Caracara's Hunt 36 Information Gathering

"Not for everyone," Corwal said with a sneer. "Arms dealers and those who sell food get to profit, and n.o.bles of the winning side can gain new lands and t.i.tles. The rich have always enjoyed warring."

It didn't make much sense to Arawn, but n.o.bles did seem like people that didn't operate under normal logic. The choices they made often left him puzzled, like that time the man smiled after being squashed under a horse or when the city's lord just accepted Eliot for no reason.

"Why do you think it's war though? Didn't you say that the turning into beasts couldn't be controlled? That no one even knew what it was?"

Corwal scowled at the table. "That's how it's always been. Anyone could turn into a beast at any time; they just didn't. It could be a coincidence that they started popping up at this moment and in this area, but I can't discount it just because it seems unlikely. It's too much of a coincidence that the princess was kidnapped and brought to Mairya while the beasts are coming from that area as well."

The barmaid came with their plates, and they ended their conversation. Arawn enjoyed the meal, then thought to talk more, but Corwal said he wanted to roam the city. With those words, he left by himself, disappearing into the crowd.

Not feeling like following, Arawn returned to their room and did as he'd wanted earlier—fell asleep for sixteen hours straight. Even the world's end might not have been able to wake him up.

The next morning, freezing cold pulled Arawn out of his sleep. He jumped up and looked around with bleary eyes. After a couple blinks, he noticed that Corwal was standing two steps away with an empty cup in his hand.

"We need to get going," he said while turning away and placing the cup down. "You've got till the bell rings seventh hour."

As he said that, the bell started to ring. Arawn glared at him, then brushed the cold water off his face with the back of his hand and began to dress up. Their travel clothes were a lot simpler, dark pants and a s.h.i.+rt, so it didn't take long. He laced up his boots and was ready to go.

"Comb your hair at least once, come on."

Arawn glanced at the ash blond tresses hanging by his face with disinterest. Did he really have to do anything to them? What was wrong with his natural hair? Eliot had combed it a couple times on their way, but was it really necessary?

A comb was thrust into his hands. "If you want to keep that long hair, start working to make it look presentable."

With a grumble, Arawn began combing through his hair. He tore out so much that he was certain he'd turn bald, but Corwal didn't let him stop until he deemed it somewhat acceptable. Then he told him to bind it, and only then could they leave the room.

Quietly, Arawn swore to cut off all of his hair the moment they reached another town or city. It was such a waste of time! He would have been ready in a few moments if Corwal hadn't forced him to tear out half of his hair before he looked presentable, whatever that was supposed to mean. It wasn't like anyone was even going to see them on the road!

Or so he thought. Unlike before, there was plenty of traffic going in both directions through the main road. It was quite straight and even, so one could see people coming from quite a distance away. And there was always someone up ahead.

"It's the border," Corwal explained. "So the trade is lively in this area. Still, I can see a decrease. The last time I came here, I had to go by the side of the road just to avoid all the carriages and wagons. It's less than half now."

They walked till the sun reached its zenith, and then till it went down again. Arawn was starting to get used to such a schedule and was no longer as exhausted as before. He was still as thin as a stick, but he could feel muscles forming on his legs. The constant increase in his stamina left him in awe.

Due to the amount of people, it was hard to practice ether without causing a commotion, so Arawn only did the simplest of exercises. He could only hold the ether for a few moments before it would threaten to leave or rush into him again, so he focused on that.

With each pa.s.sing day, the time he could hold the ether still increased. It was slow, but he could feel the progress, and it gave him motivation to continue. One day, he might even become as proficient with it as Corwal. All he had to do was not be lazy and practice at every chance he got.

It took them around a week to reach the city in which the suspected lord lived. The journey was comparatively easy, and they were in a good mood. The guards at the gates let them through without a word once Corwal showed them some paper.

Inside, Arawn was surprised by all the colors around him. Wherever he turned, he was presented with a new combination.

He'd known that Mairyan people enjoyed a colorful wardrobe, but no one had warned him that it extended to their buildings too. The outside walls of each one were painted a different one. To his left were two houses in shades of green and one in blue while on his left were various yellows and oranges. They were all bleached by the sun, but the original color of most could still be recognized.

The houses looked like resting b.u.t.terflies. With their colors and uneven bleaching, it was the perfect description for them.

There was constant noise in the street from the clinking of decorative chains and gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s. Arawn had thought that the potter near Shtara had been gaudy, but he had nothing on Mairyans in their homeland. It was a surprise they didn't choke themselves with the amount of chains they wore all around their body and neck.

"Don't worry, they think the exact same thing about you," Corwal said while they walked forward through the main street.

"What do you mean?" Arawn asked, turning to him with surprise.

Corwal spared him a glance. "Do you want to tell me that you weren't thinking that they look crazy? Or even ridiculous?" When Arawn didn't say anything, admitting it with his silence, Corwal laughed. "They think the same of us. In their eyes, we're uncultured swines.

"The amounts doesn't matter, but the metal of the chains and the clarity as well as color of the gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s have social meaning. For example, only the king can wear platinum chains and clear gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s with a blue sheen to them."

While talking, they reached the main square where a market was being held. Arawn didn't feel like they needed anything, but Corwal wanted to go around and see if he could learn something from the potters. They lived in the city, so they would certainly know all the latest rumors and gossip.

In a while, they found a potter who had no customers. He was a chatty man, and once Corwal paid some attention to his work, he eagerly shared all he knew while not forgetting to praise his son's work. Apparently, it wasn't him who was the real potter.

