Chapter 212: Side Story Chapter
“My temper makes currying favor with self-righteous nobles a bit difficult.”
“Yes, I suppose that would be the case,” the merchant readily agreed.
Ruth sat a short distance away, cramming bread into his mouth. He made no attempts to stifle his laughter as he eavesdropped. Riftan shot him a glare before rising to his feet.
“We should get going if we’re to reach the village before nightfall.”
The men collected their horses and continued south. After half a day’s ride through a field, a small village came into view. They rested there for the night, then traveled two more days before arriving at Balbourne, the capital of Osiriya.
Riftan could not help but gape as he gazed at the walls of the vast city that had once been the capital of the old Roem Empire. Once they passed through the massive, dragon-sized gate, a pristine road wide enough for six carriages stretched before them.
Clutching the reins, his eyes roamed about the cityscape. Though he had traveled to numerous places, including Wedon, Livadon, and Balto, he had never seen a more majestic city than Balbourne.
Closely packed stone buildings lined both sides of the street. They were so well-maintained that Riftan found it difficult to believe they were inhabited by commoners. Manicured shrubs and lush flower beds decorated the edges of the main road, and the majority of the people milling about wore clean clothes. Even more astonishingly, the stench of animal manure or sewage that usually permeated cities was noticeably absent.
Riftan warily noted the coaches rolling along in an orderly fashion down the immaculate road. In his experience, the bigger the city, the fouler the odors. He wondered how a place of this size managed to remain so clean with so many livestock and people living within its walls.
He was pondering such inconsequential things when the head merchant leading the procession pointed ahead and cried, “The basilica is over there. We’ll make a stop before the inn.”
Riftan shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. Soon, the loaded wagons passed through the square and halted in front of a gothic structure. The Baltonian merchants climbed up the steps and filed through the arched entrance.
While they offered oblations and prayers inside the basilica, Riftan waited next to the wagons and idly watched the fountain shoot clear water into the air. He always felt like an unwelcome guest whenever he found himself outside a church. It never failed to set him on edge.
“Are you not going in, Master Calypse?” Ruth abruptly asked, startling awake from his nap in the driver’s seat of one of the wagons.
Riftan shrugged. “If I made an offering at every stop, I’d be destitute by now.”
“Said like a true mercenary.” Ruth shook his head. “By the way you harass me at every opportunity, I thought you a devout follower of the Orthodox Church.”
“It’s because you’re annoying, not because you’re a mage.”
Ruth grumbled under his breath at Riftan’s brusque retort. Ignoring the mage, Riftan walked over to the fountain.
Above the sparkling streams of water towered statues of Wigrew leading his twelve knights, Darian the Great in his crown, and angels blessing them. Riftan tugged his hood down until it covered his eyes. He could not tell if it was because he was accustomed to more humbling environments or he felt inferior, but the statues of these legendary knights seemed too dazzling to look at.
“Now then, let’s get some rest.”
The merchants completed their worship and descended the basilica’s steps. Riftan mounted his horse once again. As he was escorting the wagons to the inn, he spotted six opulent carriages and dozens of knights in a procession toward the basilica.
The banner they held aloft looked familiar, and Riftan squinted at it, trying to place the crest. Meanwhile, the merchant party pulled over to the edge of the road and began to fuss.
“You there! Get off your horse at once!”
He had been vacantly taking in the knights’ gleaming armor and lavishly gilded carriages when one of the mercenaries smacked him on the leg. He scowled before grudgingly dismounting.
A merchant tugged at Riftan’s tunic, forcing him to bend down, and chided in a low voice, “That’s the House of Croyso. That family owns the eastern half of Wedon. They’re among the ten most powerful houses in the Seven Kingdoms, so you’d best show respect whenever you see that banner.”
As if struck by lightning, Riftan instantly grew rigid. Indeed, the intricately entwined silver fish, chestnut deer, and golden ear of corn was the same icon he had seen throughout his childhood.
Staring after the banner, he asked, “What’s a noble from Wedon doing in Osiriya?”
“Didn’t I already say there’s to be a sword tournament? They might be here simply to enjoy the competition or to rub elbows with other important guests.”
Though he was listening, Riftan could not pry his eyes away from the carriages. His mouth went dry, and his heart began to pound. Was she here? Overcome with the need to find out, he kept his eyes fixed on the covered window.
Unfortunately, the thick curtains did not even show a silhouette. Feeling desperate, he stretched out his neck as the procession passed. How old would she be now? Thirteen? Fourteen? He was dying to see how the little girl in his memory had grown. More than anything, he wanted to know if she was well.
In the end, Riftan could not resist her pull. When he went to follow the procession, the merchant grabbed his arm in alarm.
“What is it? Did you see someone you know?”
Riftan’s shoulders tensed, and he shook his head. The merchant regarded him with a perplexed expression before tilting his chin at the inn.
“Then let us get on. If we stay on the main road, we’ll have to keep our noses to our knees for the passing nobles.”
