The first thing I noticed was that soldiers’ armour was ill-fitting, mismatched or just plain rusty. They were clearly wearing old stock, probably because they’d sent a literal army marching down their southern road on the long journey around the Free Forests to eventually pull west toward Avandun. The poor sods they had left were likely the dregs of their fighting-age people. The ones too young, too old or too stupid to gamble on. The soldiers marched out and surrounded the group of us, plus some thirty-something peasants, clattering their spears on shields of pure night and standing to attention in a practised, fluid motion.

  They might look like ten pounds of shite in a five-pound bag, but they had clearly been trained in drilling at least. I found myself wanting to test my replacement blade against them, and I imagined the look of fear on the soldier’s face nearest to me as I revealed my hidden weapon. That’s not what I did. Instead, I watched the soldier, a young lad of maybe nineteen, standing and watching me as he shifted his head back, flicking the oversized helmet to keep it from obscuring his vision. An older guard with the most pristine moustache I’d ever seen wore a spike on the top of his helm that pointed directly upward. The half cape that draped across his left side billowed as he walked out to join the rest of his compatriots, he walked around our group and as he came near me the cape was thrown back by the wind, revealing a broadblade on his hip.

  The leather of the grip was shiny and uncracked. He hadn’t used the sword for long, if at all. What drew my eye was the large billhook, dulled and scratched through from years of use. This man was like me; he’d tangled with Wyrms and Drakes, perhaps even a Dragon. I found myself tightening my grip of my swordstick, this man was probably a sergeant or captain, which meant he was danger, until proven otherwise.

  “Peasants and citizens, you will hold here until the Roaming Party pass, this is for your own safety, do not move, do not speak and all will be well.” His voice was firm, but there was a tone underneath it, a slight waver when he said roaming. He masked it well, but I’ve been shitting myself out of fear enough to tell when a hard bastard is unnerved. He was looking away from the gates, down the road. I stole a glance that way and immediately snapped my head away, looking at the ground and finding the most interesting rock I could find to focus on.

  “Fuck.” I hissed.

  “What?” Gertha whispered.

  “Him.” I breathed back.

  Gertha looked down the road as well before following my lead and bowing her head. Sayo and Sila didn’t look but took the hint, making themselves cower into themselves.

  “SILENCE! It’s for your own good.” The moustachioed Guard spat.

  My chest was tight, and I was filled with rage, fear and loathing. Marching down the road were black-armoured riders on horseback. They surrounded a figure riding in the centre. He had the blue hue of a Nargazian, and what he rode wasn’t a horse, but a Drake, still bearing the burns of Eggs’ fire from our last meeting.

  Mavev Tlatz, the one I knew so little about but seemed to know much about me, was here on Drakeback.

  Had he tracked me here? It was strange how he'd come upon me the first time. Was he here for me, for Eggs?

  My entire body was tense, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I shuddered and pulled my cloak about myself and donned the hood. Playing the part of a petrified peasant, which wasn’t hard. I was definitely scared, and I’m technically lower than a peasant by the laws of Avandun.

  I wrapped my hand around my necklace. I didn’t want to have to fight here; we’d not even made it into the city yet, but if Mavev or that bloody Drake caught wind of me, I’d have to rely on the element of surprise and reveal Eggs and make my move on Mavev. Perhaps I’d kill him quickly with my thin, cruel blade, or maybe he’d kill me, and none of this would be my burden anymore. I couldn’t help but watch from the corner of my eye. I told myself it was so I could be aware of a potential threat, but part of me wanted to look upon one of the most difficult opponents of my life again.

  The clop of the horse's hooves got louder as they passed us. The guards, our motley group of peasants, all stood in an eerie silence as the Drake walked past us on all fours with the confidence befitting of an apex predator used to being the end of many a human’s tale. Mavev rode with a casual indifference, not even bothering to look at the group of peasants cowering inside the ring of Guards. Instead, he and his entourage merely rode into the city, a bubble of silence trailing them as it snuffed out the sounds of people going about their lives.

