Chương 36: First Feast

Joel scratched his neck and yanked at the tight collar. The itchy, crimson doublet had been bothering him since the feast had started. He didn't like it at all. It was bad enough that he had to be helped into the gray-trimmed jerkin. He hadn't been dressed by someone since he was a toddler. Whatever financial troubles the closed mines caused Baron Valgruv, the lavish feast didn't show it. The great hall was filled to the brim, packed with carousing bannermen and wealthier townsfolk.

Gentle music played from a troupe of minstrels while dancers and jesters performed. Scrumptious delicacies, brought in and out by servants, lined the tables. It was a river of food. Salads of lettuce and spinach and plums, sprinkled with crushed almonds and olive oil. Hearty soups of shredded venison and toasted breadcrumbs. Joel enjoyed the beef broth so much that he already had two bowls. Steaming mutton pies sat alongside plates of fresh apples and goat cheese. Cuts of turkey and ham, glazed in honey and garlic.

It didn't matter how full one was, the sight would make any stomach rumble. A slender arm wrapped tightly around his neck, nearly choking him in a playful sideways hug.

"You've barely touched your drink," Alis said loudly. The young mage's face was flush and smelled of sweet wine.

"Or food. You're not going to get to eat like this on the road. Siv's a good cook, but not this good." Her green eyes, a hint of light radiating off them, glared at him. She poked him in the cheek with her other arm, wrapped in a sling.

"You got to learn to enjoy life!"

"Four hells, Alis," Al scolded, pushing her back down to her seat.

"Stop drinking so much wine. The baron might call on us at any minute." The half-elf pouted.

"This is how you treat your wounded friend?" She pointed an accusatory finger at Al.

"I almost lost my arm in the line of duty. I deserve all the good food, so do the rest of you. More spiced wine!" One of the servants immediately came forward to refill their cups. Whether by admiration for their deeds or instruction from the baron, all of the servants had been particularly accommodating to their table. Every cup was refilled with mulled wine and the choicest foods were offered to them, only the baron's table was served before theirs.

The three of them clinked their glasses together, along with a loud cheer from Alis that even the noisiest bard couldn't cover, before drinking the aromatic wine. Joel felt a pleasant warmth that rushed up his face, smacking his lips happily at the cinnamon aftertaste. A servant was already filling up his cup, and he took another sip. He could get used to this. He could really get used to this.

"See! Joel's starting to enjoy himself properly," Alis said with a dimpled smile, already raising her cup for a gulp. She swayed her head to the mellow melody of a nearby harp, the music balanced between delicate and dignified.

"The lot of you couldn't have shown the Lady's patience and waited for me?" They all spun around to the voice. Siv stood there, dressed in the same fine clothes as the rest of them. A fine handkerchief, embroidered in silver, covered the left side of his face. His soft features broke into a smile as he leaned upon a polished cane. Alis crashed into him with a happy hug, nearly knocking her brother off his feet. She rubbed her reddened face onto his shoulder, staining his crimson tunic wet.

Al was there to help catch Siv from toppling over; a warm smile graced his handsome face. The young man hugged both of the siblings, arms enveloping them both before breaking away.

"You're all well then?" The happy smile was plastered on Al's face. Siv gave a tender nod.

"The worst of it is behind me. I should be able to heal myself within a day or two. That'll be enough to convince the physicians to approve my leave." He looked down to his sister.

"Seems you've been drinking enough for the both of us."

"There's so much wine!" Alis said in drunken joy through her teary eyes.

"You can catch up!"

"Wine is unwise with my current condition," Siv said, chuckling.

"But I'll have some of the pies, hurt or not." Alis bounded over to one of the other tables, announcing that their strawberry pie was being apprehended for a 'greater good'. One of the more plump merchants quickly took a slice before the young mage summoned her spectral hand to wrestle the pie back to their table. Al lingered behind her, apologizing fervently to those seated there.

"Sorry, they wouldn't allow me to visit you," Joel said, approaching Siv. The half-elf gave him a heartfelt embrace.

"The physicians, the Lady bless them, are quite strict. They even restricted Al from visiting at times." He sat down, holding his cane out in both hands.

"I think they had a harder time saying no to him." Joel didn't begrudge them that. At the end of the day, he was a simple porter.

"You sure you'll only need a day or two?" He motioned to the cane.

"The cane's just a precaution. I'll be walking fine within that time." Siv caught Joel's glance at his covered eye, then shook his head.

"The eye was too damaged, not enough to heal."

"Couldn't we find someone who could? A healer that's as strong as Wirbald?"