Riftan gazed at the Croyso banner growing smaller in the distance before following the others. Even as they arrived at the inn, however, his nerves still felt frayed from knowing she was somewhere in this very city.
All he wanted was to catch a glimpse of her from afar. He needed to confirm whether the girl from his illusion was real.
Exhausted, he lay sprawled across the bed in his assigned room. He was vacantly staring up at the ceiling when a trumpet blast jolted him, and he walked over to the window. A four-horse carriage bearing the banner of Wedon made a stately procession down the main road surrounded by royal guards.
After watching the knights and their dignified march toward the basilica, Riftan turned to look at the colossal, circular stadium situated in the eastern part of the city. A cool breeze ruffled his hair. Sweeping away the strands poking his eyes, he latched the window shut.
I should know my place. There’s no reason to be this obsessed.
He repeated the words as though trying to convince himself, but the knowledge that she was in the same city gripped him and refused to let go. Lowering his head, he scrubbed his face with his hands. He was certain the girl would not even remember the southern, half-blood servant boy. But why did that matter? He remembered her, and the image of her in his head was the only comfort in his bleak life.
If he could see the real girl behind the illusion, would that add another ray of solace to his empty existence? If he could create one more memory to escape to for when he found himself spending the night in a gloomy cave or injured by monsters, would that not be a worthwhile endeavor?
His desire to see her won out in the end, and he immediately went to look for the merchant. He found his client resting alone in his room.
The merchant eyed him warily. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The unexpected visit seemed to have put the man on guard. Riftan took a step back to show he meant no harm.
“I have a few questions about the tournament. You said commoners can participate? What must one do to sign up?”
The merchant’s eyes widened in surprise before he let out a bark of laughter. “Changed your mind after seeing the knights today, eh?”
Riftan did not bother with an answer.
Appearing not to like his disagreeable attitude, the merchant scowled and said tersely, “You can sign up by paying the entry fee at the basilica. It’s late now, so I suggest you go tomorrow.”
“I see. Apologies for disturbing your rest.”
The merchant shrugged him off and closed the door. The next morning, Riftan went to the basilica at first light. The towering building at the center of Balbourne, erected during Roem’s golden age, was of a scale unmatched by any royal castle. He eventually managed to locate the station where they were taking entries to the tournament.
A long queue of men, most of whom appeared to be wandering swordsmen, lined up outside the building next to the basilica’s main structure. Riftan joined the queue and anxiously awaited his turn. The sign-up process turned out to be surprisingly simple. All they required was the fee and his name. That being said, he still had to get through the preliminary rounds to earn the right to compete in the main tournament. Among the hundreds of commoners who paid the two denar fee, less than thirty would be given the chance to showcase their skills in front of the nobility.
What an easy way to make money, Riftan thought wryly as he handed over two gold coins.
After writing his name on the roster, a cleric led him to the training grounds. There, he faced off against a total of five men and earned a place in the main tournament. Although he was stumped over how poorly organized the preliminary rounds were, he was glad they did not try to drag out the event. He accepted his entry ticket from a cleric and promptly left the basilica.
The sky was dark by then, so he made his way to the inn for supper. As he stepped inside, Ruth leaped up from the corner table where he was taking his meal.
...
“Master Calypse! I heard you decided to join the tournament.”
The mage scurried over, clutching his bowl of soup.
“I thought you had no interest in such things. May I ask what brought on this sudden change of heart?”
Riftan avoided the mage’s gaze. For some reason, he was embarrassed by his participation in such an ostentatious competition for no reason but to lay eyes on the girl. He came up with a credible excuse instead.
“The prize money was better than I thought.”
“How much is it?” the mage said, his eyes glinting.
Riftan shot him an irritated glare. “Didn’t you promise not to ask needless questions?”
“How is that needless? In fact, I’d say it’s extremely pertinent. Wagers about the future victor are being made in every tavern across the city!”
Ruth’s face grew serious.
“I placed a sizeable sum on you the moment I heard you were competing, so I can’t help but consider the matter very important.”
Riftan stared at the mage incredulously before shaking his head and taking one of the corner tables. Ruth sat next to him and continued to lay out his point of view.
...
“As long as you set your mind on winning, victory will be ours. We’re projected to win twenty times the amount I put down!”
“I don’t give a damn!”
“How can you say that? Do you want me to become destitute? I’ve wagered my entire fortune on you, you know! Once I get my payout, I’ll be sure to give you a share, so you must do your best. You have to win. Understood? You must!”
Like a woodpecker wearing down a branch, Ruth continued to assault Riftan’s ears throughout his whole meal. Riftan had to squeeze every last drop of patience to restrain himself from hurling his soup in the runt’s face.
The tournament commenced a week later. The nobility of Livadon, Dristan, and Arex flocked to Balbourne before it began, and the constant procession of knights drew throngs of spectators.
With so much fanfare building up to the event, the tournament became the most talked about subject even among the common folk. At the inaugural event, the crowd was so large that it was impossible to traverse the streets without elbowing one’s way through.
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