Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 5: Fiachra

Toren Daen

My approach toward the city felt agonizingly slow. Though only a couple of miles from the forest at my estimate, it took a few hours of painful walking to truly be near the tall walls that bordered the city.

My speed was hampered by my bruised ribs, every inhale sending a sharp pain through my chest. I took frequent breaks, too. A growing hunger gnawed at my gut, highlighting the fact that I hadn't eaten in at least a couple of days. My mouth was parched, having only had something to drink several hours before walking and fighting continuously. My arm, mercifully, was gaining some of its mobility back at a surprising pace. Fast enough that I knew it wasn't natural.

The city became more distinct as I neared it. A river cut through the city, tracking down and running south along the edges of the accursed forest I had just left. Tall walls of dark stone surrounded the city, looming twenty feet in the air. They blocked much of my view of the inner city from my distance, but there were plenty of structures that stood even taller than the walls. Opulent buildings gilded in red and gray hues stood out to me from afar, judging the city from on high.

The river ran right beside the cobbled road I trudged on, all the way up to the gate. An iron trellis allowed the water to pass under the stone walls. The gate became clearer as I approached: they were tall, impressive doors of black metal, inscribed with illustrations of basilisks, black fire, and other unique works of art, but my mind was too bleary to study them long. A couple of guards stood watch outside the doors, keen eyes on the lookout for visitors. They each held a long spear, with full metal armor adorning their bodies.

There wasn't much traffic at this gate, only a few people a ways ahead being let in. When the last was allowed inside, their gazes turned to me. Their helmets concealed their faces, however, making me more nervous to approach.

I painfully plodded to the gate, doing my best to straighten my back in the face of the guard's stares. After a second, I gave up on that. Too painful.

"Vritra's horns," one of them said. "You look like death itself, kid! I almost didn't expect to see you back!" they continued. The other snorted in agreement.

I realized with a start that I did look like hell. Probably smelt like it, too. I was covered from near head to toe in blood, dirt, and sweat, the cleanest spot being my face from when I washed it with cold creek water. Unfortunately, I had since gathered more dirt there as well as I struggled to learn tree parkour and almost died to that whip-lizard-thing. My clothes were also torn in a dozen different places, and I was pretty certain the thin cord that wound through my trousers to keep them tied to my waist was about to simply snap from wear.

The guards had also apparently seen me leave the city as well, or at least the previous owner of the body. That was something to note. I was also surprised by how little outward reaction the guards showed to my battered state. Did people often come here half-dead?

"I feel like death, too," I ground out tiredly. "How much to get back into the city?"

I had seen the people entering before me exchange a few coins at a distance. I assumed I would have to do the same.

"Three copper marks to enter Fiachra for a single person, as usual for the later hours of the day," the guard closest to me said, before leaning forward slightly. "But tell me something, kid: did you make a kill? End a few skaunters? Maybe a barkskin grohd?" he whispered conspiratorially.

So the city was called Fiachra, then. It felt true to the lingering emotions in my mind. I squinted in confusion at the question, though, trying to connect the dots in my head. "Killed a good dozen of those rat-lizard bastards," I offered, wincing at the phantom pain from their jaws on my forearm and the stab in my ribs from speaking.