"Incredibly rare. And… fickle. And… expensive. And…"

"Okay, I get it. Unlikely, but we can figure something out, right?" Whether it was the drink, the festive atmosphere, or simply because everyone was safe, Joel wanted to feel upbeat, to feel hopeful. Siv smiled and shrugged at his optimism.

"Perhaps. Either way, I think the wound makes me look quite saintly."

"Oh, a proper martyr," Alis said, placing down the pie platter. She stared at her brother sincerely.

"You look like a pirate." Joel stifled a laugh. It was true. However, Al guffawed, loud enough to draw nearby glances. The young man finally appeared to relax.

"Haven't even been on a boat," huffed Siv before taking neat bites.

"Oh my. This pie is divine." He wiggled his nose in delight at the tasty pie — an expression that made his resemblance with Alis clear.

"Look at me, forgetting to say grace beforehand." He reached for his collar before pausing.

"I must be scatterbrained. I've left my amulet in my room. Goodness." The Freewalker rose to his feet but Joel pushed him back down.

"Kick back and enjoy the feast. I'll grab your amulet." Joel headed off before Siv could refuse. He avoided the juggling jesters and a group of servants bringing in a roasted pig. The great hall had become a crowded obstacle course, requiring his concentration to dodge everyone and everything between him and the hall doors. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. Perhaps he'd drunk a tad too much himself.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the lord's table at the far end of the hall. It was the only table that was uncrowded. Baron Valgruv, the massive man, was deep in his cups as well, though he'd seemed nowhere near drunk yet. Still, a merry smile was plastered across his face. On his right hand side, in the seat of honor, Syr Ysobelle Durandt sat as a representative of her father — Al had explained that much. The count's daughter was dressed in the same elegant lilac dress, her house's colors.

Light reflected off her emerald earrings, the only jewelry that adorned her. Despite all the entertainment, the noblewoman appeared bored, or even annoyed. Joel noticed that cutlery and plates had been set out to the empty seat on the baron's left. He wondered who that was for. Initially, he'd guessed that it was for Al. A son of a count, the former knight was surely worthy of sitting at the lord's high table. Yet, neither the baron nor Al seemed particularly fussed with him sitting with his Freewalker group.

Everyone seemed particularly enamoured with one of the bards' singing. Her voice, pleasant and playful, rang above the din of the feast. The suggestive lyrics of her ditty raised cheers of the gregarious and flushed the faces of the more modest. The flamboyant young bard had captured everyone's attention. Almost everyone's attention. In the crowded sea of people, Joel had locked eyes with Syr Lannwald. At first, he averted his eyes briefly, but then saw the blonde knight continuing to stare.

Worse, Lannwald began to push through the crowd to him, halfway across the room. Panic caught in Joel's throat. He didn't know why; he hadn't done anything wrong. However, his mood was too jovial to be spoiled by whatever that asshole wanted. So he turned and swam through the packed great hall, aiming for the hall doors.

"Sorry," he muttered, knocking past guests and servants. It finally felt like he could breathe once he broke through the crowd and went out into the hallway. Without a second glance, he bounded straight down the corridor for the spiraling stairwell. He didn't stop running up stairs and down the keep's corridors until he reached Siv's room. Slipping inside swiftly, he shut the door behind him and listened to see if he'd possibly been followed all the way here. No footsteps.

Leaning against the door, Joel exhaled a sigh of relief. He was worried that Lannwald would've had questions for him about their meeting on the road or those that he was travelling with. All questions he didn't want to answer. It didn't take long to find the amulet; the silver necklace lay on the bedstand. The worn amulet was a modest talisman with a crescent moon at its center. He ran a thumb over the embossed symbol as he'd seen Siv do. The channeling focus was heavier than it looked.

Palming the amulet, he peeked out the door before heading back. The long hallway was empty, flanked by several doors. The baron had offered them one of the finer wings, high within the keep. Ornate windows perched at the hallway's end, granting a view to the courtyard and Wardenhal beyond. The town was a serene sight at dusk, even with the sunset staining the sky orange. Cozy buildings hugged one another, their chimney smoke disappearing into the clouds.

Townsfolk waved to one another as they retired for the day, most heading home while others skipped to taverns. If he was them, he would've gone home.

"A breathtaking view," said a velvet voice behind him. Joel spun around; he hadn't heard someone approach. Dressed in fine crimson garb, the man was tall and broad shouldered. A crooked nose and scars marked his otherwise pleasant face. His dark hair was well-kept, short and shaved upon the sides, which matched his trimmed moustache. Several rings, sparkling blue and green, adorned his fingers, enough to look like a set of jeweled knuckledusters.

