“It’s a bit of an ironic name,” Riyan replied. “The village and its walls are here to prevent any magical beasts from passing through. The giants get around it by finding other ways down the mountain, but it keeps most of themonsters inside.”
Riyan took a couple steps toward the wall and his booming voice reverberated off the mountain stone. “I am Riyan Bloodstone, Hero of Lycaster, seeking entrance to theBeast’s Pass.”
He refused to call himselfthe Baron.
A soldier in a crimson uniform carrying a torch appeared at the top of the wall. The soldier’s eyes widened when hesaw Riyan.
“By Ganora’s mercy!” the soldier exclaimed. “It’s him! Openthe gate!”
Heavy clicking noises rang through the dawn. The two sides of the gate groaned as two soldiers on either side pushed them open. Riyan bent down and gently lowered me to the ground so I couldwalk inside.
The village was unlike any place I had ever seen. The dwellings were carved into the rocks and crawled up the mountainside above us. Holes in the dwellings that acted as windows and doors sparked with noise and movement. Thin women clutching bundled babes and small hands of wide-eyed toddlers left their homes and walked down the steep slopestoward me.
Murmurs of the villagers crept around in the morning air as more and more people filled the central path of the village. All eyes locked on the gateexcept mine.
I turned around. Riyan ducked under the gate and crawled inside. Dawn’s spectacular rays illuminated him from behind as he arose. I held my breath as a halo of gold surrounded his hair and torchlight danced off the contours ofhis muscles.
Hewas magnificent.
The villagers gasped, some applauded, and dozens of people ran down from their homes to gawk in awe at the legendary Hero of Lycaster. A crowd of a dozen thin children dressed in rags tore away from their mothers’ hands and ran to Riyan. Their wide smiles lit up theirdirty faces.
The children all stood around their hero, their hungry eyes big with wonder. Riyan looked down at them with acautious smile.
“Are you really him?” asked a young girl withblonde braids.
“In the flesh,”Riyan replied.
“Why are you so big?” asked atoddling boy.
“Why are you so small?” Riyan asked with a raised eyebrow anda smirk.
“Did you really kill eight giants?” shouted a boy with twomissing teeth.
“No, it was ten.” Riyan sat down in the center of the village path and started telling the story of the great battle. Two children no older than five crawled into Riyan’s lap as he regaled the tale. Mothers and old men gathered around him, captivated by hisevery word.
I was watching Riyan soak up the admiration when someone cleared his throat behind me. I turned around to find an old man with a long beard holding a cloth bundle inhis hands.
“It’s not much,” he said, offering me the bundle, “but it’s the least we can offer you,Madame Bloodstone.”
The bundle warmed my chilled hands. I carefully opened it and found five flat loaves of bread stacked on top of each other. The bread was fresh, but it was not light and fluffy like the bread I was used to. Still, I was touched by the offering. If grain was in short supply in Ravenwood, it must be even more scarce in the farthest north anyonecould live.
“Thank you,” I said, “I will take these toSir Bloodstone.”
“No need,” said the man. He gestured to Riyan and Iturned around.
Laughing children climbed all over Riyan as he sat on the ground, their mothers offering him baskets of apples, bread, cured meats, and whole wheels of cheese. Riyan delightfully munched on every offering, his battle story pausing each time he had a new food inhis hands.
The village was giving us all the food they had. I felt guilty for accepting, but my short time in Bloodstone had taught me that everyone showed appreciation and affection with food. Refusing the offerings would have been a huge insult—something we could not afford if we wanted to make it through the passwithout conflict.
I bit into a disc of bread—it was coarse and I struggled to chew it. The bread did not whet my appetite, but it calmed myhunger pangs.
As I watched Riyan entertain the crowd, I noticed the cape around his waist was covered in mud and who knew what else. I turned back to theold man.
“If it is not too much trouble,” I asked, “are there any scraps of fabric around? Sir Bloodstone recently outgrew allhis clothing.”
The old man chuckled and gestured for me to follow him. I stashed the bread into my pocket, even though they barely fit with all my other trinkets. I followed the man into a nearby stone dwelling where an old woman with tiny, crooked legs and a younger, broader woman sat on a small bed. Both women wore simple cloth dresses and their ash blonde hair was tied up in braids. The one-room dwelling consisted of only the bed and a small cauldron overa hearth.
“This is Madame Bloodstone,” said the old man to the women. “Wife of Sir Bloodstone, Slayer of Giants. Sir Bloodstone seems to have a lack of clothing and needssome assistance.”
