The Old Drunk Wolf pulled his cart to a stop, the wheels grinding on the cobblestones. I was finally here, in the city, a place I'd only glimpsed on every Monday. The walls, a massive, imposing barrier, now loomed behind us, a symbol of both protection and confinement. As I sat on the back of the cart, the vibrant colors and sounds of the city swirled around me, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of our village.
I looked towards the distant imposing inner wall, a ring of fortifications built long ago to protect the Queens and the kings of the west from the invaders. The royal palace, perched atop a hill that overlooked the city, was a grand, majestic structure, a symbol of the wealth and power of the West Kingdom. I used to stare at that place every Monday, a silent observer, but today, it felt different. It was like I was seeing it for the first time, seeing through a veil of memory, recalling its appearance thirty years ago, when the undead army had besieged the city.
I compared the dream setting, frozen in time, to the present city. The castle looked the same, a testament to its enduring strength. But the city itself was different. It had been rebuilt, its streets wider, its buildings grander, and the scars of the undead attack had been largely erased.
The most noticeable change was the addition of four towering structures, each topped with a large, bronze bell. They stood at the four corners of the city, like big, friendly giants of the city. I had heard that the Builders' Guild had added the bell towers after the destruction caused by the undead, an attempt to warn the city of future threats.
But the most unusual addition was something I had never paid attention to before. In the middle of the road junction directly ahead, a Rowan Tree stood tall, its branches reaching towards the sky. The tree stood at the point where the road split in three directions: straight towards the West inner walls, to the left, winding around the city, and to the right, skirting the city's eastern edge. I knew from the dream that thirty years ago, this junction was the same, except for the Rowan Tree which was now standing tall there.
I glanced left, noticing the Old Drunk Wolf in conversation with a man in the garb of a city garrison soldier. It was probably a friend, someone he trusted to do his trade. The Old Drunk Wolf wasn't a social man, but he knew the right people.
"Good afternoon, Sir. Would you mind explaining why there is a Rowan Tree in the middle of that junction?" I asked, as we approached. The garrison soldier looked surprised, his gaze settling on me, a question mark in his eyes.
"The boy's from Willow Creek. He's apprenticing with me," the Old Drunk Wolf said, his voice a gruff, uninterested drone. "He's a sharp one, too."
The soldier chuckled. "Well, I'm surprised the lazy bastard's finally trying to teach someone." He looked at me, his gaze twinkling. "The Rowan Trees aren't from the West, boy. The Queen ordered them to be planted right after the last day of the undead attack. There are four more around the city, located in a Pentagram."
"The Queen?" I questioned, a wave of surprise washing over me. I knew that Rowan Trees were considered holy trees, that they were only found where the sun first touched the earth. How could they have been planted in the West Kingdom?
I was going to ask another question, but then suddenly, the bell from our side of the city started tolling, its sound a low, resonating tremor that echoed through the city.
"What's that?" the Old Drunk Wolf asked, his eyes scanning around.
"Well, it seems like it has been spotted on this side of the city. You two should be careful while wandering around the marketplace," the soldier said, his voice laced with a hint of concern, his eyes darting around as if searching for a threat.
"Ah," the Old Drunk Wolf said, pulling on the reins. He steered his cart towards the inner walls, where the marketplace was located. It wasn't as if he cared about any danger. He was as lazy as the demon Belphegor, a fact that now seemed a lot less amusing after the events of the Hell House.
"What do you mean by 'it' Mister?" I shouted, catching the soldier's attention.
"The imp. The one who escaped from the royal prison. Be careful. The creature is said to be vicious." He shouted back, his gaze wary.
An imp? My mind raced, a mixture of awe and tension coursing through me. A dwarf, straight out of my history books, was loose in the city?
I couldn't help but wonder what he truly looked like. I was about to ask more questions, but the Old Drunk Wolf urged his cart forward, his eyes fixed on the inner walls.
"So, as usual to the library, boy?" after a few minutes the Old Drunk Wolf asked, his voice a low rumble as I hopped out of the cart at our usual spot. "Yeah, once I'm done getting the books, I'll come see you in the market," I said, walking to the pavement.
He tossed a bag filled with books into my arms. "Are these new books?" I asked, catching the bag before it crashed to the ground. "Yeah, I want you to make a trade with the librarian. The books are rare, a wonderer from the East sold them to me. Use your brain and try to get a good price," he said before driving away, leaving me standing on the cobblestone path.
I turned and started climbing the long horizontal steps of the City Library. It was a grand structure, built of gray stone, its walls carved with intricate details and topped with a row of windows that looked like watchful eyes. Two guards stood by the entrance, their faces stoic, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. Above the double doors, a carved owl, its wings spread wide, perched on a branch, its amber eyes seeming to watch over the countless stories held within.
The library was vast, with two floors: one above ground and one below. The ground floor was a maze of towering bookshelves that stretched towards the high ceiling, filled with volumes on every subject imaginable. The air was thick with the scent of old paper, dust, and the faint hint of something sweeter, like the beeswax candles that lit the room.
The librarian, Lady Elara, was a tall woman with a kind, round face and a pair of spectacles that perched precariously on her nose. She was as still as a statue, her movements slow and deliberate, her smile serene and welcoming. She knew me well. I was a regular, a Monday fixture, a boy who always came with a bag full of books.
"Hello, dear. You're a few minutes late today," she said, her voice as soft as the rustling of pages.
I smiled, trying not to explain about my encounter with my brother, Lucian, and my subsequent escape. "Madam Elara, I have new books to sell, if you like. Please have a look," I said, unpacking the books on her table.
"Sure, darling. Let me see what you have here," she said, adjusting her glasses.
"My master got them all from a wonderer from the East. The books have interesting information on Eastern churches."
She took a book, her fingers tracing the edges, checking the quality of the cover and the paper. "I don't know about the other books, but this one has excellent quality." She held the book up, the cross etched on its cover catching my eye. "This is called a Bible, Madam. It has the words of their god." I wasn't an expert on Eastern history, but I knew some of it. After all, in ancient days, there were no West or East Kingdoms. We all used to live in the same land before the wars began.
"And, Madam, even if the other books aren't of the same quality, the contents are interesting. Some of them contain details of their economy and culture. For example, I once read in a book that they burn witches in their cities after tying them to wooden stakes in public," I said, recalling the chilling detail from a book I had read long ago.
Lady Elara made a sound of deep, thoughtful interest as she picked up a few more books, her eyes scanning their pages. "Tell you what, Ash," she said, "Go and choose your books, and when you're ready to leave, come and meet me. I'm sure we can have a good deal."
And with that, she turned back to her work, her eyes focused on the books I had brought, while I disappeared into the labyrinth of bookshelves, my heart filled with anticipation.