Through the Gates

A weary traveler wandered into an inn by the roadside. He'd been on his feet for days, marching in a direction he could only hope was right. A lute-shaped box was strapped to his back, a backpack slung off to the side. Without money of his own, he approached a woman behind the common room's bar. He assumed she was the owner.

"I haven't got coin on me. I'm starved and I'm looking for a place to stay. I'm not all that great, but I know a couple of songs. Your patrons would surely appreciate the music; everyone's so somber in here," Jacob said, hoping the woman would give him shelter for the night.

The road to Steelshade was long, and it was a confusing system of roads he had to navigate without knowing the area. With any luck, he could regain his bearings here. The innkeeper cleared her throat. "If you can play half-good, the room and dinner are yours. But you've got to play for at least two hours. Not a moment less," she said. Jacob nodded, grateful for the opportunity.

From within the case, he removed a beautiful lute, the last memento he had of a man he had once seen as his savior. The new life he had built up had been violently shattered. Not a moment went by without Jacob thinking about it. Despite that, he played the happiest song he could. The other travelers were just like him, weary and in need of something to lift their spirits.

Joyful notes billowed forth, building a new atmosphere in the inn. It was Rod's favorite; the one he had played to his wife on her deathbed. It was an irony that such a happy song carried such a heavy burden. Still he played.

Before long, the men and women who graced the inn began singing along to songs he didn't know had lyrics. Mugs of ale flew from the bar to the guests. Fortunately, when Jacob had to begin recycling songs, the travelers were drunk enough not to care. The innkeeper noticed, but she was happy enough with the increased revenue not to care.

The two hours passed quickly, and while the stew he earned was nothing to write home about, it was a sight better than the cold jerky he had been rationing out for the past few days. The room was similarly in sub-par condition. This inn was clearly no Golden Gizzard. And yet, Jacob felt that his standards had fallen so far that anything would have done in that moment. He didn't even bother with a bath before collapsing on the bed and passing out.

Accompanying the sunrise, Jacob rose and left the inn before he became tempted to stay any longer. The innkeeper had tried to convince him to stay on as in-house entertainment to drive up her booze sales, but Jacob managed to decline. The comfort of a real structure was something that was hard to pass up.

He continued his journey, grateful for any passerby who helped point him in the right direction. The closer he got to Steelshade, the more crossroads there were: a greater opportunity to get lost. By the end of his third week of walking, the massive sight of the ducal capital's walls jumped over the horizon. They were bigger than any he had ever seen, the stone rising higher than any he had ever seen in European ruins. Higher than they were meant to rise, at least.

The brief question as to how they accomplished it was swiftly answered: magic. Jacob reached for his magic again, finding that his connection with it still erupted in a headache. He had hope, though. The pain was far less than it used to be, and at the current rate of improvement, he expected the headaches to vanish altogether by the end of the next week.

He wondered if he'd make it to Steelshade before then. Based upon the distance, if he sped up a bit, he could probably do it with time to spare. Maybe he could find work as a cook again, this time for money. If not, he could learn to play more songs on his lute and set up shop as a bard. Whichever provided him more coin; he needed to purchase a new blade and he needed to convert the scales in his backpack to a breastplate.

With those tools, he'd be much closer to the bandit leader in equipment. Strength of arms was another matter, but Jacob intended to rectify his deficiencies. A stint as a guardsman could do him some good, he supposed. Lost in his thoughts, Jacob shuffled towards the great city on autopilot.

Rain forced him off the road and under the cover of the forest numerous times before he reached the city. It wound up being closer to a week than he had expected it to be by the time he found himself at the city gates. Testing his magic once more, he let out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding for a month. He could gather molecules without splitting his head.

"Papers," the guardsman at the gate said, extending an armored hand. He wore full plate armor, an impressive feat given the weight of the thing.

"I don't have any. I'm a refugee from Leafburrow," Jacob replied, hoping that refugee status was a thing in this world.

"Leafburrow? The border town? What happened?" the guard asked, his voice expressing disbelief.

"The bandits circled around the mercenaries sent to hunt them, striking the town. All the buildings were razed, and I have no idea what they did with the other inhabitants. I got out alive because I was off hunting at the time. By the time I got back, they were mostly gone. A few men, here and there, but nothing I couldn't sneak past," Jacob lied, knowing the guard would be likelier to believe the story this way. Honestly, it wasn't too much of a stretch.

The armored man retracted his hand, crossing his arms. A moment later, the guard had his decision. "You'll be allowed into the city, but you must come to a guard station tomorrow to register yourself and to relay your story to the captain. The duke must be made aware of Leafburrow's fall."

Jacob nodded, and the guard let him pass. He was through the gates.