I felt the setting sun of Waldruhm painting the white city walls a deep bloodred, and the air around the reagent stalls growing heavier still.
"Aren!" — a sharp shout snapped me back from my daze.
I turned and saw Leo and Einard searching for me anxiously. I carefully came up beside them, accidentally startling Einard with my sudden appearance nearby.
"I'm here."
"Oh gods!" — the fisherman yelped in fright.
"Where did you wander off to?! Gods, Elara asked you not to leave my side!"
"Sorry, I got a bit distracted thinking I'd found the reagent I needed, but unfortunately they don't have what I'm looking for here," — I answered, trying to improvise an excuse on the fly.
Einard sighed, hands on his hips, then snorted and led me and Leo back toward Elara's stall.
Einard walked fast, catching people with his shoulder and not looking back. Leo could barely keep up, glancing back at me every other step.
By the time we reached the Eastern Market square, Elara was already finishing packing the remaining tinctures into wooden crates. She raised her head when she noticed us and wiped her palm across her forehead, smudged with wood dust. Bernard sat on the edge of the cart, tightening the leather straps on a stack of cargo.
Elara stepped forward, her gaze sweeping quickly across our faces.
"Finally. I was starting to think Einard had dragged you into some dockside tavern."
The fisherman snorted irritably and planted his palms on his hips.
"Why is it automatically my fault?"
I walked up to the cart and rested my hand on the side board.
"There are so many people here... it's hard to get used to."
Elara exhaled with a faint smile and returned to her crate. She carefully laid the last bottle into the straw.
Bernard jumped down onto the cobblestones, and the ground answered dully under his weight. He came up to me and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"Tomorrow will be even louder. When the first trophies come in, real chaos starts. We need to get to the market early."
I nodded, having just quietly slipped the coin pouch into the large bag with the rest of the money. The sun had finally dropped behind the horizon, and gas lanterns and oil lamps were being lit in the streets of Oskhaven. The city was sinking into a festival night full of drunken shouts and folk music.
---
We headed for the tavern "The Merry Ploughman" which was two blocks from the Southern Gate. It was a massive two-story building of white stone with a spacious wooden barn attached.
Bernard drove the cart into the inner yard, where several merchant wagons already stood. The local stableman took the reins while we helped Elara unload the personal belongings from the cart.
I entered the common room behind Leo. Inside it was stuffy with the heat of the fireplace and the smell of fried onions. Dozens of townspeople and warriors who hadn't left for the Hunt sat at long oak tables, loudly debating the knights' chances at trophies. Behind the bar I recognized the woman we had seen at the gate. Her gray dress was dusted with flour, and her face looked even more haggard in the uncertain light of the oil lamps. She was setting mugs on a tray, her movements mechanical, her gaze drifting back constantly to the dark window facing south.
Elara approached the bar and addressed the woman quietly, who didn't react at first, lost in her own thoughts. When Elara spoke to her again, the woman flinched and turned to face her.
"Oh gods, Elara, forgive me, I... didn't hear you right away..." — the woman answered, flustered.
"Hello, Selma, good to see you well. We're staying a couple of nights. The usual — two rooms upstairs" — Elara said, quietly.
Selma nodded, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked at us, and I saw a deep, suppressed anxiety in her eyes.
"Sure, you can take the rooms at the end of the upper floor."
Bernard lowered himself heavily onto a bench by the wall and also addressed Selma.
"And something hot and a beer for me."
I sat down beside Leo, taking in the main room of the tavern at the same time. In this noisy place, among the smells of food and hops, I felt uncertain, but also genuinely interested to be somewhere so new.
"Where's Elen? I thought he was still helping you here" — Elara asked, carefully scanning the room, trying to find the boy.
Selma went still, her fingers clenching the edge of the wooden bar. She slowly raised her eyes to Elara, and I watched her lips tremble before she could get out a single word.
"He left... for the Hunt."
The woman's voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible through the noise of the room.
"Said he wasn't going to carry trays anymore while others were earning glory. Left with the first Order detachment, didn't even glance back at the threshold."
Elara pressed her palm to her lips, her eyes widening with shock. She had known Elen as a quiet and dutiful helper who had never shown any pull toward violence or adventure. Bernard at the table let out a low growl and brought his fist down on the oak tabletop, sending our empty mugs jumping.
"Stupid little fool" — the blacksmith rumbled, his face darkening with anger.
"The forest doesn't forgive boys who mistake bravado for valor. Did he at least take a proper set of armor or go out in his rags?"
Selma only shook her head and covered her face with her hands.
Leo beside me went quiet, his enthusiasm about the Hunt evaporating instantly, replaced by a heavy awareness of reality.
I watched Selma, feeling a weight in my chest that was fed by the image surfacing in my mind of her earlier attempt to stop her son. It was unfamiliar for me, feeling something like this, especially watching a person who seemed kind and loving suffering without cause. Or so it seemed to me — I didn't know the whole situation. But still, I felt she didn't deserve this.
Selma picked up the tray again, trying to return to work, but her movements were broken.
In Ockhaven, the festival meant gold and joy for many, but for this woman it had become the start of an agonizing wait that could end in nothing four days from now at the Southern Gate.
Selma brought a heavy cast-iron pot of stew and set it in the center of the table. The steam from hot fat and vegetables hit our faces, but I had no appetite.
The woman stepped away quickly, avoiding Elara's eyes. Bernard tore a chunk of bread from the communal loaf and started eating in silence, staring grimly at the dancing flames in the fireplace.
Elara sat motionless, her spoon still lying on the table. She watched Selma, who was now scrubbing an already-clean countertop behind the bar with force.
"He took his grandfather's one-handed sword, Bernard" — Selma said quietly, not turning around.
"And an old leather jacket. That's all we had."
Bernard froze with a piece of bread in his hand. He let out a short breath, and I noticed how his thick neck tensed.
"An old one-handed sword, no shield, in the hands of a green kid. Against the magical creatures of the deep forest... What an idiot."
Watching Selma's despair, I understood that in Oskhaven, beneath the outward gleam of the festival banners, there were social mechanisms pushing people toward unjustified risk for the sake of status and glory.
We finished in silence. The hum of the room around us felt like background noise, stripped of meaning.
---
When Bernard finished his portion, he rose and nodded toward the staircase.
"Let's go. Up before dawn tomorrow. Need to claim good spots before all hell breaks loose."
I got up with the others. We walked down the narrow corridor of the second floor, which smelled more of dry wood and less of food and hops. My room with Bernard was at the very end, directly across from Elara and Leo's room.
I lay down on the hard bed, staring at the ceiling, running through the moments in my head — the queen's speech, the Aisengardian's gaze, the face of Magister Kyle, and the moment Selma had tried to talk her son out of going.
Sleep came quickly, erasing the images of stone walls and the sounds of the noisy tavern.