by CJ Whrite
He tried listening to Carla as she explained the layout of the city and pointed to different buildings, exclaiming with an animated expression about how this place had good, cheap food and how that place would be better to avoid, all the time nimbly navigating her way through the throng of people, raising her voice above the constant chatter of the citizens and hooves striking cobbled stone.
Roland felt like he was losing his mind.
Each area they passed through seemed to hold an entirely new breed of human. From men and women dressed in rags, shouting abuse at one another, pulling at his shirt and begging for coin, to soldiers in uniform marching down streets, their backs straight and their heads held high, to women dressed more flamboyantly than the most colourful birds he had ever seen, surrounded by tough looking men with hands on daggers giving him hard stares. Men dressed almost as outlandishly as the women strolled down the streets with their hands clasped behind their backs, pausing every so often to seemingly study the area, the rest of the populace bowing low as they passed and then quickly scurrying out of the way.
Dirty children weaved in and out through the bustle, and Roland heard a man shouting: “Thief!” and saw him giving chase to a trio of pint-sized boys. A small girl appeared out of nowhere and dropped to all fours in front of the red-faced victim. The man’s thigh struck her on the hip and he went head over heels. Roland winced as the impact ploughed the girl into the ground, but she picked herself up, dusted her tattered dress and sprinted away giggling in a high-pitched voice that could shatter crystal. The rest of the citizens seemed oblivious to what was going on; the street urchins moved as though they were invisible. Roland shook his head. From what he saw, it looked like the children were the most organized.
The crowds gradually thinned out as they moved along until Roland could pick out individual faces in the streets. His ears were ringing from the noise they had left behind, and he felt grateful for the break in chaos. Carla stopped and pointed ahead.
“The Duke’s Palace,” she said.
Roland craned his neck as his eyes followed the palace spires upward. A thick stone wall cordoned the royal residence, and watchtowers rested on top of the broad wall at regular intervals, sunlight glinting of polished armour inside. Through an open, massive, double-door gate he saw rich gardens; fountains with statues of nude women and dolphins, eagles and bears dotted the green lawns, spraying water into the air. The area was most likely build over natural springs, thought Roland. Two soldiers wearing high-plumed helmets stood on either side of the gate, spears in hand.
Carla giggled at Roland’s expression and said, “If you think this is grand, I wonder what you will do if you ever see Allander.”
“Allander?”
“Where the King’s Castle is, of course. Darma is only the second biggest city in Calvana. I’ve never been to Allander myself, but I’ve heard the city is build with marble and gold ...”
“A golden city,” said Roland unbelievingly. He was sure Carla was making sport of him, but it did not bother him overly much. He enjoyed listening to her.
“That’s right,” said Carla with a small smile. “Look, the academia is over there.”
Roland followed her gaze. Academia Amlor was a rectangular building with an arched roof, the walls of brown stone. Red curtains hung inside oval shaped windows, slightly billowing as a breeze blew past the windows. White marble steps led up to the entrance that was flanked by bronze pillars, glinting sunlight turning the metal golden. Was he really going to study there? Roland felt his stomach muscles tightening.
“It was fun showing you around and I hope we can meet again,” Carla said, her head tilted back as she looked up to Roland.
He drank in her face, for the first time noticing how a small dimple formed on the left side of her mouth when she smiled, how she had seven freckles on the bridge of her nose.
“Is something wrong?”
Roland shook his head. “No, nothing wrong. Good luck with your uncle’s shop and see you soon.”
“And you,” she called as she walked back in the direction of the harbour.
Roland wrenched his eyes away from her disappearing figure and faced the academia. He climbed the marble steps, a cotton sack holding his letter of invitation and a set of spare clothes slung over his shoulder, a leather satchel filled with herbs hanging from his hip.
Chapter 3
Roland rested his head against the door. The wood was lightly oiled and warm from the midday sun. It was pleasing to the touch.
He braced himself. Once he opened this door, his new life would begin. He felt small in comparison.
He pushed the door open.
The entrance hall was long and spacious with large windows that welcomed sunlight to stream inside. At the end of the room, directly in front of him, was a long wooden counter with a hallway on either side of it leading further back into the building. Next to each hallway was a set of stairs leading up to a second floor. Lanterns in gleaming bronze brackets lined the walls. Ebony tiles decorated the floor and on one side of the room was a large, potted plant. Painted portraits of various men with serious eyes hung on the wall behind the wooden counter. Not a speck of dust marred the otherwise gleaming room.
Roland looked down at his trousers. There was a tear on his left knee.
A throat was cleared and Roland looked up. Before him stood a young man with thin, blond hair, his eyebrows arched as he studied Roland. Slightly behind him stood another man, his arms folded across his chest. Both men wore robes of dark blue, a black cord tied around their waists. Roland wondered why neither said anything. He did not particularly like the way Baby-hair was staring at him, but he was the stranger after all, so it would only be polite to speak first.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
The two men looked positively shocked.
“I will forgive you for not addressing me as Lord – only once. Now step to the side, you are blocking the way,” said Baby-hair.
