It didn’t take much for Lenz to forget about sticking around me, just the opportunity to talk to eligible maidens. I couldn’t blame him – he had everything going for him at the moment. There was probably no better time for him to make a good impression on the girls and, hopefully, their families. It did leave me sitting here to wallow in my discontent. At least alone I wouldn’t drag anyone else down with me.

I missed Partanen. The Dwarf’s company had been the only oasis of enlightenment in this benighted tournament. I hadn’t seen him since we’d parted company that morning. Indeed, the Ambassador had taken quiet leave of the city. And I was stuck here, dressed up like a capering fool while pointless, self-congratulatory prizes were to be awarded. Actual fools capered about the hall, their feigned idiocy bringing merriment to the easily amused. I could not recall having been in a darker mood in my life, as even the sunlight cascading in through the tall windows drew my ire. We were in the same hall used for Valayan fencing a few days before. The benches had been removed, and the hall was now lined by tables. Bright white tablecloths only made the sunlight more irritating. Of course, even if I had deliberately lost at Valayan fencing, Lenz would have dragged me here anyway. A bout of laughter at an unheard jest rankled my dark humours, and I bit my tongue to avoid snapping at the source.

“You look absolutely miserable.” The voice was Otto’s. I did not look up.

“I don’t want to be here,” I said, barely giving voice to the repeated refrain in my head. The clap of Otto’s hand against my back startled me. He hauled me upright by the root of my neck.

“But you are here, and it’s a celebration, so there’s no reason to not join in on the fun.”

Other than it not being fun. But I did not give voice to that sentiment.

Otto physically pulled me out of my seat. He dragged me around to myriad clusters of people whose names I had no hope of remembering in an effort to force me to socialize. These people had no interest in talking to me. Many feigned it after Hackenhof introduced me and made it sound like I was somebody important. I did my best to be polite to these people and not offend any of them. The endless parade of faces made it impossible to figure out where I stood with any of them. My respite arrived in the form of the King of Heralds rapping his staff against the floor.

“We are ready to begin,” he declared. On that cue, everyone started finding their seats. This did not get me any distance from Otto. With the seating sorted by titular rank, the high table consisted of Hengist, Hubert, Hackenhof, de Corval and myself. I couldn’t help but feel hopelessly out of place. I stared at the gold plate placed before me and the five mismatched bites of artistically arrayed ingredients. A finger bowl of rosewater was set by the corner opposite my drink. The bowl itself was enameled in the pattern of a rose. I was reminded of Salzheim, but instead of Frau Kirschbauer, I was stuck with Otto. I wasn’t sure which I liked less.

As the servants moved clear, the King of Heralds officially bestowed the prize for third place in the rings. It was a bronze ring the same size as those used in the contest and a sum of twenty marks. The young man who won it wore a grin so wide that it threatened to split his head open. After the first plates were cleared and the servants laid out bowls containing consomme of waterfowl, Rappe received a miniature bronze sword and twenty-five marks for his performance in Valayan Fencing. And so it went. Each course was accompanied by the awarding of a prize. And the prizes got bigger as the feast went on. Lenz was the only person to make multiple trips to the King of Heralds for an award, having placed in every event and won the rings outright. By the time I was summoned to receive a miniature gold sword, Lenz had claimed a small fortune.

Out of courtesy to my host, I quietly accepted the award and returned to my seat. While the bronze sword might have been made to hold an edge, the gold was too soft, and made the trophy nothing but a pointless bauble. It had a wooden box into which someone had very recently carved a rendition of the Raven Coast Roc. My attention soon wandered to the prize money. Second place had been ten times the value of third, and first ten times that of second. Twenty-five hundred marks was no idle sum. How long could someone live on that? It depended on how modest their appetites were. A humble man could subsist quite a while on that.[32]

How much did it cost to attend an Academy of the Arcane? If it couldn’t cover the whole cost, it could certainly make a decent start. An idea began to percolate through my mind. I grasped the thin thread of optimism.

***

After the protracted celebration, we meandered back to the villa in the dark. While the others wandered into their rooms and presumably sought the embrace of sleep, I sifted through my luggage for the simplest and most utilitarian garb in it. I loaded one pack with those garments, my books, and a few other minor items. Looking at the pile of armor sitting in the corner of the room, I got out a sheet of paper and composed a letter.

“Lenz, please bring my apology to your father and Roland. I can not contribute anything of value to the endeavor of dealing with the goblin incursion. As such, I am going south alone. The four hundred marks I am leaving are to repay the note for the arms and armor. I do not wish to leave others indebted for me.”

