As Amukelo and the guy continued to walk through the settlement, the strangeness of the place became more and more apparent. Whenever Amukelo would catch sight of someone—a fleeting face peering from a window, a shadow moving behind curtains—they would vanish almost instantly. People hid the moment they realized strangers were passing by, slamming doors shut as if afraid of being seen outside.
The houses were clustered close together, with wooden shutters on the windows, which closed tightly at the mere hint of their approach. Despite being in a place meant for living, it felt like a ghost town, the people mere phantoms who disappeared at a moment's notice.
The guy was visibly unnerved, his steps hesitant, glancing back at Amukelo for reassurance every few paces. Even though Amukelo himself felt the unease creep into his bones, he kept his expression calm, not wanting to show any signs of doubt. As they continued to walk down the street, a sudden gust of cold wind swept through the town, making the dampness from the river bite even deeper into their skin. They needed warmth, and they needed it soon.
Finally, after some minutes of searching, Amukelo spotted a weathered building, its sign hanging crookedly from the doorpost—an unmistakable pub, its lights flickering warmly inside. Unlike the eerie emptiness of the rest of the settlement, the pub seemed almost inviting, like a bright spot in an otherwise bleak landscape. Amukelo quickly walked over to it and tied his horse securely to a wooden post outside. The horse neighed softly, clearly uneasy in this unfamiliar environment.
Amukelo pushed open the wooden door to the pub, and was met with a rush of warmth and the smell of burning firewood. The stark contrast between the cold, lifeless street and the bustling, albeit small, crowd inside struck him immediately. There were maybe a dozen people scattered about, seated at wooden tables, their faces turned toward tankards of ale or small plates of food. They spoke in hushed tones, some turning to glance at the newcomers with a mix of suspicion and mild curiosity. But they didn't hide or disappear like the others; instead, they merely observed and continued their conversations.
Amukelo and the guy quickly made their way to a table near the fireplace, the heat from the flames finally beginning to warm their chilled bodies. Amukelo let out a deep sigh as he sat down, feeling the fire's warmth seeping into his skin, pushing away the biting cold that had gripped him since their fall into the icy river. The guy, still shivering slightly, wrapped his arms around himself and leaned as close to the fire as he could without burning.
Amukelo's hunger made itself known, and he got up to head to the counter. Behind it stood a broad-shouldered man, wiping down a mug with a rag, his eyes slightly wary but not unfriendly. "I'd like to order two big meals," Amukelo said. "Something that'll warm us up."
The man looked the two of them over, noting their soaked clothing and the exhaustion in their faces, before nodding. "All right," he said in a gruff voice. "It'll be ready soon. Take a seat and warm up."
Amukelo returned to the table and sat down across from the guy. It was a relief to not be freezing anymore, and he took a moment to appreciate the simple comfort of a warm fire and shelter.
The guy's nervous eyes flickered around the room before finally settling on Amukelo, who seemed much calmer in comparison. After a long silence, Amukelo broke it. "My name is Amukelo," he said. "What's yours?"
He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, but then spoke softly. "Holag," he answered. There was an awkward pause before Amukelo continued.
"Why did you stand out there like an idiot, challenging strangers to fight?" Amukelo asked, his tone stern but not unkind. "If it had been someone else, they might have just left you there to drown. What were you thinking?"
Holag lowered his head, staring at the table as if the answer were written in the grain of the wood. "I... I'm sorry," he said, his voice small and filled with regret. "In my village, I was the strongest warrior. I thought... I thought I was strong enough to take on anyone, you know?" He gave a weak laugh, as if trying to make light of it, but it fell flat. "Guess I was wrong."
Amukelo let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. "You remind me of myself when I was younger," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I used to think I was strong too, back when I was training in my village." He gave a faint smile, remembering those days with a mix of nostalgia and sadness. "Turns out, the world's a lot bigger than just one village. You're not as strong as you think."
Holag nodded, the realization sinking in. "Yeah... I learned that the hard way. I guess I've got a lot to learn."
Amukelo sighed again. "You'd learn that the hard way if you were dead. You're very lucky, just don't do it again," he said.
After some time, the waiter, a thin, middle-aged man with sunken eyes and a hurried demeanor, approached them carrying two large trays of steaming food. The aromas hit them immediately—richly spiced stew, thick slices of bread slathered with butter, and a hot drink to chase the chill away. Amukelo's stomach growled in anticipation, and he could tell from Holag's eager eyes that he was just as hungry.
