[William]
Their arrival to Aslan was one without fanfare.
The town had a different look and feel to it compared to other Southern settlements. Rocky rather than green, foreboding rather than welcoming. It sat on a jagged hill, a deep stream cutting its connection to the land. The only path to its gates lay in the drawing bridge that was lowered to a slope. No one seemed to man it—not a resident, not even a bandit.
The inside of the town drove the difference further. Wooden sheds and buildings stacked upon and next to each other, old and new signs crowding the same shops and landmarks, and alleys and streets that abruptly reached an end. It all made the town feel as if full to the brim, even as they were yet to meet another person.
It took an absurd amount of time before they did, and it was in the form of a delicious aroma and a sour-faced man running a food stall. He cast them an indifferent glance and went back to sautéing vegetables, only then to snap up to cast them a second glance, this one shocked. “Are you mad?”
“A rude greeting to give your town’s visitors, don’t you think?” was Yonten’s reply.
The stall owner then elaborated on his ‘greeting’, “Why are you here? Don’t you know what happened?”
“It’s precisely what happened that we’re here,” Stella answered him.
The stall owner stared at them. It went on for an uncomfortably long while.
“Is his soul about to rise to the heavens?” William heard Jehona whispering.
At least Jehona’s wild speculation woke the stall owner up from his stupor, coughing as he regained his wits—and allegedly, his soul. “I’m perfectly healthy!”
“Good for you,” William returned.
A shame his well-intentioned reply had the stall owner gritting his teeth. “I’ll act as if I didn’t hear a word you said, so leave this town at once. This is no place for fools playing heroes.”
“What a rude little man…” Yonten marveled.
“Little?”
“We could say the same about you,” Stella said, ignoring the stall owner’s offense at the mockery of his stature. “This isn’t the town it used to be anymore, so why linger?”
Her inquiry subdued the stall owner’s ire, and it was with incredible weariness that he let out, “If you’re not going to listen to me, then leave my sight.”
Seeing no point in remaining where their presence was unwelcome, William did as told and his companions followed. The smell of the stall owner’s cooking followed, too—hauntingly, tauntingly.
Soon enough, they stumbled upon a trying hurdle: finding a place to stay.
Aslan’s inns and taverns were either destroyed, closed, in repairs, or had owners with abysmal sense of pricing.
“As far as I know, this is no Capital City, so what nonsense do you mean by twenty silvers a night?”
When William stepped in to ask for the pricing, the answer got him momentarily speechless, unable to utter anything but, “Come again?”
Stella was more proactive, demanding an explanation for such ridiculous demand. Yonten stared at a wall with a sentiment that boarded on horror, all while Jehona frowned at the meager coin left in her pouch.
Trying with the next open inn, they were met with an even worse response: "Fifty silvers?" Stella and Yonten now looked outright murderous, ignoring William's urging to find another inn in favor of arguing with the innkeeper.
A gruff voice came from behind, momentarily halting the escalating argument, “What’s the deal with you today? Your noise is ruining my game.”
Looking back, William saw that it was a burly man sitting at a nearby table with a group of five, all engaged in a game of cards.
In the sort of courteous tone that was completely absent in his addressing of them, the innkeeper explained, "It's these travelers, Quinn. They want a stay for less than fifty silvers.”
“Less than five coppers would be ideal,” Yonten added on.
The inn’s lack of patrons and its keeper's deference to this ‘Quinn’ gave William enough to conclude.
This inn was taken over by bandits.
Quinn broke into a laugh at that, turning to give them his full attention. “Travelers, you say?”
“Volunteers,” Jehona corrected, blowing all guises to smithereens. She continued on as if fearing to be misunderstood, “We’re here to defeat the West Gate.”
A choking sound came from the innkeeper. They all ignored him.
“Well, isn’t that interesting?” Quinn’s laugh this time around verged on a roar. “Just when I thought this town became dull, entertainment delivered itself to my door.”
“You’re the West Gate?” William asked, doubtful. In their short stay in this town, he caught word of the sort of person the West Gate was.