I probably should have said more. But I drew a blank. What was there to say that would not sound trite or rude? I separated out sufficient coinage from my prize money to account for the four hundred marks. I wrapped it in the note and left that on the writing desk. I snuffed the light and sat in the dark. Listening to the sounds of activity, I sat and waited. The minutes stretched to an eternity. If I didn’t wait for them to be asleep, the result would either be a fight, the lot of them trying to follow me, or some catastrophic combination of the two. They were clearly happy with the life of steel that lay before them. The one thing I’d learned above all else at this tournament was how miserable I would be if forced to trod that same path. It would be best if I simply disappeared. At least until I was too far along in my studies to turn back.

While waiting for the others to fall asleep, I nearly nodded off myself. To keep my mind active, I picked through the details of my route. I would have to leave Farcairn by boat, as getting back to Volkmund through the Five Kingdoms would be a long and tortuous trek. It would be easy enough to find a ship headed to Zerhaltenberg. Then my choices were a bit more varied. The only Academy whose exact location I knew was the Academy at Zhalskrag. Getting there was straightforward enough – either take the pilgrim trail through the hinterlands or ride a river barge to Freinmarkt and follow the Imperial Highway to Zhalskrag. Either route was hundreds of miles of hiking, even if I rode the waterways as far as Freinmarkt.

I scowled in the dark as I realized the only way I was going to make it to Zhalskrag was if I took Graymire. Jost had been unequivocal in his declaration that the horse was my property, so I could just look for a buyer once I reached where I was going. I doubted anyone would pay a lot for an unruly, feral-sired beast, but it was unlikely that no one at all would take him. And what about highwaymen? Lone travelers were their favorite targets, and I’d be lugging around thousands of marks in gold.[33] I needed a sword at least then. The plain arming sword would stand out less than the gaudy sword, and I did just set aside funds to reimburse Roland for it. As quietly as I could, I collected that sword belt from beside the pile of armor and leaned it against my pack.

The waiting gnawed at me. I was eager to get moving, but the fear of sparking a confrontation kept me pinned to the chair. I am a coward. But this was no revelation. The first thing that came to mind when we’d been preparing to ride against the goblins was all the ways I could get killed. I shook my head and turned my attention to the task at hand. The silence had lingered long enough to assume the others were asleep. The debate about sparking a light was short, as a candle in the hall was less likely to wake them than me falling down the stairs or hitting a wall. I lit the candle. Donning the sword belt and pack, I reached to pick up the candle. A glint made me pause.

I rarely thought about my ring. It was just something I’d always had. The silver band held an agate carved with a negative impression of the Karststadt coat of arms. I’d used it most recently to seal the note for Zeelan. Part of me insisted I should leave it behind, to make a clean break from everything. But it had been my father’s ring. And his father’s. And his father’s. I’d worn it on a chain around my neck until I was big enough that it wouldn’t fall off my finger. No, it was going to stay on that finger. The brown on brown smudge of agate made the engraving impossible to read at a glance.

I picked up the candle and eased the door to the hall open. Choking silence danced in the wandering shadows. I cupped the tiny flame and moved through the passage at a measured pace. I held my breath in an effort to reduce the amount of noise I made by yet another iota. It sounded as if my strumming heartbeat was pealing out like a bell as I passed the next door. A slow breath slipped past my lips as I eased onto the first stair. I descended at the same metered, silent pace. My heart rate eased towards normal as I approached the bottom of the tower. Once in the kitchen, I unbolted the door and blew out the candle.

Moonlight spilled in as I pushed the door open. Looking for a rock, I nudged it in front of the door to keep it closed. The rock was not so heavy as to prevent anyone inside from pushing their way out, but it would prevent it from swinging wide on its own. Heading into the stables, I found Graymire’s saddle. As I moved into the stall, he nuzzled the side of my head. I gave his neck a reassuring pat. He rose to his hooves and let me put on his tack. I led him into the yard before climbing into the saddle. The house Banik footman standing by the gate looked up in confusion at my approach.

“Prince Kord?” he asked in confusion.

“Open the gate,” I said in a calm tone.

“You’re going out at this hour?”

“I have every right to,” I said.

He had nothing to say to that and quietly complied. I rode out into the night and descended to the docks. Looking for the distinctive side door of a horse transport, I rode up the darkened dock. A bleary watch officer peered down at me.

“I’m looking for transport to Zerhaltenberg,” I said.

“At this hour?”