As the waiter bent down to set the plates in front of them, he glanced quickly over his shoulder and leaned in close to Amukelo. His voice was barely above a whisper as he said urgently, "Don't stay here any longer than necessary. I can see you're wet, and need to rest, but leave this settlement as early as you can tomorrow."
Amukelo's eyes narrowed at the man's words, and he opened his mouth to ask a question, but the waiter, with a quick and nervous nod, straightened up and said loudly, "Enjoy your meals, gentlemen!" Then he briskly walked away, disappearing behind the counter before Amukelo could press for any more information.
Amukelo looked over at Holag, who was staring after the waiter with a worried expression. "What was that all about?" Amukelo asked, his voice low but edged with suspicion.
Holag shrugged slightly, keeping his voice equally low. "I told you, there's something wrong with this place," he whispered.
Amukelo took in Holag's words, but he couldn't afford to dwell on it. They needed to eat, dry off, and leave as early as possible. He nodded. "Whatever it is, we're out of here at first light." He turned his attention back to the meal, cutting a large piece of the hearty bread and dipping it into the stew, savoring the warm, savory taste as it filled his mouth. The food was delicious, and though they were still slightly wet from the river, the heat from the fireplace was beginning to dry their clothes, making them feel much more comfortable.
After they finished their food, Amukelo felt the weariness in his bones return. He had spent so much energy keeping watch, training, and now dealing with Holag's reckless challenge—it all weighed down on him. The warm food settled in his stomach, making him want nothing more than to sleep and prepare for the journey ahead.
Amukelo stood up and walked back to the counter, motioning for the barkeep. "Where can I find an inn?" he asked, glancing out the window to the still-empty street. "No one here seems to want to talk to strangers."
The barkeep, cleaning a glass without looking up, replied, "Across the street. There's an inn there."
Amukelo nodded and said, "Thank you," tossing a few coins onto the counter before heading back to Holag. "Let's go," he said, and they both walked to the door.
As they exited the pub, the cold air hit them once more, but the warmth from their meal and the fire made it bearable. Amukelo's eyes darted around the street—it felt like eyes were on him. He could sense a gaze watching from somewhere, though when he looked around, he saw only the empty street, the shut windows, and the silhouettes of buildings against the night sky. The pub's patrons, as far as he could tell, were still inside, talking amongst themselves. It was unsettling, but they couldn't do anything about it now.
The inn was easy to find; it was directly across the street, just as the barkeep said. It was a modest building, with a worn wooden sign hanging outside and a dimly lit entrance. Amukelo tied his horse to a post nearby and walked inside with Holag. The innkeeper was a stout, elderly man with a long beard and sharp eyes, who eyed them up and down with suspicion before speaking.
"What do you want?" the innkeeper asked gruffly.
"We need a room for the night," Amukelo replied, "and a place for my horse."
"It'll cost extra to keep your horse," the innkeeper said, squinting. "You got coin?"
Amukelo reached into his bag and handed over the money. "I have coin."
The innkeeper's eyes lit up as he took the coins, counting them quickly. "Good, good," he muttered. "Your horse can stay in the stable out back. But I'll tell you this—keep quiet, don't cause any trouble. Folks here don't take kindly to strangers."
"Noted," Amukelo said simply, taking the key that was handed to him. He led Holag to their room, a small, cramped space with two beds and a tiny table with a flickering oil lamp. The sheets were clean, but the air felt stale, as if the room hadn't been used in a long time.
Holag collapsed on his bed, visibly exhausted from the day's events, and Amukelo sat on his own, feeling the comfort of a mattress beneath him. They both slept fitfully, the unsettling feeling of the town keeping them on edge. Amukelo, accustomed to restless nights, lay awake for some time, staring at the dark ceiling and listening to the eerie silence outside.
The next morning, the first light of dawn began to pierce through the thin curtains. Amukelo and Holag prepared to leave as soon as they could, gathering their belongings and making their way downstairs. As they stepped outside the inn, the village seemed to have changed slightly. There were more people on the streets than the day before, but the activity was still strangely muted. People spoke in whispers, avoided eye contact, and moved quickly, their heads down.
But as Amukelo moved toward the stable to retrieve his horse, he saw a group of soldiers standing in a row, blocking his path. His horse was being held by one of the soldiers, and their eyes locked onto Amukelo the moment he exited the inn.