "They are very cute, you'll like them, Micha," said Silveste, smiling. Stolas tilted his head, confused at what she was referring to. He pondered her meaning and after a moment, they stopped. All became clear. There, in a small cove, nested four wolf cubs. They lay atop one another, cuddled together for warmth on the cold stone. They looked young, too young to be alone, and dreadfully malnourished. Tiny ears perked up at their arrival and tongues lopped out of their mouths as they greeted them in a happy pant. "We've been trying to take care of em', but finding meat to feed em's tough," said Graer with a solemn look.
"Where is their mother?" asked Kalou.
"Dragons got her." Víđarr grimaced. Stolas looked back to the pups. They could afford to feed them. He pulled on his brother's sleeve
"K- Ashe, can we take them home?"
"No, I'm sorry, I don't think dad would let us."
"But we can feed them." A nervous grin spread across Kalou's face.
"What are you talking about Micha, of course we can't do that?" Stolas frowned as an internal debate formed in his mind. Kalou is lying to keep the secret that they are royalty, but the cubs need food, or they'll die. That must be more important, he thought. Life is special, a God-given gift, and a right to live belongs to everyone. A compromise must exist somewhere, to conceal their identity and save the animals. Stolas concentrated hard. All game in this forest hunters would have already claimed or remained so hidden that none of the children would have a chance of finding it. Buying food is out of the question, or Kalou's friends will know. Taking them home will have their father livid. Tears welled in his eyes as he wandered over to them. Stolas caressed their white fur with no protest from the animals, and their lack of aggression worried him. Their vulnerability only strengthened his resolve to help them survive.
"But I don't want them to die."
"Hey, we'll find a way," said Wes with her impervious smile. Stolas let her enthusiasm dampen his concern a little.
"I have an idea," said Kalou. For the next few hours, they sat together in the little cove, brainstorming and playing with the small animals. Stolas relaxed after a time. Smiles appeared on his lips and laughter soon followed as he grew fonder of the people around him. By the time sunset approached, the children formulated a plan, and the brothers snuck home with hope in their hearts.
In the weeks that followed, they would all visit the wolves together. Graer syphoned milk from his small goat herd, and Víđarr swiped titbits of dried meat from various shops and stalls in the city. The girls worked hard building the cubs a warmer shelter to last the coming cold months and used scraps of cloth and wool to build a makeshift bed. Stolas bribed the kitchen staff when he could get away with it, and Kalou saved the meat from his meals. With their combined efforts, the animals did not starve and grew healthy. Their ribs and joints no longer protruded from under their skin and the light returned to their eyes, their boundless playful personalities developed, and their insatiable energy sent them bolting through the woods and hunting as a pack. As they learned to bring home their own prey, the children's burden subsided. Strangely, Stolas' heart ached for the time they worked together as a team. He relished the feeling of founding the friendships and the sense of comradery that developed between them all, something that before he only experienced within the awesome stories of old.