Chương 12: Departure

Just when he thought he'd gotten over his jet lag, Jordan spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. He was far too amped up for sleep, and judging by the complete silence around him, so were Mallet and the rest of the family. Breakfast on Day 3 was a somber affair. Perhaps understandably, no one was keen to rehash the traumatic events of the previous night. Conversation turned instead to what lay ahead—specifically for the traveling guest.

"The Ranger didn't make things easy for you, Ah-Jo," Mallet remarked, sounding much subdued compared to his usual cheer.

"A week doesn't leave a lot of time to get to the city. We must depart straight away. As soon as we're done eating, we'll get you and your Vessel loaded on the wagon, and—""Please," Jordan interjected, though only half-heartedly at that.

"I can't possibly trouble you any further. This is my problem, and I've got to take care of it myself."

"Nonsense!" This from Sarina, smiling despite her puffy, bloodshot eyes.

"Ah-Jo, listen to me. Even if I spend the rest of my life thanking you, it won't be enough for what you've done for my son. Let Old Mal drive you to the city; it's the least we can do." If Jordan were in a better headspace, he might have accepted Sarina's words as the simple show of gratitude they were. At the cusp of a [Doom Spiral], however, his instinct was to deflect. To downplay his active role in the outcome.

After all, he would've fumbled the 'negotiation' last night, were it not for the pure accident of his being bound to the Heavenly Cauldron.

"I can't let you take that risk on my behalf… or that much time for that matter," he reiterated, then decided on a compromise.

"Could you maybe take me to that market you've mentioned a few times? That way, it'd only tie you up for a day at most. And from there… I'll find my own way." Some more back-and-forth ensued. In the end, this attempt at negotiation proved more successful than Jordan's previous. To somewhat appease Old Sar, he allowed her to rustle up a travel pack: a bindle filled with bread, yak cheese, and some coins, as well as the clothes Jordan had traveled with.

Just for when he really needed to change, and besides, he'd worn that Kasabian t-shirt since his college days; he wasn't quite ready to sever all ties to his previous life.

"Come visit anytime." Sarina teared up again as she shook Jordan's hand in both of hers.

"We used to always keep one bed empty… for Hatchet in case he ever missed home. Now, we'll do the same for you." Jordan turned around quickly, for fear he might start bawling. But not before flashing Sickle what he hoped was a brotherly smile. The girl returned the favor, holding up her fingers as if to frame her own smile inside a phone camera. After loading up the wagon, Porter Mattock remained in the back, ceding the passenger seat to the guest.

Jordan appreciated the gesture, as it gave him a front-row seat to watching Chestnut's good work as well as a chance to pick Tamer Mallet's brain about the road ahead.

"You said Roc attacks are rare around these parts," he murmured as the wagon passed the giant bird skeleton. In the cold light of day, the sight of it was no less monstrous.

"What about other monsters?"

"Oh, we get the occasional Jumper Rat or Grandelope," Mallet explained, seemingly in a better mood now that he was holding Chestnut's reins.

"Nothing Mattock and I can't handle. Even Old Sar's got a mean [Water Projectile] in her. The real bad one was a Bat-bear attack some 15 years ago. Took out three whole farmsteads before one of the neighbors—a Lv. 7 Tamer with a few more tricks up his sleeve than me—finally managed to bring it down." Jordan tried to suppress a shudder. A Bat-bear? What is that, like an owlbear but bat? Sounds terrifying. But what he really wanted to know was…

"That Heron guy said something about 'the road' claiming me before I can get to the city. Should I put much stock in that? How dangerous is the way to Featherift City?" Mallet considered this with a somewhat uneasy frown.

"That would depend on which way you go. There's the Highroad, of course, connecting all the provincial capitals—from Featherift in the north to Basinside in the south, from Leafell in the east to Sunstead in the west. The Highroad is well-protected by Imperial spellcasters, and you're unlikely to run into much monster trouble there. But that protection doesn't come without its costs. You'll have to fork over fortunes at every toll gate, the kind only nobles and merchants can afford."

"In other words, not an option for me."

"I'm sorry, Ah-Jo, that I can't be of more help."

