Chapter 2:
Snarl
The forest gave way to fields of tree stumps, then farmland, and Noah encountered more and more people on the roads, from peasants and commoners to adventurers and armor-plated soldiers. Guarded by walls, about a hundred wood and brick buildings stood next to the Paleon Channel. Villagers and adventurers, both human and dwarf, filled the open streets without fear of the monsters in the woods.
It was like the town of Clive, having the same Medieval charm that enticed Noah's inner nerd. Of the four inns in the village, only one had a room left available, and he snatched it up before anyone else could claim it. His horse was fed and tended to in the stable out back, and Noah entered the familiar scene of a crowded tavern. All the tables were occupied, so Noah sat at the counter. Behind the bartender were three large barrels full of booze and shelves of bottles and jugs. Nearby was the entrance to the kitchen, with two servant girls tending to the customers.
"I'll take the house special and a mug of whatever is in that left barrel."
He was given a pint of ale in a dirty glass, and a plate of burned wolf meat with wheat porridge slopped on the side. He shoveled it down and left a few copper coins on the counter. Perhaps he should have asked Mary to make him lunch for the road.
"Do you know who I can talk to about hitching a ride down to the coast?"
The bartender grunted and pointed his chin to the corner, where a potato-headed bargeman was sitting across from a long line of adventurers, each signing a ledger for guard work. Noah watched from a distance and listened to all the questions being asked and answered. From what he could tell, guards were paid for the head of every bandit and monster that attacked the ships, and anyone who didn't fight when things went wrong would be thrown overboard. They also had to bring their own food and shouldn't expect a roof over their heads. 'Henry' was the name he signed after he got in line.
"There is a shipment of slaves heading out the day after tomorrow. Be at the docks at dawn," said the bargeman.
Noah now had a room and a way down the channel, so the next step was to get a town layout. He went to his room to leave his luggage and perform his usual sweep. He checked every inch of the walls, floor, and ceiling for anything suspicious, as well as the straw mattress for anything hidden inside, living or nonliving, and he tested the reliability of the door. Everything appeared safe, but Noah still hid his possessions under the bed.
Now lightened, he set out into the muddy streets, surrounded by villagers at work and play, and livestock either pulling carts or being carried in them. He passed through the market and examined the wares of each merchant under tents that kept the summer sun at bay. Furs and fabrics, fresh meat and preserved vegetables, weapons and tools for survival, all were for sale and examined and bought by members of all professions.
Took's location on the channel made it a prime trading hub, allowing goods to be shipped directly to and from the capital from deeper within the mainland. Children, either homeless or freed from chores, hid in shadows and blind spots, searching for loose pockets and dropped coins. They repeatedly bumped against Noah, pretending it was an accident, and he'd swat at their thieving hands.
There were certain things he'd keep an eye out for wherever he traveled. He'd study the ground, looking for areas with bad footing. He'd step into stores, seeing which of them had back exits. He checked the alleys in search of places where he could ambush others or where others might ambush him.
He took note of every way in and out of the village, creating a mental map of the best routes. He wanted to know if there was anything in this town he could use or had to be wary of. Numerous chaotic and violent lifetimes had burned this lesson into his mind.
He made his way to the docks to see the channel. According to the map, it split a small eastern subcontinent off the mainland, almost perfectly straight. He arrived at a cliff made of hewn logs, where ships were either waiting silently, being worked on, or exchanging cargo. What intrigued Noah was how close the other side of the channel was, maybe just five hundred feet of open water, and if the map was to be believed, it seemed to retain that width.
He followed the banks, looking for a place low enough to taste the water. It was brackish due to freshwater from the land and rivers forming a layer over the seawater deeper in the channel. The bedrock would have had to be split open for such a thing to occur. It was like a tectonic crack filled in by the ocean. How deep did it go? Whether or not this information could help him, he wasn't sure. It was merely a little factoid to brighten his day. This world was fascinating, and interest was the closest he could get to happiness.
It was the middle of the afternoon, so Noah returned to the inn. There was still work for him to do. He locked himself in his room and began pulling out all his gear and possessions. It was time for the part of adventuring that stories never told: maintaining equipment. His blades had to be sharpened and oiled, clothing and anything else made of leather or fabric had to be cleaned and mended, and he had bags of harvested plants ready for mixing into useful concoctions.
He worked while invisible, not wanting a chance to train to escape him. The first task he tended to was checking the burn on his back. The area was sore, but the ointments were doing their job, and he just needed to change the bandages.
The setting sun and his rumbling stomach eventually pulled him from his room, and he went downstairs for dinner. Townsfolk and adventurers packed the tavern, all eating, talking, laughing, and arguing. Servant girls maneuvered around the crowded tables with trays of food and drinks.
He took an open seat at the counter adjacent to a cloaked figure and ordered himself a plate. This wasn't like a modern restaurant with a menu—everyone ate whatever the cooks happened to have on hand. Dinner was bread, sausages, and a baked potato.
While eating, he listened to as many conversations as possible to pick up information. 'Ogre,' that word was being muttered. One had been spotted prowling around the streets before dawn, a scout checking the town's strengths and weaknesses. As always, Noah went to bed that night with a knife under his pillow.
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The crying of a rooster, such an ugly sound, but every sound is atrocious when it pulls one from a pleasant slumber. Noah sat up in bed and yawned, finally enjoying a full night's sleep since leaving the last town, or at least something close to it. Despite being a teenager so many times, no amount of experience could alleviate his adolescent circadian rhythms. He had to exhaust himself every day to have any hope of falling asleep before midnight. Living without screens helped.
He got out of bed and splashed water on his face from a nearby wash basin to pry sleep's tight fingers off his mind. He pulled on his clothes and gear and left his room. The inn's employees had just woken up like him and were lighting the kitchen flames. Breakfast was not on his mind right now. He stepped out into the street, yet to receive the sun's direct light, devoid of all but the earliest risers. Noah stretched and then cast both of his spells. He set off in a jog, using his depleting mana as a timer.
To adventurers, running was for chasing down prey or escaping predators, so Noah did his workout with all of his weapons and anything else he might carry in the field. He ran through the town, putting into practice everything he had learned the previous day and testing out every escape route he had concocted. With both spells going at once, Noah's fatigue accumulated faster, but he pushed through. He had reached a wall in his magic training, one he hoped to break through with enough practice.
