Steel And Flame (Book 1) (13 page)

Past the gates were several shops.  Marik did not see
what they sold since they had closed for the day, and Harlan hurried to get
wherever they were going.

At one point, Maddock had observed, “Hmm, the city is
certainly beginning to wind down as the sunlight dwindles.”  Whatever signs
were evident to the mercenary were meaningless to Marik.  Harlan chose back
streets when given the chance, staying away from the busier main roads, yet the
narrow ways still teemed with bodies.  People moved from place to place while
bumping and blocking each other’s progress.

The buildings he passed were indeed similar to what he
knew from Tattersfield.  Built from wood, thatch, planks and tar with stonework
here and there, they could have come from any town they had passed through on
their journey.  It was just that they were much taller than any he was
accustomed to, many as tall as four or five floors.  Also, they were wider than
even the Randy Unicorn, and mostly crammed tight together.  He felt as if he
walked through a strange open-ceiling cave.

And the noise could not be escaped.  The shops near
the gate might have closed but everywhere people still hawked their wares to
whoever passed them by.  Others shouted to acquaintances over the noise made by
so many people while still others seemed to be shouting for no discernable
reason at all.

At times they passed men carrying long poles with
flames flickering on the tips.  Marik only saw these men on the few occasions
Harlan led them along a main thoroughfare.  While they waited for a knot of
horses to untangle and move from blocking the road, Marik watched one use a
hook behind the flame to open a small glass door in a lantern set high atop a
longer post.  Each lamp they lit glowed in the fading light.  After shutting
the small door the man moved down the street to the next lamppost.  As much as
the pedestrians jostled, Marik noticed people clearing the way to give the lamp
tender a steady path.

On unpaved back roads where the buildings looked
residential and not a single lamppost was to be seen, dirty men pulling small
carts made their way from door to door.  These carts were odd, looking like
nothing so much as an enormous ale keg sliced in half from top to bottom, then
mounted on wheels.  Beside each door the filthy man would pick up a bucket and
slop the contents into his cart before moving on to the next.  The one time
Marik drew close enough to see inside, the contents’ smell assaulted him and
prepared him for the sight.  Harlan quickly led them past, leaving the latrine
cart and its vile stenches behind.

They passed through several squares after departing
the residential squalor.  Each contained a variety of trees, shrubbery and
benches.  One held an ornamental pool with a statue set in the center,
apparently representing a figure in robes holding what seemed, in the dimming
light, to be a noose.  Marik wondered at the sentiments it embodied.

After one last square, Harlan made a right turn.  He
led them through a district filled with large buildings that must be
warehouses.  Several streets later they reemerged into a shopping district. 
Marik could again see the wall enclosing the city in the distance and realized
Harlan meant to find an inn on Spirratta’s far side, close to the gate they would
exit from.

The inn they eventually arrived at was small,
displaying no signs at all out front.  It also sported no stable or anything
approximating a yard.  Harlan opened the door, which was Marik’s only clue they
had reached their destination.  The innkeeper knew Harlan since they greeted
each other by name and only the most perfunctory effort at haggling passed
between them.  Marik’s share for the room came to three coppers for one night,
less than half what he had paid at the Randy Unicorn.

He expected the room to be cramped or vermin ridden. 
It turned out to be a nice size with its own fireplace and cabinet, and clean
as well.  There were no beds though.  Marik had already chosen which section of
the floor he would claim for his bedroll when the owner rolled in cots cleverly
mounted on small wheels.  While he stretched out on one, it pleased him to find
it did not roll around as he’d feared.  It stayed where he put it, so it
satisfied Marik.

He decided to call it an early night.  Tomorrow he
would have a good look around the city.

*        *        *        *        *

Maddock accompanied Marik while the younger man
visited many shops the next day.  The mercenary had few errands of his own but
felt he should stay near the less experience youth to prevent him from being
cheated by con artists masquerading as vendors.  This would be the lad’s first
experience with a social tide that made his hometown appear as a simple
current.  He also hoped to glimpse potential tellmarks that would reveal
Marik’s ability to survive on his own in the future.

Marik’s interests went beyond mere weapons shops, as
he had hoped it might.  A good sign.  His curiosity ranged broadly across all
walks, which Maddock considered a healthy portent for the lad.

Weapons shops were the primary interest of the day,
though.  A few displayed blades worthy of consideration.  Marik passed on them
in the end.  Whether due to the high prices or his own advice earlier, Maddock
did not know.

They wandered through several teeming shopping
districts, encountering spice merchants whose small shops were nearly
uninhabitable due to the powerful mixing of strong scents from their products. 
Several shops offered a range of fabrics from cheap homespun to indecently
expensive velvets and cool silks.

Marik’s gear lacked several items an experienced man
would carry as second nature, so he purchased a new waterproof cloak at a
travel shop.  It became a tense purchase, for Marik attempted to haggle as he
had seen the merchants of Tattersfield do when they had bartered with the caravan
masters.

It was a harsher style of banter, used in a region
where many goods were not readily available, and thus more crucial.  The shop’s
owner, already on edge and nervous because of the weapons dangling from their
belts, started back.  Marik misread the body language.  He pressed his point
until the man suddenly threatened to call the cityguard.  Maddock smoothed the
situation over.  In the end Marik purchased the cloak, though he seemed to have
lost his desire for it.

Outside, Marik questioned him over the crowd’s
ceaseless gabble.  “Call the cityguard?  Why?”

“He felt nervous.  Many of the merchants around the
city look upon travelers bearing arms with suspicion.”

“But why call the guard?  I wasn’t even raising my
voice!  A good thing too, I suppose.”

“He was unsure of your intentions.”