A fancy dirk was sheathed at the man's hip, his decorated hand lazily resting upon its pommel. Joel narrowed his eyes at the man. How had this one managed to surprise him?

"It makes you appreciate everything," the man said, ignoring the stare. He walked up next to Joel, continuing to peer out of the large window.

"Here, above all the muck and dust, how could you not?" Joel kept staring, unsure what to say. The man carried himself with an air of importance, or at least confidence. There was also something familiar about him that Joel couldn't identify. The moustached man finally seemed to notice the gaze.

"We haven't been introduced. Syr Galagrin of the Longthorns."

"I'm Joel." He dipped his head at the man, unsure who the Longthorns were. They sounded important enough.

"Ah, the porter." A fleeting smile creased Galagrin's scarred features.

"I doubt there's been a single person in town who hasn't heard of your companions' escapades in the mines. The tale grows with each telling." He turned to face Joel, extending his arm out.

"I've never shaken a hero's hand." Joel shook his calloused hand, noticing how firm the grip was.

"I'm not a hero," he said with a shrug.

"Just helped them carry whatever mostly. In fact, I'm new to the whole porter thing."

"How modest," Galagrin said.

"Most porters you meet can't brag enough about their completed jobs. How they survived dragons and giants. How they are going to become Freewalkers themselves." He smirked as if he knew some secret.

"Of course, you soon learn that they've only witnessed a clumsy fight against goblins. But an elemental? A sagani no less? Now, that's worth bragging about." The man's dark eyes scanned Joel, stopping at his hands. Joel blinked back.

"Um, beginner's luck." Galagrin frowned.

"False humility is worse than arrogance, lad."

"Okay, well then, I've had some training in sword and staff." And punching people's faces in, but Joel figured there was no reason to tell this stranger everything.

"Honest though, I didn't do much. It took all my effort to simply stay alive."

"As is the plight of the porter." Galagrin played with the leather cord around his neck, rows of red jeweled rings hanging off of the loop.

"It's thankless, desperate work with shit pay. Most Freewalkers won't admit it, but the porter is the first one they leave behind when trouble, true trouble, comes calling."

"Not the ones downstairs. They promised to keep me safe. And they did." The moustached man scoffed.

"An exception doesn't make the rule, especially when gambling with your life. You're young. Strong." Galagrin shook his head.

"No need to waste that to end up broke and broken. You'd earn proper coin further south." He looked out the window again.

"A man needs ambition after all. Something to drive him forward." Ambition. Joel did want to go back home, but ambition didn't feel like the right word. His time in this place had faded his struggle. Hope was a better word. No, that alone wasn't precise enough. It was a dying hope that slipped away like the fading faces of his family. He grimaced. He knew better than that; he couldn't let that hope die with a whimper. Not until he'd tried everything. There could be other people out there, stuck like he was.

Or maybe he needed to complete everything to return. He glanced at the translucent [Status] screen, invisible to the man next to him.

"You'd be welcome amongst the ranks of me and mine." Galagrin allowed the offer to hang in the air for a brief moment.

"I'll admit a mercenary's life is no less dangerous than a Freewalker's. But the pay is so much more lucrative, especially for promising individuals." What? When had this turned into recruitment? Joel returned a nervous smile. The offer sounded like a compliment and he'd always been bad at receiving compliments. On top of that, with his scarred face and towering frame, Galagrin was a little intimidating to say no to.

"Uh, well," Joel stammered, wanting to choose his words carefully. He wished he wasn't half drunk.

"You see—""Take time to consider it," Galagrin said, patting Joel's shoulder as he turned to the stairwell. The man suddenly bowed with a dramatic flourish at the door.

"Ah, Syr Ysobelle, you are as beautiful as ever, if I may say so." Joel peeked past the mercenary knight, spotting the noblewoman at the stairs. She returned a curt nod.

"Syr Galagrin." Joel felt his stomach sink when he spotted Lannwald behind her. The man had a hard expression, like he was containing his disgust, but the look wasn't aimed Joel's way.

"Still a lapdog, Lannwald?" Galagrin's mellow voice held an edge.

"What my old man said must be true. The weak never change." Lannwald's jaw went rigid, but he didn't move as Galagrin pushed past him. Joel tried to follow after the mercenary knight, eager to return back to the feast and the others. Ysobelle's outstretched hand stopped him.

"Would you lend me your ear for a moment?" Despite the sinking feeling in his stomach and the redirected glare of Lannwald, Joel nodded dumbly as Ysobelle's stunning smile convinced him.