Aleria's fingers toyed with the tarnished iron pendant hanging around her neck, tracing the grooves worn into the metal over decades of fidgeting. Outside the wagon's canvas flap, the driver's cheerful whistling filtered in, a tune she'd grown familiar with over their weeks of travel. His upbeat demeanour reminded her of a puppy, always eager to please.
"Nearly there, miss," he called over his shoulder. "Should be pulling' into Last Gate 'fore long."
She hummed a non-committal response, not lifting her gaze from studying the pendant's intricate design. The constant rocking of the wagon had become a sort of lullaby, lulling her into a trance-like state during their journey.
"You, er, got folks waitin' for ya there?" When she didn't reply, he ploughed on, undeterred. "Or just passin' through, like? Can't imagine it'd be easy, settlin' anywhere after..."
His words trailed off, the unspoken weight of The Demon War hanging in the air between them. Aleria's grip tightened on the pendant until her knuckles turned white. So many lives lost, entire kingdoms razed to the ground...
She blinked, shoving the thought aside as the wagon hit a rut in the road, jolting her from her reverie. "We'll see," she said curtly, praying he'd take the hint and leave her be.
To his credit, the driver seemed to sense her shift in mood, whistling tunelessly as they trundled along in silence. Aleria turned her gaze outward, watching the crumbling remnants of an old border fort appear through the trees.
Last Gate had grown into a sprawling town, verging on a city, in the aftermath of the war, a ramshackle patchwork of buildings and tents housing the countless lost and displaced. Even from this distance, she could make out the bustling comings and goings of people - soldiers, refugees, tradesmen. Even now, 3 years later, a stark reminder of how many lives had been shattered by the war's brutality.
The wagon lurched to a halt, snapping Aleria from her brooding thoughts. She peered out to see they had arrived at Last Gate's marketplace, teeming with people haggling over wares and fresh produce.
"Well, this is as far as I'm headed, miss," the driver said over his shoulder. He flashed her a crooked grin. "If you're just passin' through, you'll need to find yourself another ride. This is as far north as I go."
Aleria nodded, unsurprised by his remark. As far as most were concerned, Last Gate marked the edge of the civilised world - beyond lay the vast, ungoverned stretches of the former Demon King's territory. A no-man's land still teeming with the monstrous remnants of his armies.
"I understand," she replied, swinging her pack over her shoulder, taking up her heavy trunk and ducking out of the wagon. "You've been a decent travelling companion."
He sketched an exaggerated bow from his perch, tipping an imaginary hat. "An honour to serve, milady." With a wink and a snap of the reins, he was off, merging back into the river of people and carts flowing through the market stalls.
Aleria allowed herself to be swept along in the crush, keeping her head down and hood pulled low. Even now, her ears were still attuned to the slightest whispers or odd glances, instincts intent on keeping a low profile. Of course, that hadn't always been the case...
She cast furtive glances around Last Gate, taking in the old and newly sprung buildings clustered together. A sprawling patchwork of salvaged materials and makeshift shelters, overflowing with people who, like her, had nowhere else to go.
Tattered banners emblazoned with the crests of fallen kingdoms flapped overhead, honoured reminders of the lives lost, and lands conquered. Aleria's gaze lingered on a faded green unicorn stitched onto a torn flag - the sigil of Veldaren, one of the first kingdoms to fall to the demon hordes.
Despite the squalor, there was an unmistakable energy thrumming through Last Gate's streets. Merchants hawking their wares with booming calls, the scents of exotic spices and roasting meat hung thick in the air, and the clang of a distant blacksmith's hammer provided a rhythmic counterpoint.
People from all walks of life brushed shoulders here - tanned farmers with calloused hands, grizzled soldiers bearing the scars of battle, even the occasional noble down on their luck, fallen from grace. For the first time since the war's end, Aleria found herself surrounded by the sights, sounds and smells of life rather than death and destruction.
A young boy darted through the crowd, nearly bowling her over as he rushed past clutching a pilfered apple to his chest. Aleria steadied herself with a hand on a nearby stall, lips twitching in amusement at his mischievous grin.
"Sorry, miss!" he called over his shoulder, not sounding the least bit contrite as he vanished into an alleyway.
Aleria shook her head, the ghost of a smile playing across her lips. Perhaps there was a sliver of hope to be found here.
Aleria caught the eye of a kindly old woman tending a stall overflowing with vibrant bolts of cloth. "Excuse me," she called out, raising her voice to be heard over the din of the market. "Might you be able to point me towards the garrison? I'm looking for someone - a soldier by the name of Bernard Blackfist."