***

I did eventually find a boat to take me out of Farcairn, though it was the fourth vessel I approached. I ended up sleeping in a hammock strung up in the same stall as Graymire, but I stoically accepted the inconvenience. I was just glad that we set sail at dawn and were clear of the harbor before anyone knew I was gone. The Small Sea was quiet, and we had a good breeze behind us. Zerhaltenberg was closer than Salzheim, so it did not take as long to get there as the original voyage east. Zerhaltenberg straddled the Grunstrom. The dark spars of the twin lighthouses were supposed to have been taller, and thinner, but financial constraints had limited the final form. They were still massive buildings that dominated the structure of the city. A stout wall ringed a tightly packed mass of buildings. The city had overflowed the walls, with people building outside the gates fearlessly. It had been so long since the city had been besieged that the fear of attack had faded to less than the difficulty of putting up with the crowding.

Off the boat and on the dock, I waited for a relatively quiet gap in the flow of people into the city before approaching. A stiff-backed, officious, thin man with sandy brown hair plastered to his scalp stepped into my path. I stopped and looked at the livery badge bearing the mark of the city upon his chest. It was a cloth badge stitched to his overcoat.

“You cannot wear your sword into the city,” he said.

“I can’t exactly leave it here. I plan to head inland,” I said.

“Stow it in your pack,” the man said. “Outsiders simply cannot wear or display weapons within the walls.” My instinct was to protest, but I simply undid the belt and stashed the sheathed blade inside my pack. The man nodded and stepped out of my way. Leading Graymire past the halberdiers flanking the gates, I passed into the shade of the city’s buildings. I didn’t see a single structure less than four stories tall. All of them abutted their neighbors, or were separated by narrow alleys that were almost crowded out by the need for buildings. The roads existed simply as open-topped corridors within something that was all but a single building. They were narrow, winding paths paved in stone setts and stained with effluent. The whole place reeked of unwashed bodies, excrement and rot. Graymire was visibly agitated by the experience, and I kept his head over my shoulder so I could provide some degree of calming influence. The last thing I wanted was the oversized beast going wild and causing injuries.

I should have just stabled the horse to go about my business, but I needed to make one stop before I could do that. Wandering about the rat’s nest of pathways that were the streets of Zerhaltenberg, I eventually figured out where the goldsmiths were. I annoyed a great many people by tying Graymire to a decorative pillar by the door before I stepped inside, but I had little choice. A small man in dark attire removed a loupe from his eye as he looked up.

“May I help you?” he asked, his tone almost derisive.

“Do you change currencies here?” I asked.

“We do.”

“I’m afraid I have run out of smaller coins,” I said, dropping a Zesrin half-mark on the cedarwood desk he sat behind. It landed on a felt mat, the profile of Hengist III gleaming.

“I suppose we’re going to be seeing a lot of these soon,” he sighed. “That tournament business has wrapped up then?”

“Yes.”

He diligently assayed the coin, the results raising an eyebrow.

“Something the matter?”

“No, the previous Kings of Zesrin were prone to debasing their currency to an almost comical extent. This has levels of purity to rival coinage from Quendaverus.[34]” Measuring the weight of the half-mark, he metered out a selection of silver coins, some more battered and age-worn than others. Then he topped them off with a set of bronze coins. There was no real order to the origins or markings on the coins, but he had them sorted by composition and weight of bullion. “There is a slight fee for exchange services. A percent of the value.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant some undefined percentage or just one percent, but I just nodded. It didn’t matter, I needed smaller coins to buy supplies for my trip. No shopkeep would be able to break a half-mark. With my heap of silver and bronze tucked away in a pouch, I found a place to stable Graymire and store my pack as I went about the business of provisioning my trip.

***

The pilgrim trail ran straight southwest from Zerhaltenberg until it reached the boundary of the terrestrial lord’s domain. Then it became a meandering switchback of a rut slithering along the borders between alloidal holdings, fees, and benefices to avoid any spot where someone had the undisputed authority to set up a toll booth. Where it was not passing amongst woods, it was bordered by hedgerows. Thousands of passing feet over the span of centuries had gouged a channel into the space where the trail ran. Thus it was washed in shade and shadow where it did not line up directly with the path of the sun. The same liminal state between territories that avoided the possibility of tolls also meant none of the lords were willing to permit the building of permanent structures on the edges of their land. The road itself was unstoppable because it wasn’t worth the headache of potentially going to war with the neighboring estate to hassle a few passing pilgrims.

The practical effect was that I found myself sleeping on the ground. I had bought a rain cloak in case of inclement weather that served as my blanket, and I found the least troublesome patch of hard soil to curl up on. If I were not riding atop Graymire, I’m not sure I would have been able to keep going. To his credit, the horse was nonplussed about the conditions on that dirt path. I could have prepared better by getting a decent bedroll and a real blanket. But I’d overlooked those things on the mistaken assumption that there’d be inns or carriage houses along the way. The pilgrims were a nuisance that the lords to either side of the trail would rather not have to deal with. Unable to make them stop walking by, they instead ignored the matter and prevented anyone from setting up anything resembling a static shelter.

