As the sun climbed in the sky, the snows slowly began to melt, creating a thick, muddy mush that the company were forced to ride through. The town was always damp, being that it was built on a rise in the middle of a shallow marsh.
Tomas and his comrades rode down the single purpose-built road that led into town, lest they tread through the knee-deep quagmire, a soup of rotting logs, brown mud, stinking peat, and clusters of reeds.
The road went straight through Winterglade, with poorly manned gates on either end. The single guard at the gatehouse they passed was snoring away on a rickety old chair.
“Let us find an inn to rest at,” Gharland announced to his company. “Get some food and drink before we head out again this afternoon. Don’t cause any trouble, or I’ll have your tongues cut out.”
Despite the threat, the soldiers smiled with glee at the prospect of a nice break from the cold. Tomas too was relieved to find some respite to the windburns across his face and the endless, teeth-chattering shivers.
They passed by rows of shops, townhouses, and an open market with a frost-covered stone fountain at its centre. The water inside was frozen solid. Across the square was a large, multi-levelled building, decorated with timber spires, stone arches and lanterns hanging from its overhangs.
Tomas’s mouth dropped at the sheer size of the structure; he had never seen a building so big before in his life. Landry caught the look of surprise on his face.
“That’s the manor house,” Landry explained. “The baron of Winterglade lives there along with his administration and the bailiff. The barons are some of the most powerful men in the kingdom, second to the king himself. Each is given the title to rule a city or large settlement by the king.”
“It’s bigger than anything I’ve seen before,” Tomas said in awe. “Bigger than Brittlepeak’s windmill, even.”
Landry snorted. “I guess it must look quite remarkable for someone who hasn’t been to a sizeable town before, let alone a city. I’d pay good money to see your face at the sight of the Kingspire in Shadowshore!”
Tomas leant over from his horse and tried elbowing Landry as revenge for the jest. The gap between them was too large though, and he missed. Landry laughed at the gesture.
“Nice try!” Landry said.
Instead, Tomas took off his glove and, holding it with a firm grip, leant over and used it to smack Landry’s arm.
Rilan could not help but curiously look up at the slap sound. It almost made him laugh.
“Bastard!” Landry said with a grin.
“Fair is fair,” Tomas said. “You got your joke; I got my justice.”
Landry, smiling, seemed to notice the glint of sunlight shining against the steel chain around Tomas’s neck.
“What’s that you’ve got around your neck?”
Tomas felt the outline of the key through his clothes with his hand. “Nothing, it’s just… it’s a reminder of something. Something I can’t forget.”
“Like, an heirloom from home or something?” Landry asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Tomas scrunched up his face. “An air-what?”
“An heirloom. It’s like an item that’s passed down through families, like from father to son.”
Father.
Tomas turned away, grimacing. “Ah, yeah… something like that.”
The company rode down the thoroughfare through sticky muck, frost, and flattened livestock shit before seeing an iron hanging sign for The Pickled Kraken. The inn was old and rugged with a fair few patrons, despite how young the day was.
Captain Gharland was the first off his horse, landing in the mud with a splat and tying his horses’ reins around the nearest hitching post to the door. His followers mirrored their leader before following him into the inn.
The old soldier Hemish nearly collapsed as he got down from his horse; his knees were struggling to hold his weight anymore. The long days of riding were not doing anything to help his brittle bones.
Tomas grabbed Hemish as he stumbled, helping him up to his feet.
“Thanks, lad,” Hemish said, patting him on the back and laughing in embarrassment. “These knees are going to be the death of me!”
Tomas nodded with an awkward smile back to the old man.
As they stepped through the doors, Tomas was hit with a wall of warm air, stinking of sweat, old beer and burning tobacco. The room was filled with diners and drinkers of all kinds. An open fire pit sat in the middle of the room.
By the bar sat a group of drinking peasants with bony ridges across their faces, bright eyes, and extremely high hairlines with flowing white hair. One was a woman, with long silver hair braided behind her head.
Valkhor, Tomas realised; their characteristics were unmistakable. He always felt surprised when he saw people of other races, having come from such a small village where such peoples did not even travel to, let alone live.
On a small stage were some colourfully dressed bards softly playing stringed instruments and flutes.
Tomas and Rilan found a rickety table away from the rest of the company to sit at. They unfastened their belts, placing their sheathed swords on the table between them. Landry helped the Captain remove his riding gear before joining the boys.
It felt good for them to sit down on something that wasn’t a saddle or the cold, wet ground.
The benches weren’t comfortable, by any means. But they were the best seats Tomas had felt beneath him in a long time. His legs had been cramping of late, and it felt good to stretch them out.
Ref and Styna rushed to the bar and grabbed some flasks of ales. A young girl who appeared to be working at the inn came around from behind the bar to bring drinks.
Ref smacked
