Rook spat off the side of the wagon for what must have been the millionth time. Covered in the dust and dirt from Gilly’s clopping hooves, he sighed. No use in patting the dirt off, there’s always another cloud somewhere. But it beat walking, by his estimate the path took around a day of walking a third of that by carriage.

  “Do you have to spit so much?” Reina asked, annoyed.

  “My restful Lady, you are in the back of the wagon, free of the dirt clouds,” Rook replied, with emphasis on the word lady. “I can wake you back up when we get there if you want

  to take another nap.”

  Roran laughed. “That’s quite enough, you two.”

  The late afternoon sun hung low, casting a warm glow over the city ahead. The small black speck of Ollar now grew to an impressive city just ahead of them. It was covered by four walls of grey stone and iron stacked nearly 80 feet high. At the top of the walls, soldiers were patrolling, appearing and disappearing as they walked past the parapets. Four towers stood at the corners of the walls where Rook could make out the faint figures of the arbalists with crossbows. Ollar huh? seems friendly. The road they traveled turned from the dirt-caked, pocked with pot holes, to that of carefully laid paver stone that scraped against one another as the wagon rolled over it.

  Ginny gave a pleased snort and Rook smiled at the horse. She's no doubt happy the journey is done.

  Rook squinted up as the black gates of the city came into focus. Upon closer inspection, he realized that there were many marks, slashes, holes, burns, and other damage across the black wooden surface. On either side of the gates were two pillars with intricately carved silver ruins all over them. Outside the gates, all manner of distant chatter could be heard. This is a city huh? The image of daily errand boys, shoppers, and the rest of the throngs of people hoping to find a deal flashed in his mind.

  “So nobody gets in who isn’t welcome, huh?” Rook muttered, thinking of his eyes again.

  Reina looked as if he had just said something silly. “If only these pillars could stop Infernal from entering through the doors. Undesirables always find their way into Ollar, which is why we have the third strongest city guard on the continent.”

  Third? Are there bigger cities than Ollar? Rook craned his neck to see the top of the wall. “I’m impressed that civilization here was able to build such a place. I’m going out on a limb here, but you don’t have construction machines.

  Roran looked confused. “We don’t have any building equipment or machines. Instead, we have building guilds, with mages who use their spells to melt, forge, and move the material until it is what you see now. You should see the cities of Numeriksden and Berg, they are much bigger and make Ollar look like a small fishing village,” Roran said, with a hint of annoyance.

  “Wish I could agree on that.” Reina let out a sigh. “Mom saw half of Yorthon when she was my age. The orcish people of Thrakkamar, the trolls in Marshspire.”

  “You know it’s too dangerous these days to travel across the Stonebridge,” Roran cut her off, with a harsh glance over his shoulder. “I’ll hear nothing more about it.”

  The wagon pulled in front of the massive construct, and he didn’t feel like this was a welcoming place. The weight of his nerves and self-doubt rose, sitting on his chest and settling in his guts. He couldn’t shake the waves of unease from staring at the runes as if a massive danger was lurking just behind the shadows. What the hell, dude? This must be what a mouse feels like when the alley cat finds them. The immense pressure of the security and the walls themselves forced him to look down.

  “Don’t worry, it happens to everyone their first time, but these runes are for your own protection.” Roran squinted at the intricate, pulsing runes. “Can’t be too careful this close to the Stonebridge.”

  Rook swallowed hard. I feel like we’re going to be assaulted by orcs and trolls, begging for a meal of meat, and we’re meat.

  Instead of orcs and trolls, there were two guards with winged helms wearing yellow and blue armor. The get-up was complete with a wicked-looking halberd, one part spear, one part ice pick from hell, and one last part crescent axe. Each man was complete with a red belt for decoration. Who are these guys?

  “Phane was dressed completely different from these guards.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Ah, yes.” Roran cleared his throat. “These men are from the empire, not the personal guard of Ollar. I’m not certain what they are doing here at the present time.”

  “Nothing good certainly,” Reina said, her words trailing off.

  Rook looked nervously at Reina. She seemed to be just unsure of the situation herself. According to her, the marks underneath his collarbone made him one of the Conjured and identified him as some type of target to a crazy cult of elves that would treat him as a hunting game. Rook was a lot of things, a clay skeet for an Elf’s enjoyment, but he was not. He pictured the lot, a horde of slick, rick Elves shooting bows and prancing through the forest like fairies. Not getting me today, not today, Satan. The prospect of being stuffed and mounted on a wall plagued his mind.

  The wagon rolled closer to the guards, and they readied themselves. Less than a day ago, they ran from crab cakes, and if there were giant crabs that planned on taking your life faster than a middle-aged chinstrap beard with a shitty sports car gets a restraining order.

  I feel exposed right now. His arms and legs had tattoos, which he was not willing to show to others just yet. Taking a small blanket, he wrapped it around himself.

  “I’m borrowing this Roran.”

  “Take this as well.” Reina handed him a shawl from the back of the wagon.

  Would you like to equip shawl: (Copper, broken)

  Yes/no

  Yes. Rook equipped it and frowned. How the hell does a shawl even get broken?