The merchant squinted at her for a moment, lips pursed as if weighing whether Aleria could be trusted. Finally, she jerked her chin towards the north end of the market. "Garrison, eh? You'll want the big stone building 'across from the cathedral. But these days, folk just call it the mayor's office."
Aleria blinked in surprise. "The mayor's...?"
She must have betrayed her scepticism, as the old woman's perpetual scowl deepened. "Aye, the mayor. Don't let that fool you, though - Blackfist still runs things like he's leadin' troops into battle." A harsh cackle escaped her thin lips. "Got a way with gettin' folk to snap in line, that one."
Nodding her thanks, Aleria turned and headed in the direction indicated, the merchant's cackling laughter following her through the crowd. Bernard, a mayor? She shook her head in disbelief as she wound through the maze of stalls and shoppers.
The very idea of her former friend holding any kind of civic role strained credulity. Bernard had always been a soldier through and through - blunt, foul-mouthed, with a permanent smirk etched into his craggy features. Diplomacy and politicking were about as far from his skillset as spell casting.
Yet as she neared the former garrison, the signs became undeniable - Bernard's influence lingered in the no-nonsense regimentation of the bustling township around her. The streets were laid out in an orderly grid pattern, buildings constructed with the same utilitarian efficiency of military barracks. Even the people hurrying about their business moved with a certain brisk purposefulness, as if late for drill practice.
Aleria felt an odd pang of nostalgia at the familiar sights and sounds. This could have been any settlement in Kingdoms before the war, before the demons came and turned their world to ash.
The old garrison loomed ahead, its sturdy stone walls defying the ravages of battle and time. A tattered banner bearing the twin griffins of the fallen kingdom of Estian still flew from the ramparts, the once-vibrant colours faded to a dull grey. Aleria's gaze lingered on the sigil, a hollow ache settling in her chest. Even here… no, especially here the ghosts of the past couldn't be outrun.
Aleria stepped through the arched gateway into the garrison's central courtyard, the heavy doors thudding shut behind her. Despite the outward appearance of the fortified walls, the interior buzzed with activity more akin to a bureaucrat's office than a military outpost.
Clerks and runners scurried about, arms laden with tottering stacks of parchment and ledgers. A constant murmur of quill scratches and muttered asides provided a droning undercurrent to the commotion. In one corner, a knot of off-duty soldiers loitered around a battered table, dicing and trading jovial insults over mugs of ale.
At the centre of the chaos, a young man - little more than a boy, really - sat behind a battered desk, quill scratching furiously as he scribbled away. He glanced up as Aleria approached, fixing her with a politely inquisitive look.
"Can I help you, ma'am?"
Aleria lifted her chin, allowing her hood to fall back and reveal her face. The clerk's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at her youthful, unlined features. A common enough reaction - most assumed her an untested girl on first glance, not the seasoned woman she was.
"I'm here to see Bernard Blackfist," she replied evenly, meeting the boy's gaze without flinching. "He'll be expecting me, I'm an...old friend."
The slightest of frowns creased the clerk's brow as he considered her words. For a tense moment, Aleria feared he might turn her away, dismissing her claim out of hand. Instead, he gave a curt nod and gestured for her to wait.
Rising from his seat, the young man slipped between a cluster of scribes poring over a map, skirting around a makeshift pen where a pair of messenger ravens bobbed and cawed. Aleria watched him disappear through an arched doorway, the sounds of his footsteps fading as he climbed an interior staircase.
She busied herself fishing out the crumpled letter from Bernard, hoping it would serve as proof enough of her relationship to the erstwhile commander. The parchment was creased and stained from her months of travel, but the familiar blunt scrawl was still legible:
"Aleria - If you're reading this, you daft witch, it means you've pulled your head out of whatever rabbit hole you've been hiding in these past couple years. Get your skinny arse to Last Gate - I could use a friendly face 'round here who doesn't flinch at the sight of their own shadow..."
The sound of footsteps on the stairs made her glance up. The clerk reappeared; a questioning look on his face as he approached.
"You'll need to show me some proof of..." He trailed off as Aleria wordlessly held out the letter. Plucking it from her grasp, he scanned the contents, brow furrowing slightly as he read.
After a moment's hesitation, he handed the parchment back with a curt nod. "Right then, seems you're expected after all. If you'll follow me..."
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