Roland looked around him. He was standing in the middle of the room. He could feel his temper rising and he forced it down. It would not do to cause trouble at the academia. “What are you two doing here?” he asked, trying to keep his voice friendly.
Baby-hair visibly suppressed a shudder. “This is a place of learning, a house for gaining knowledge. It is for those of noble blood who desires to better themselves. Your type is not welcome at –”
“Shut your mouth,” said Roland, his voice cold, forgetting to keep his temper. He did not know how things were done in Darma, but he won’t stand for Baby-hair stepping on him from day one. “And stop with the theatrics. You can walk around me if you have to.”
“How dare you!” screamed Baby-hair, purple faced. The man standing behind Baby-hair dropped his arms to his sides and stared at Roland open-mouthed.
“I am Lord Hellson! Lord Hellson! How dare you speak to me in such a manner?”
“And I am Lord Roland and have here an invitational letter to Academia Amlor!” roared Roland. “Now unless I’m in the wrong place, and I don’t believe I am, you had better keep your mouth shut.”
Roland had no idea where the confidence (or the half-truths) came from. Maybe it was the faith Pelron had in him; maybe it was surviving the storm, meeting with Carla and treating Jase, or maybe he was just shocked by the unknown of Darma, but all he knew for sure was that Baby-hair had better not stand in his way.
“Now will you kindly move out of the way, as is befitting of your station, and let me through.” Roland smiled, but his eyes remained icy.
“That is enough, gentlemen,” called a voice from behind the wooden counter. An ancient figure dressed in black robes stood behind it. Roland could scarce believe how he had missed noting the black-robed man before.
“Disciple Hellson, Disciple Sturmel. Academia Amlor was not founded as a place for you to bicker in.”
Hellson gave a perfunctory bow in the black-robed man’s direction, shot Roland a murderous glare, and turned on his heel, flin
ging the doors open as he left.
“I am sure Lord Helson regrets this incident, Educator Altmoor,” said Sturmel faithfully.
“Indeed, but there is no need for you to apologise in his name, Disciple Sturmel. But thank you for the thought.”
Sturmel nodded in Roland’s direction before hurrying after his friend. Altmoor waited until after they had left before beckoning Roland over. Roland handed him his letter of invitation.
“Lord indeed,” the old man remarked as he read.
Roland blushed.
He finished reading and the parchment disappeared inside his robes. “My name is Altmoor Ochdal. I am one of several instructors here at Academia Amlor. You are truly fortunate to have received such an invitation, Roland Belanu. And at such a young age ...”
“I am very grateful for the opportunity, Educator Altmoor,” said Roland, making sure to use the title he had heard Sturmel use.
“Indeed, yet you cause trouble even before you are officially accepted?”
Roland dropped his gaze. Then he looked back up and locked eyes with the old man. Altmoor had fierce blue eyes that were still full of life, belying his age. “I did not think it wise to start at Academia Amlor by being belittled,” he said, holding Altmoor’s gaze.
“Indeed,” said Altmoor, unfazed, stroking his chin. “Although there is no differentiation between the students here – regardless of their stations – you are not yet a student. And, you are indeed, a commoner. Therefore, Disciple Hellson was in his full right expecting you to step out of the way, and by law, you should address him as Lord.”
Roland clenched his hands by his sides. “You are right, Educator Altmoor. It takes nothing from me to address a man according to his station, even if said station might not be one fully deserved.”
“Does this frustrate you?”
“It frustrates me that after only a few hours in Darma, it seems as though those with wealth abuse their power, yet appear incompetent. If this were my village, these people would not survive for a month on their own and would have to be fed like babes – yet here they rule.”
“That is a very strong and, might I add, a very dangerous statement to make, although I do enjoy fresh outlooks on life.” Altmoor tapped one finger on the countertop. “Your entrance exam will be on the third day of the coming week at noon – not one moment later. That gives you nine days to prepare, including today. If you take the hallway to my right, you will find the library. As a potential Disciple of Healing, you should at least know all human organs and their functions, including muscles and bones. Having knowledge of types of wounds and common diseases may also prove beneficial.
“Since you have apprenticed as an Apothecary from the age of twelve, I expect that your knowledge of herbs will be sufficient – unless of course your village is not as proficient as you would like to believe.” He smiled as Roland’s eyes narrowed. “You have fire in your belly, Roland Belanu,” he said. “It is a term that my father used to describe a certain kind of man. It is also something that is sadly lacking in today’s time, I might add.”
Roland shifted his feet. The sudden praise had caught him off guard. All the information made his head swam. The old man was clever, he realised that. He should not lower his guard until he had time to think it over.
Altmoor watched him with an amused smile. “You are tired, as expected after a long trip. May I enquire if you have lodgings?”
“I thought the academia provided lodgings?”
“Not until you pass the exam, Roland Belanu. Until you pass the exam, nothing will change.” He resumed tapping his finger. “If you head back towards the harbour, you will pass a marketplace filled with colourful stalls selling cheap trinkets. You should have seen it on your way here, I presume ...” He looked up expectantly. Roland could not remember any details from the city, but he would rather die before admitting it to the old man.