“I didn’t see so much as a dagger in his belt.  If I
had
intended to cause trouble, he would have been dead before he could call for
anybody!”  He shook his head incredulously as they continued down the street.

They toured several leatherworkers, herbalists, the
few shops selling chemical components to the city’s alchemists, and also
regarded a furrier’s display of thick winter wear lined with fox fur.  He
noticed Marik never went near any woodworking shops.  Neither chose to stop at
any church or temple they passed.

Vendors sold a variety of simple foods in the city
squares.  While they pondered which would most satisfy their appetites, a
cityguard pair waded through the press around the cart nearest them.  The
guards chatted with the proprietor for several moments before leaving with a
pair of skewered meat slices each.

“Didn’t they pay?”

“Many of the vendors give free meals to the
cityguard.  In return, the guards move swiftly in the event of trouble for the
cart’s operator.”

“That seems like a waste.  Why don’t they look after
their own property?  Why pay for protection you could see to yourself?  Isn’t
it the cityguard’s job to stop thieves in the first place?”

They bought steaming meat pies from a street vendor
and ate them on a bench in the square.  This particular square sported a stone
pond surrounding a statue of a man in robes holding a garland of flowers. 
Marik studied the statue for a long moment, then grunted a noncommittal snort.

“You know, I thought the cities must be grand.  But
now I’m here, I can’t imaging living in this kind of place,” he muttered, more
as a thought than a comment.

“Why is that?  It is much safer than many other
places.  The cityguard constantly patrols, and the various sects that maintain
temples in the city means a Healing priest can likely be found if the need
arises.”

“It feels…I don’t know…different from what I
expected.”  Marik paused to gather his thoughts.  “It’s like the walls have
made the people soft.  Out there, in all those towns we passed through, people
know the dangers that come with being alive.  Even in Tattersfield.  Only a few
regularly carried blades but everyone in town could have been ready to defend
themselves in a matter of moments.  Here, they wall themselves in and shove the
responsibilities for protecting their skin onto someone else.”

“So you think the guard is at fault?  If so, then why
do all the travelers we have passed carry their arms in readiness?  Aren’t the
roads ridden by the kingdom guards?”

“No!  That’s not what I meant.  No one here seems care
for looking after themselves!  If trouble arose, they might take up arms to
defend themselves eventually, but they’d be complaining about it the whole
time, blaming the cityguard for not protecting them.”  Marik shook his head. 
“It’s almost like they believe nothing bad can happen to them. 
That’s
the thing that’s really bugging me.”

“It is a state of mind that has grown since the
Unification.  Wars between cities and territories, bloodshed following the
arrival of strangers, raiding hordes of bandits; these are things of history. 
These modern times are past such barbarisms.”

Marik barked a harsh laugh.  “The walls block their
vision, then.  No one in the towns is that foolish.  But I’m not just talking
about being ready to fight.”  He paused to collect his thoughts.  “It’s
like…like the people here expect everything to happen exactly the way they want
it to.  As if it never crosses their minds that they might have to exert
themselves
to make it happen.  They don’t know anything about having to break your own
back for a few measly coppers.”

“Not all people are as self-reliant as we, Marik. 
That’s one of the truths you need to keep in mind as you travel through
ritsu’do
.”

“As I what?”  The frustrated expression stemming from
his need to verbalize his feeling vanished.  Confusion took its place.

“It is an old word from a time long past. 
Ritsu’do
is a word that means many things at once, but its primary meaning is ‘a journey
of making’, as it were.  A person is the total of his experiences through
life.  What you see and what you learn helps define what you make of yourself. 
This stage of your life, Marik, where you travel to new places and learn much
of the world you live in, will contribute to the man you will eventually be. 
Thus, this conversation we are engaged in is part of your own
ritsu’do
,
as it is a part of mine.”

“I’m not sure I followed that, but I guess I
understand what you meant.  That aside though, I still don’t understand how
these people can shove all the responsibility for their own welfare onto others
the way they do.  I might not be able to use this sword very well, but I don’t
like having it tied down.”  One law the gate guards had pointed out concerned
their weapons.  Though there existed no law against carrying blades within the
city, the hilt must be tied to the sheath with stout cord to prevent it from
being drawn.

“I was not saying you have to agree with the things
others choose to believe in.”

“Well, I sure don’t agree with
this
.  At least
tomorrow I’ll be able to practice against Chatham.  Though I know I’ll get
pounded into the ground.”

The two left the square and eventually made their way
back to the inn.

*        *        *        *        *

As much as Marik had looked forward to the city, he’d
mostly  thought it would be like an enormous town.  The constant patrols of the
cityguard, the higher quality of most merchandise offered by the craftsmen and
the wider variety of establishments served to point out there really were
differences between townsfolk and city people.  He might have been envious of
them, living with the best of it all, if he had not noticed the complacency
they each seemed to wear.

He would admit that very few in his hometown could be
called a fighter of any breed, yet the townsfolk possessed an inner edge they
could unsheathe and hone in troubled times.  As he had told Maddock earlier,
the impression most city dwellers gave him was of softness.  The only ones who
struck him as capable of defending themselves on a moment’s notice were,
unsurprisingly, the weapons merchants.

Bandits would hardly attack such a large population as
lived in the city, true enough, except the winds of war blew where they
willed.  Maybe all the lords owed allegiance to the king, maybe they all gave
their loyalty to the throne…but did that mean they liked each other?  Of course
not.  Though Galemar had been united for centuries, its pieces still fought
amongst themselves like quarreling siblings, even if the scale of the conflicts
had diminished substantially.  If it were otherwise, all the mercenaries in
kingdom would be starving beggars.