  “Ho there, travelers!” One guard called aloud. “State your business in Ollar.” He gripped his halberd tighter, the metal shifting in the dirt below.

  Roran cleared his throat. “Good day, I wish to enter Ollar.”

  “You’re quite ahead of yourself. How do we know you and your friend here with the hood aren’t bandits? Or that the lady in the back isn’t hiding any weapons?” The other guard asked dumbly.

  “You with the hood, what’s your name?”

  “My name is Rook. It’s a family name.” Rook bristled.

  Roran looked at him and nodded. Before the guard had the opportunity to press further, Roran cleared his throat again.

  “I’m Councilman Roran Jax. I can vouch for my daughter and my friend here.” Roran said with authority.

  “Apologies, Councilman, I didn’t recognize you.” The guards bowed low, letting the tension off their weapons. “Please enter.” He turned towards the gate. “Open it up, make haste for the Councilman.” He faced them once again. “Councilman, will you or your companions require any assistance?”

  The guards’ demeanor shifted from cold and threatening to warm and friendly so quickly that it made Rook’s head spin. He prided himself on little more than his principles in the Military. One of them was the ability not to kiss ass regardless of rank. Showing respect is one thing, and it should be the standard, not the exception. What would my higher-ups think anyway? Ol’ Rook the shammer was whisked away to a fantasy land to get out of work. Unfortunately, he dragged Corporal Knox with him. Birds of a feather, they would say.

  “No, we’re fine. Quite Fine, on second thought, have a runner from Ollar go to the Stumbling Ogre and let Brianna know that there’s some guests that’ll be staying the night.”

  “At once, Councilman,” the guard said, turning towards the gatehouse once again.

  He began commanding orders. Through the opening of the gate, Rook watched a man clad in the same iron armor as Phane jog from presumably the gatehouse area. The gate opened, and he was thrown right into a city out of an RPG. Inside the gates, Ollar was massive. The distant chatter grew to a roar. The stark difference shocked Rook at first. There must have been some kind of magic on the outside because he couldn’t hear any of the noise. It looked so small and unimpressive from the outside compared to this.

  “How?” Rook muttered, looking around the huge throngs of people that moved about their daily business.

  “Welcome to Ollar City,” Reina said with a smile. “Along with those who manipulate the materials to build, there are Runesmiths who apply Runes to the walls, allowing expansion within.”

  Rook nodded excitedly. This was the kind of place he dreamed about living in as a kid. This was his wildest dream of escapism, if he had one at all. There was a cart along the cobbles that was selling delicious-smelling meat from animals he couldn’t recognize. Vendors selling all manner of goods solicited their wares to passersby. Men and women vendors held up cuts of meat, crystal vials containing colorful bubbling liquids, and even rich-looking outfits. One of the carts they passed held cow-sized cuts of meat resembling rats, complete with the hind and hairy, coiled tails. As the wagon clicked on the cobble, they passed all manner of goods shops and services lined either side, easily identified by the hanging signs.

  They passed a bakery, and the air became rich with the smell of baking bread and muffins. Clothiers stood inside a window, measuring a woman carrying a large battleaxe, and even a weapons shop. Inside the shop was a plethora of weapons, including great warhammers, axes, swords, and pikes, all of which made him feel horribly unprepared.

  “Talk about a piss poor weapon,” he muttered, opening his inventory to check the crude club. With the astral space, it made more sense to keep it in his inventory unless they were about to fight. Keep it hidden until needed.

  He needed to switch that out with a better one soon. The ranking system, to his knowledge, began with copper, bronze, and then at some point silver. His current weapon of throwing projectiles or a mini baseball bat were not great starting weapons, considering that people like Phane existed. Especially since he was still getting used to aiming with the Attramancy. He was a great shot with a rifle, one of the best in his company, but it didn’t really translate over to the Yorthon. Shooting through iron sights and other modified reticles was one thing; trying to aim with his mind was another animal.

  “Roran, or should I say Councilman, your city is beautiful.”

  Roran smiled back at Rook. “It’s never going to be Councilman to the man who saved my daughter and my life. It’s always gonna be Roran to you, son.” He clapped Rook on the shoulder.

  The interaction made his breath hitch in his throat, and Rook swallowed hard. The warm foreign feelings of admiration from a male parental figure evaded him for years. He straightened, and he clenched his jaw as the proud feeling surged through him. The last time he felt this was when his grandfather gave him a multitool for his 18th birthday, before his health declined.

  Roran stopped the wagon at an intersection. “All right, this is my street. Why don’t you both dismount, get yourself some food, and explore the city?” He looked at Rook, smiling, and he pointed a finger. “Make sure you go to Brianna‘s at the Stumbling Ogre, she’s expecting you. Take offers like this because they don’t come often in Centrulia.” He looked at his daughter. “Reina, you are more than welcome at my office, or you can accompany Rook.” He urged the horse forward, looking back at them. “And Rook, get a better outfit. That blanket and shawl will only last so long.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Rook felt around underneath his collarbone, where the tattoo was; it didn’t feel different. There was no indentation, no raised bit of skin that indicated some type of tattoo or marking there. Yet both Roran and Reina seemed to notice, and even Phane, for that matter, noticed something was off.

  First day in town, better play it safe.