Warwielder - Book 1 of The Evernoth Odyssey

Chapter 19 - The Iron Factory

After the elf's massacre, Marschal wasted no time retrieving his horse and pulling her reigns, before fleeing the broken tavern. On his way down the street, the Paravellan didn't slow his pace until the angry wooden structure disappeared behind him in the crowd.

The Paravellan couldn't stop thinking about the elf and what just occurred. Who was he? What did he do? What was wrong with his arm? Questions that tumbled over in his mind until his gaze rested on the spire in the distance.

The Iron Factory.

All thoughts of the monstrous elf slowly faded away, only to be replaced by an anxiety that had been niggling in the back of his mind. Why was he here? What was he looking for? In a foreign city? Spurred by a strange, hooded elf? Only to be almost killed by an even stranger, more violent elf?

Despite his reservations, his feet still carried him forward deeper into the city.

"Hey! Come back here, you bastard!" a voice yelled in a language the Paravellan hadn't heard in ages.

He turned back to see a familiar face racing towards him, weaving through the crowd.

The thief he saw earlier in the market.

Too pre-occupied to notice Marschal, the thief spoke out loud to himself as he flew past the Paravellan.

"That is not helpful, Sif. Not helpful at all."

Belatedly, Marschal directed his horse's reins and stepped to the side of the street. While his attention was fixed on the thief in front, he was suddenly shoved aside by a figure charging from behind. The Paravellan's face hit the pavement as he caught a glimpse of a golden beard on a bulky body. Marschal glanced up to see another lean, red-haired man ignore the Paravellan and race through the street after the heavy bulk.

Marschal groaned softly while he pulled himself back up. Then he noticed the woman with short, dark hair running towards him. At first, it seemed the woman was also going to ignore him like the other men. Which was why he was surprised when she not only stopped before him but also approached him as well.

"Sorry about that," said the woman. She was speaking Piosian but Marschal could hear a faint and familiar accent in her words. As she neared him, the Paravellan glanced down to see a long sword sheathed at her hip. "My friends can be a little rough some-"

That was when Marschal noticed the woman's bright sapphire blue eyes. The eyes of a fellow Paravellan. With a studying look, the woman peered closer at Marschal's face before suddenly grasping his chin.

"Are you-?" she never had the chance to finish the question before a loud voice roared down the street.

"Where did that scum go?!"

The woman glanced at the crowd distancing themselves from the stocky, blonde-bearded man loudly venting his frustration. She then turned back to Marschal.

"Don't go anywhere," she ordered. "We must talk."

Before he could answer, the woman moved off to follow after her friends. When they disappeared down the street, Marschal stood there and waited for a bit.

More Paravellans? Was this a good thing or a bad thing? Time passed as the questions tumbled through his mind.

He eventually looked up to see the three spires of the Iron Factory still pumping columns of smoke into the sky.

"Sorry, stranger," Marschal spoke out loud. "But I have places to be."

With that, the Paravellan grasped onto his horse's reins and continued his way through the swarming street and deeper into the city. Straight towards the Iron Factory.