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  This was madness, how did none of the guards even seem to not have an issue with a live Drake crossing the gates of their city? What in the Serf’s death rattle was Mavev doing riding around as if they were in charge?

  “You may now enter Cemfyllian. Do not breach our peace; do not draw any weapons in anger, and remember that your safety comes through your service, sacrifice, and obedience to the kingdom and laws of King Stallivindium. Breakers of the law will pay high prices, and not always in gold.”

  “For the King!” The peasants chanted back in unison, their voices meek, shaking and dripping in fear.

  Here I thought King Perek was an asshole for trying to have me dealt with, but it seemed Stallivindium was not only a warmonger, but a controlling one at that. If he were in bed with Mavev and whomever else that Nargazian was aligned to, then perhaps the good king should meet my new blade.

  Sila’s hand grabbed my arm, snapping me out of my train of thought as the guards nearest the gates took a step back, opening up the way for us all to walk through the gates.

  “C’mon, Tullen, let’s get inside these walls.” He said.

  “Right behind you, let’s find somewhere to collect ourselves and grab an ale.” I could do with a couple of pints, some food and somewhere quiet to think while we figured out how to find out what was going on in Cemfyllian. If they had the eggs of Wyverns, I needed to know about it, and I also had a terrible feeling knowing that Mavev was here, something stunk, and I would find answers.

  We entered Cemfyllian through its glinting gates, and the smells and sights of the city reminded me of home. My heart ached as I realised I probably would not see Avandun again for a very long time, at least while Perek sat on the throne. I could smell food cooking at stalls, livestock, and the mingling scents of urine and alcohol from an alley that told me we were probably not too far from a tavern. People went about their daily business; there were a lot of children, either playing in the street or following their mothers from stall to stall. Guards cast watchful eyes from within, loosing slits, and others patrolled the streets in groups of two, four or six. Signs were painted on walls, as well as notices for something called “The Expedition”, but the rest of the words were smaller, and I’d have to get closer to read them. I felt the urge to keep moving, to find us somewhere to hole up.

  “That’s odd, isn’t it?” Gertha asked me.

  “What’s odd? It’s a city, isn’t it? Just not ours.” I said.

  “It is,” Sayo said.

  “Must be something in their water.” Sila laughed.

  “What are you all on about?” I almost cried out before tempering my voice. It wouldn’t do to draw attention to ourselves here. Not yet anyway.

  “Count the children,” Gertha said.

  Then it dawned on me: there weren't just a lot of children in general, but each group with someone who could be a parent had at least five children in it. Families were big here; the population seemed to be teeming with youth.

  “We’re in a strange place, bound to be some differences. Try not to look like it surprises you. We’re supposed to be here.” I said, keeping my voice low.

  We walked on for several minutes, making our way through the city. The outer buildings of Cemfyllen were old, built of stone and clearly standing for a long time, but the nearer we got to the centre, the more uniform the buildings became. They were taller and lacked the finishing touches that made buildings unique. At points people tried to sell us clothing, food or chits for “The Expedition” but I waved them away with my stick as I led us deeper into the maze of streets. My chest was bound by a thread, pulling me toward something, and I had to see where it led.

  We rounded a street corner, which served as the border between older and newer buildings, and one building in particular caught my eye.

  A creaking wooden sign hung from its second floor; daubed on it was a black-and-white crown, tipped with golden bells. Underneath the picture were the words, “The Mummer’s Stage.”

  I didn’t know where I was heading before, but I now knew it to be here. My destination.

  “If you were just trying to get me pissed, you could have said something,” I whispered to the chuckling God. They gave me no reply.

  “Let’s get a drink and some beds for the night,” I said.

  “Now that’s a plan we can all agree on,” Sila said, moving on ahead of us.

  We followed after him, and I walked through the threshold into the Tavern. It was full of men and women, young and old. Some in the fine silks of the rich and others in the dirty rags of the poor.

  As Sila pushed the doors fully open, they creaked long and hard. The patrons of the Tavern met us all with stony silence and firm faces.

  Moments passed, and I shifted my feet. Had we walked into the wrong place?

  Then the crowd before us burst into applause.