The peasants were a bit more pragmatic and wandered up to the road to trade. As the only man on horseback, I attracted attention from both the peasants and the pilgrims I passed. It was the wrong sort of attention, and many fled my approach. I would have gladly paid overmuch for a decent bedroll, but I never got the chance to make anyone an offer. So, my days were filled by the long, dull monotony of listening to Graymire’s hooves on the packed earth. Of watching people scurry to avoid my gaze as if I meant them harm, and of regretting my poor planning as I bedded down for another aching night on the ground.

When the highwaymen tried to block off the trail, I was almost relieved for the change.

Ragged and ill-kempt, they dressed as shoddily as the pilgrims trudging along the road. Their haphazard appearance extended to the motley collection of tools they brandished as weapons. There were cudgels, agricultural flails, and one man with a bill hook. They looked scrawny, with a hungry gleam in their eyes and menacing snarls that revealed missing and rotted teeth. Their bravado wavered at the whisper of steel as I drew my sword. It broke amidst the thunder of hooves as I spurred Graymire into a gallop. Those in my way scrambled to be anywhere else, tripping up those in reach of my path who were tempted to swing at me as I rode by.

I never once swung my blade, nor did I slow or look back once I’d broken through to the far side of their thin line. I didn’t need to kill the brigands. They would never be able to catch a man on horseback, and everyone knew it. They didn’t even try to come after me. I still kept up a faster pace for a bit, then let Graymire stroll more casually forward. I did not stop until the sun left the sky, meeting the prospect of another night on the ground with a groan.

Zhalskrag was both the name of a city and the name of a mountain. That mountain thrust up from otherwise level woodlands in a single, smoldering spar of basalt. Mephitic vapors wafted from numerous fissures on its flanks, hazing the sky overhead. The city sat at the foot of the mountain, in a clearing amidst the woods. It was marked by seven colorful spires that soared over the rest of the structures in a proud defiance of the normal rules of architecture. Each looked too thin and too tall to withstand its own weight. Each speared skywards from clusters of more traditional buildings, but the towers were clearly epicenters of the city, as was a complex of limestone buildings that caressed the foot of the mountain proper. I wasn’t sure what these were, and I was distracted by the fact that Zhalskrag had no wall.

Of course it had no wall. It had an Academy of the Arcane. Who would dare attack a city that could call upon the aid of dozens, if not hundreds, of wizards, including undisputed masters? A wall was an expense it could afford to forego. My weary heart soared at the mere sight of an inn. A second glance revealed another, and another. After five nights sleeping on the open dirt, I was spoiled for choice in accommodation. Of course I was, Zhalskrag was a city of travelers. The temples of Zhal and their oracles, the Academy of the Arcane, the hot springs… That’s what those limestone buildings were – the baths. There would be time for that sort of thing later. Right now, I wanted a decent meal and a soft bed. I rode about the broad avenues and boulevards of a city unconstrained by defensive fortifications, looking over my options.

I settled on an inn called the Playful Fox. It was a stout stone structure with a roof of red-glazed tile and a walled courtyard. I got a few skeptical glances from the staff due to the state of my appearance, but my coin dispelled the looks. The interior was stately and confident. As stoutly built as the exterior, it still showed subtle signs of wear. The furniture was not stylish, but it had been built to last, and was in good condition. The meal I got was a stew of chicken and vegetables served in a trencher of bread. After the better part of a week on cold, dried foods, it was more delicious than any of the finery that had been placed before me in Salzheim or Farcairn. A tankard of cider washed it down admirably.

[32] Twenty-five hundred marks is just shy of six hundred years worth of wages for an unskilled laborer. Someone looking for a modest living could retire on that sum, though it would not support a noble lifestyle.

[33] I have to contest Prince Kord’s claims that he carried the bulk of his prize money with him. Sixty Zesrin half-mark coins weigh a standard (non-bullion) pound. Twenty-one hundred marks worth would weigh seventy pounds. Kord was not carrying a small woman’s weight in gold coins around. Most people would not notice this detail, but I’ve had to handle the logistics of transporting large sums of coinage. I asked around, and the truth appears to be that he left the majority of his prize money behind. Fortunately, he had honest friends and would be reunited with the money later on, though he never explicitly mentions it again.

[34] That’s because every coin bearing Hengist’s likeness was minted in Quendaverus, often by the Imperial Mints, to finance him and his actions on behalf of the Dwarf throne.

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