Since the day was late, the market soon finished, and the potter prepared to leave. Corwal acted like he was guilty and suggested to buy some beer for the man for taking up his time. The potter didn't agree straight away, but his eyes shone at the mention of going to a tavern.

In the end, he agreed to join them once he brought his wares home. Corwal wished him swift return and went to a tavern the potter had mentioned.

It was painted sickly green once upon a time, but was more or less white by then. Only a few shadowy corners held hints of the old color. The building itself stood tall and strong though, which surprised Arawn. Back in Atrenan, he'd come to believe that they were all dilapidated and barely able to keep the roof up.

The inside was the same though. Although it was still early in the evening, there were a good dozen patrons shouting in merry voices and raising their tankards. None were drunk yet, but a few were well on their way.

Corwal chose a table by the wall on the left and ordered a beer for himself and Arawn. It came without any delay, and Arawn took a sip. The taste was so bitter that he almost spit everything out.

"Why would anyone want to drink this?" he asked in a low voice, coughing every couple words to get the taste away. Not only was it poison to the body, it even tasted like one!

Instead of answering, Corwal just chuckled to himself and took a swig of his own drink. He grimaced then relaxed into his chair. "If Mairyans can be said to do one thing good, it's their beer. You can't find anything like this in our taverns."

"Why would you even want to…" Arawn muttered, making Corwal laugh.

They spoke about nothing for a while more while waiting. Luckily, the potter didn't take long to show up. Upon pus.h.i.+ng the door open, he didn't see them straight away and his brow furrowed. He was about to turn around and leave when Corwal stood up and waved him over.

The potter's eyes lit up and he jogged to their table. "I can't believe you weren't mocking me," he said while pulling a chair for himself and sitting down.

"Why would we do that?" Arawn asked, puzzled.

"I'm not even a real potter, just one's father." He laughed somewhat hollowly. "But if you foreigners don't care about my wooden chains, it's only the better for me, isn't it?"

At the mention of wooden chains, Arawn looked at the man and saw that he had a couple short ones near his shoulders. They had been whittled with a lot of effort, but not skill. There were a number of uneven edges and indentations.

Corwal flicked his forehead, and Arawn looked at him with annoyance. Before he could voice his complaint though, he got a scolding. "It's bad manners to stare at someone's chains." Corwal shook his head, then turned to the potter. "I'm sorry for my companion. He's a bit sheltered and lacking in common courtesies."

With those words, he called a barmaid to put beer in front of the potter. The man's mood instantly improved, and he waved away any insult he might have taken.

For a while, the two drank while talking about the life in the city. It wasn't anything that would help them, but Arawn listened with interest. He was in awe of how much could be happening at one place at a time. Did the city ever take a rest from all of its machinations and betrayals?

When the potter was on his fourth tankard and Corwal on his fifth, the conversation s.h.i.+fted to Lord Katalan's family. When Corwal wondered how they were doing, the potter shook his head and took another sip of his beer.

"Poor. Really poor," he said in a slurred voice. "Their young daughter has been missing for weeks. The sons scoured the city from right to left and from up to down, but still haven't found anything. It's like she just went and disappeared."

The man leaned in then as if he was about to whisper some secret, and Arawn leaned forward as well. But all he got for his trouble was the man's beer breath. He didn't bother to lower his voice at all, and Arawn quickly pulled back while grimacing.

"Some say the family's cursed. Their cousin turned into a beast two months ago while on the way to Shtara, and a month ago their youngest daughter disappeared. The family has been going crazy ever since, but there are no news from Lord Katalan. It's like he doesn't even care.

"Bad stuff, I tell you. Bad stuff." The potter raised his tankard and downed half of it in one go. He then slammed it against the table, the remaining liquid almost slos.h.i.+ng out. "Katalan was once a renowned family, but now no one wants to do business with them. They're falling apart, and no one has come forward to help them. It's only a matter of time till one of the other families will choose to remove them from the power game."

The two men continued to talk after that, but their speech grew more and more slurred and unrecognisable to sober people. Once the two were beyond understanding even one another, Arawn took it upon himself to make sure they weren't thrown out.

He first led Corwal to a nearby inn where he booked a room by paying with a few coins from the man's pouch. It was quick work, and he went back to aid the potter. The man was delirious though and no longer knew where he lived.

They had to wander the streets for a good hour or more to finally find his house. A woman met them at the door with surprise. She was ready to hit them with a large spoon, but then recognized the man on Arawn's shoulder.

"Merrick?" she shouted out and dropped the spoon. Rus.h.i.+ng to her husband's side, she patted his cheeks to wake him up.

It was impossible though, and she sighed.

Once she led Arawn to their bedroom so he could drop the man, she turned to him with a tired smile. "Thank you. I couldn't sleep, worrying about his safety, but now I can be at ease."

The middle-aged woman looked her age with worry lines around her eyes and lips, but there was something calming about her. Arawn's instincts told him that he could trust her with anything.

"It's no problem. My friend invited him, so bringing him home was the least I could do."

"If only all the young men were as conscientious as you," she said with a laugh. "Thank you again."

Arawn smiled back at her and left with a goodbye. While walking back to the tavern, he let the smile stay on his lips. Although he'd been annoyed earlier because the man had sent him in circles all over the city for two hours, it was all gone at that moment.

The woman had been genuinely happy to see her husband home safe, and her joy infected Arawn. He felt like he was worth something. It was something small and simple, but it was his first genuine good deed. And he even got thanked!

He knew it was childish, and yet he couldn't help the joy bursting from his heart. There really was a way to do good without hurting anyone in the process.