I wanderedthrough the streets of Falhurst until the ache in my feet became unbearable. As I walked, I passed countlessvendors and shops, nibbling on pastries or picking up whatever supplies I might need for the journey ahead, even though I had no clear destination yet.
I bought a leather satchel that fit snugly over my shoulder, resting at my waist without being too bulky. It was slim enough to hide under my cloak without drawing notice. Inside, I tucked away everything I had. Provisions from Hyrall, items I had collected along the way, and my coin. My pocketknife was secured safely in my cloak pocket, just in case.
At one point, a street performer stood in the middle of the square, dramatically reciting lines from a play, acting out scenes, and singing the score completely by himself. I joined the crowd in clapping, though his off-key singing was met with a few boos. Still, there was something about his enthusiasm that drew me in. I tossed a copper into his hat, and he gave a cheerful bow.
When the performance ended, I felt it was time to go. The day’s distractions had been welcome, but I needed to find somewhere to sleep before I set off again. I had a lot to figure out.
I’d overheard a few conversations that pointed me toward one corner of the city. It was where most travelers and foreigners stayed when they came through Falhurst. They offered lodging, food, and, most importantly, information on how to leave the city. This place was called Rook’s End, and I figured it was my best shot at finding out what came next.
When I finally arrived, Rook’s End wasn’t at all what I had pictured. Though, to be honest, I hadn’t really pictured much. The area was small, just a few streets crammed with shops, inns, taverns, brothels, and the like. I didn’t know where to start, but the first thing that caught my eye was an alehouse called the Eldergrove. It stood at the heart of the district, the busiest spot by far. People were pouring in and out, some stumbling drunkenly, others either arguing or belting out songs. It was hard to tell.
I shrugged and headed for the door.
Pulling my cloak tighter around me, I squeezed through the mass of people and finally stepped into the Eldergrove. The second I entered, I was hit with a wave of body odor, stale ale, and a dozen conversations happening all at once. It took a moment to adjust. Back at the Greenwood Inn, everything had been calm and quiet, with only a few patrons at a time.
This? This was something else entirely. The place was packed, easily twenty or thirty cityfolk crammed into the small space. I hugged my arms to my chest and moved carefully toward the bar, trying not to bump into anyone. Behind the counter, the barkeep was busy, while a barmaid darted between the tables, handing out drinks as fast as she could.
As I stood there, a man so drunk he could barely stay upright stumbled into me. I stepped aside with a frown, and he dropped his tankard in the process. To my surprise, he had the gall to glare at me, jaw slack, eyes bleary. He wobbled on his feet, pointing a shaky finger in my direction.
“You best pay for that, lass, or I’ll deal with you myself,” he slurred, his words a tangled mess as he swayed. I was about to scoff when the barkeep cut in.
“Merlin, leave her alone. She’s not the one causing trouble. Della’ll get you another. Now off with you.”
The man let out a frustrated grunt but turned without another word, waving his empty tankard at the barmaid and mumbling incoherently.
“Thanks,” I said to the barkeep.
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied with a shrug. “Happens just about every night.” He leaned forward slightly. “What’ll it be?”
“Whatever I can get for a half-penny.”
He gave a short nod and poured a tankard of pale ale, sliding it across the counter. I set the coin down in exchange, offering a gratefulnod.
“Haven’t seen you around before,” he said, eyeing me. “We get travelers, sure, but not many young women passing through on their own.” He gave me a second glance, a little more scrutinizing this time. “If you’re looking for work, though, it won’t be here. We’ve already got our own girls.”
I looked him square in the eye. “Not working. Just passing through.”
“Where you off to?”
I ignored the question and took a sip from my tankard. “Any idea where I can find someone offering travel by morning? I’m looking to move at first light.”
“Depends where you’re bound,” he said. “The Cragstone’s where most folks go. Few streets over. Traders, riders, even the odd caravan. Someone’s always leaving.”
“Appreciate it,” I said, lifting my tankard in thanks. I left the rest on the counter as I stood. The ale was terrible, somehow even worse than what we served in Brier Len.
The Eldergrove had served its purpose. I left with what I came for, energy buzzing under my ribs. My fingers brushed the coins I’d picked from the drunk’s pocket. An unintended bonus, but welcome all the same.
Well, no use lingering.
Off to the Cragstone.
29
As I approachedthe doors of the Cragstone, a familiar voice reached my ears, the same one I’d heard earlier in the market square, though clearer now. His song carried through the doorway, drawing me in. I stepped inside quietly and found a small crowd gathered near the hearth. Pressing myself against the wall just behind them, I blended into the circle of listeners.
I’ve wandered roads, both rough and long,
With a song in my heart and a tune so strong.
