Page 88 of The Ballad of a Bard

The houses were held on wooden beams, replicating the spindly legs of a spider that crawled through shadows unseen. It was as if the crooked hovels couldn’t be trusted to remain upright on their own, as if the citizens of the city were terrified that they would sink into the earth and never be seen again. The doors were all lopsided and her boots sloshed brown water with every step that she took, further and further into the city.

People milled about with baskets of fruits that had seen better days, with flowers that were near alamort and clothes that were hanging off their shoulders. There were a couple of fine looking shoppes along the center row of the city, with patrons that could only have been afforded their wealth through illegal ways.

“Where are we headed?” Crimson muttered to her companion, who was dressed in a sapphire cloak with no fancy trimming along it, not any symbol of where they were from.

West glanced towards her, seemingly unbothered by the state of the area around them. She supposed it made sense, when he was an immortal Saint who’d been around since the dawn of time, maybe even long before.

“When people come in from long trips, travelling or weary adventures, where do they often hear first?”

“An inn?”

At least, that’s where she would go first. To fall into a somewhat comfortable bed and sleep.

“Most people would try to locate the nearest tavern.” He pointed and she followed his line of sight. “It might not be pretty, but I guarantee that we’ll hear gossip there. Especially if a certain red-headed Saint had been spotted in this shit-hole.”

“You think that people will be talking about him?” She questioned, shivering as an old man wobbled towards them on weary legs.

West tossed a single crown at him, sending him scrambling to find it before he could get any closer. “If an easily recognizable Saint strolled into town and you’d seen them, wouldn’tyoutell everyone you know about it?”

Crimson didn’t have to think about her answer for too long. Barely a second passed before she said, “No.”

He lifted a dark brow. “No?”

“No.” She repeated. “Why would I do that? Saints have just as much of a right to privacy as any other,ordinaryfolk. They don’t deserve to be crowded and swarmed for something as tiny as immortality.”

“Tiny as immortality?” West asked with a hint of glib glee. “If immortality is considered that small, that inconsequential to you, I’m curious to know what would spark your curiosity, Heartstrings.”

She scowled, “Don’t call me that.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Fine. Answer my question and I’ll put a pause, abrief one,on that delightful nickname.”

They wove around a couple of buildings, avoiding the narrow alleyways that were the target for thieves and unlucky saps who wandered into them. He guided her around the inn with a hanging sign that was barely legible, as well as past the butcher shop with a cleaver in the filthy window.

Crimson stuck her tongue out, but swiftly spoke. “I don’t haveanything in my head that could truly be considered magnificent, massive.” She reconsidered. “Unless one of the six Saints of Hisaith can stop death in its tracks. I suppose that would be quite impressive.”

He shook his head. “No, Crimson. Unfortunately none of us have that much power, nor do I ever expect any of us to gain it.”

She looked at him. “Can yougainmore power?”

He nodded. “There are certain…methods, that we can partake in to allow us more power. More magic and strength. Obviously nothing would come from more immortality, but there is still much to be gained. Even for us.”

They continued to walk past the puddles of mud, avoiding the deep pits that collected more than just water.

“What kind of things?”

“Our powers could increase, for one. If we took a seed of another’s, then we could ideally take a kernel of theirs. But there’s only one way to gain another Saint’s powers, to add to your own and it’s barbaric, forbidde-” West stopped dead in his tracks, dragging a hand over his mouth as his navy eyes widened.

“Forbidden?” She finished for him.

“Oh Saints be damned.” He murmured.

“You look as if you’ve just put something together.” Crimson paused beside him, heart racing sidling as his eyes began to move. Not in the way of someone searching for something, but one in the middle of sorting out the puzzle pieces and placing them in their correct slots.

“I did.” He inhaled sharply and flipped around to her. “How much do you know about Saints and our mythology? Our lore?”

She shrugged, tucking her hands into the crook of her armpits to retain whatever warmth could be sought out there. Valkrigge was far colder than Tazali, even in the middle of winter. “Notmuch. Just the bare surface of the book I found and then whatever you or Muse has told me.”

West looked out of place, dishevelled as he ran a hand through his umber hair. “I knowwhyAltivar is looking for your father.”

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