The Gate sought the thrill of a good duel. His search attracted those who wanted to take advantage of the havoc he left in his wake, swearing loyalty to him while relishing the undefeated heights their allegiance brought them. That was the system this town worked under: the West Gate brought the fear, and his followers brought the control.
The only command the West Gate bothered to issue was keeping the path into the town open and unguarded, and that was only to allow entry for new challengers.
This Quinn didn’t seem the sort to thirst after a challenge, instead the sort to indulge in power. William knew enough of both sorts to recognize the signs, the dynamics that played the same as he had experienced in the past, just replace bandits with bored noblemen.
“No, that would be our Chief," Quinn answered, confirming William's suspicion. One of Quinn’s seatmates leaned close then, whispering something that made the man nod in approval. He regarded them with amused interest. “How about you indulge me with a few wagers before you embark on defeating him? I’ll let you stay the night for free.”
“What?” the innkeeper choked out.
While Yonten rushed to answer, “Excellent, you got a deal.”
Quinn ignored both and continued, “I’ll even be generous and let you rest before we start.”
“What do you think?” Stella looked at William.
“I see no harm in accepting.” A good rest before a fated battle did seem like a sound plan.
“Good, good!” Quinn smiled, his pleasant mood evident. “I expect to see you all here tomorrow’s evening.”
With that final note, Quinn returned to his game, leaving the four of them to regard the innkeeper, expectant.
“You’ll die before reaching the Chief,” he said, clearly aiming to sour the boon of a free night’s stay.
“We’d like two rooms,” Yonten returned.
[Stella]
When they met the innkeeper the next morning, he sneered at them. “We don’t offer breakfast in this establishment.”
“No one asked,” Stella told him, and that quickly managed to shove whatever petty comment he wanted to release right back into his throat.
They left the innkeeper to fume by himself, heading outside to stop by the food stall they stumbled upon the previous day.
“You didn’t leave,” was the first thing the stall owner uttered when they approached him.
“Did we ever imply otherwise?” What’s with this town and its residents jumping into conclusions?
At lost as to what to respond with, the stall owner also went for the petty approach, “I don’t serve outsiders.”
“Didn’t the original people of this town become outsiders, too?” came William’s inquiry, his tone calm, his expression severe.
“We’re not outsiders!” the stall owner snapped. “Don’t act high and mighty just because the Kingdom has your back. I have met many like you, those so called volunteers. The brave of them die, the foolish fall victim to Quinn’s wagers, and the cowardly join the West Gate’s ranks.”
“Three options?” Yonten mused, eyes glinting as he suggested, “How about you take us on a wager yourself? If we fall into any of the three fates you mentioned, you’ll get to be in the right.”
That could hardly be considered a reward…
It seemed to be enough for the stall owner, though, because he asked, the rage he showed a moment ago abating, “What if you didn’t? What then?”
Gaze set firmly upon the stall’s array of delicacies, Yonten answered, “You’ll offer us meals during the entirety of our stay in this town, free of charge.”
“How economic,” Jehona muttered to herself, sounding anything but impressed.
With little reluctance, the stall owner nodded. “Alright, I accept your wager.”
“Wonderful.” Yonten still didn’t tear his gaze away from the food, continuing, “Now, as men bound by an honorable wager, we’re not strangers anymore. How about serving us breakfast? We’ll pay, of course.”
The stall owner stared at him, looking as though questioning whether or not he fell into a trap of Yonten’s making, but reluctant to ask just so he wouldn’t appear foolish.
If Stella were to be honest, the aroma wafting from the stall was enough to whet her ill-tempered appetite. So, if a little trickery got them to finally have a sample of what made such appetizing smells, who was she to object?
It was the promised time.
For a bandit, Quinn was punctual. He arrived just as the evening approached along a small crowd of spectators, bandits and townspeople alike. Stella caught sight of the stall owner among them. Here to confirm the results of his wager, perhaps?
Her idle thoughts reached the end of their trail as Quinn took center stage, announcing amidst the cheers of his subordinates, “Let the games begin!”