“Just head as straight as you can toward the harbour. You won’t miss it,” Altmoor said and chuckled. Roland felt his ears turning red.
“Once you reach it, ask around for a tavern called the Seek‘n Find. Mention my name to the owner. Go there now; you can start preparing for the exam tomorrow.”
Roland tried to organize his thoughts and finally said, “Thank you, educator Altmoor. You have been very helpful.” He did not trust the old man, but for now, Roland meant what he said. “I’m also looking for Healer Callon. Do you know where I can find him?”
“Why do you seek him?”
“He is a friend of my master, Apothecary Pelron. I want to thank him for the herbs he had send four years ago. They worked wonders on my mother.”
“Ah, I see how it is, but unfortunately Healer Callon has gone on one of his trips to the east. A fascinating people they are, those of the east. They hold great faith in training the spirit together with mind and body – although I have some doubts as to whether the spirit and the mind are actually different bodies ... but I’m going off track now. I don’t believe he will be back for at least half a year, maybe even more.”
“I see. I will take my leave then,” said Roland and stepped away from the counter.
“Some friendly advice before you leave,” said Altmoor and held up a bony finger. “Having fire in your belly is good, but let it flare too bright and you will burn yourself and those around you ... and when you next visit Academia Amlor, make sure that yourself and your attire is cleaned to an acceptable standard.”
*
Acceptable indeed, thought Roland as he left the academia. Not even one day had passed and already he had made an enemy.
Hellson? How could that popinjay fool command any respect? He was the first noble Roland had the pleasure of meeting, but if all nobles acted like him, he could well understood why Carla’s eyes had hardened when she spoke of them.
Carla ...
He wondered where in Darma she might be. He had never thought to ask where she lodged at. But first, he had to find the market Altmoor had told him about. Was Altmoor a noble also? More than likely, Roland thought, but he had the feeling that Altmoor was of a different breed to Hellson. Maybe there was hope for the nobles yet.
As Roland walked toward the harbour, he noted the streets getting dirtier, the artisanship of the buildings turning rougher. The walls of Academia Amlor looked smooth, the stones in the wall of similar size and carefully fitted, but here some of the buildings looked haphazard, as if multiple men were in charge of planning, each with a different idea. Some of the stone walls carried large openings where clay had dried and fallen out, giving the impression of ancient wounds. He saw a wooden building at least three stories high, one side with a heavy slant. He wondered if it swayed when the wind was strong. Sleeping at the top must feel similar to sleeping on the Swallow.
Roland entered a large square jam-packed with merchant stalls and customers. Folks were eyeing the various wares, haggling loudly and vigorously. Hands were dramatically thrown into the air as they hunted their trophies. The atmosphere was charged with excitement and Roland was surprised to find himself smiling. He picked a stall with fewer customers, asking the merchant were he could find the Seek‘n Find. The merchant instead handed him a small statue. It was made of clay and resembled some kind of donkey with a growth on his back. The merchant had one eye and his thick beard was peppered with grey, hanging to his chest. He smelled of spices.
“Just feel your luck increasing as you hold it, sir. This is a holy beast from the desert empire and merely touching it guarantees your luck doubled. Carry it on your person hence forth, and your luck shall double each day!” He looked around him furtively before leaning close to Roland, dropping his voice. “I should not really sell such a valuable object to just anyone, but I can judge a good man when I see him. Six silvers and I shall part with this holy relic. It’s practically giving it away for free.”
Roland turned the statue in his hands. He could definitely use some good luck. To think that such an ugly donkey held so much power! But he only carried ten s
ilvers, and it had to last for nine days. The merchant watched him with a practiced eye.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, master, I can see a dark cloud of ill intent hanging around you with this here very eye –“ he opened his remaining eye as wide as he could, his beard trembling in effort “– and the coin you spend on Almosaphellon will be just the thing to turn that cloud into holy, golden luck.”
Roland sighed and handed back the statue, wondering if he would come to regret the decision. “Can you tell me where to find the Seek‘n Find?” he asked once more.
“Go down that alley on the right,” the merchant grunted.
As Roland walked away, he heard the merchant cornering a new customer. “This holy beast, Almakanonason, will guarantee you to live to at least a hundred and fifty, and that for only nine silvers ...”
Roland chuckled to himself. Maybe he had good luck after all.
*
The Seek‘n Find had a merry feel to it. Two young girls with long, braided hair moved between the tables, serving food and drink. Customers talked loudly and laughed frequently, foaming mugs of ale washing away their troubles of the day.
Roland walked up to the serving counter. Behind it stood a man with a round, kind face, a white cloth hanging over his shoulder. As Roland approached, he wiped the top of the counter and the cloth returned to his shoulder. “Welcome to the Seek‘n Find. Name’s Alfeer,” he greeted.
“I’m looking for the owner.”
“The old man at the back,” he said, pointing to a small table at the rear of the tavern.
Roland edged between the tables, nodding at the people in greeting. The atmosphere reminded him of the village feast.