"Come on, man, don't say crap like that. Now, tell me about the alternative."

"The backroads. Through salt flats and untamed grasslands. Doable if you know your way around. But for you"—Mallet gave Jordan an appraising look, much kinder than the ones he'd received just last night—"I suggest you hire a Pathfinder at the market. Granted, those types can often be—how should I put it—a pain in the backside. But I know one or two fellers who're relatively more honest. I'll see if I can't introduce you once we're there." Relatively more honest.

Not the most ringing of endorsements, but Jordan supposed that was merely the reality of any human society. Mallet and his folk were the exception to the rule. This world is starting to look more like what I'd imagined when I first got here.

"Oh, by the way…" A new thought occurred to him, at least tangentially related to the topic of monsters.

"What did Heron say was the reason for the general levy? Something about a ga… gar—" A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation." Garuda."

"That's it. Know anything about it?"

"Only rumors. We gossip with the best of 'em at the market, but it's still third-hand information at best. The Garuda isn't a monster, though, strictly speaking."

"It's not?"

"No, it's a spiritkind, from what I understand. Never known one to cause such a ruckus here in Featherift, but I suppose there's a first time for everything." Fuxi? Intelligence DC 14: success Fuxi"… I'll let it slide this one time, pupil, but mind that you never again summon me like a common servant. A spiritkind is just that—a lowly creature of the natural world that has cultivated enough spiritual energy to have gained the ability to bind Vessels.

Not only can they wield magic, many of them have also learned human speech, such that they may hide in plain sight, coexist in society, or wreak havoc as their nature demands. As to which path this Garuda has chosen, well, I suppose we know the Imperial Army's view on the matter." Jordan took a moment to chew on the lore. From the sound of it, these spiritkinds were another race of Vessel bearers alongside humans.

Perhaps not unlike in the computer version of Vesselia, where the player could choose to be a dwarf, an elf, an orc, etc. Even so, this Cauldron Wars expansion was proving to be a radical departure from the base game. Speaking of departure… the scenery around the wagon shifted along with Chestnut's steady clip-clops. The flat plains made way for low, rolling hills. Other horses and wagons could be seen in the distance, as the grassy terrain converged into a well-trod thoroughfare.

The market was a dense collection of tents and stalls, the kinds that could be set down and folded up within a matter of minutes. A cacophony of shouts, chatter, and arguments greeted Jordan's ears as the wagon rolled in. It was the trippiest thing. Everything about the scene, from the sounds to the people to the smell of street food wafting in the air, reminded him strongly of an outdoor marketplace in modern-day China.

And yet, the snippets of peddling and haggling he did catch were all spoken in fluent English, only with a peculiar accent he still couldn't quite describe. Mallet used his [Speak with Animals] spell to direct Chestnut around the outside of the market. It was the shortcut to a large open area lined by wagons and other horse-drawn carriages. In other words, a parking lot.

Horses grazed inside a temporary corral, while several relatively honest-looking people loitered nearby, watching the new party's arrival like hawks. While Mattock held the fort with Chestnut and the cauldron, Jordan and Mallet touched down on the grass. Nearly as soon as they'd done so, a loud cheery voice called out.

"Aiyo, if it isn't Old Mal and his merry gang of misfits! Well, I see bundle of joy in the back there, but you didn't bring his sister? A shame, I was really hoping to buy a new skirt for myself today." <Character Sheet> Name: FOXHILL of SANDY QUARRY Race: Human Age: 35 Class: Pathfinder, Lv. 10 Vessel: Gourd of Cunning The man was slight of build, though perhaps too wiry to look good in a skirt.

He was dressed similarly to all the farmers and vendors around him, save for the additions of a shoulder pad and an arm guard on one side. Like one of those Olympic archers. Sure enough, he had a longbow slung loosely over one shoulder (but no quiver from what Jordan could see). All this on top of the ominously named gourd attached to the opposite waist. Presently, the man named Foxhill beamed at the newcomers in friendly greeting.

He was deeply tanned and rather amply wrinkled for his age (only three years older than me!). His wide smile revealed heavily stained teeth, rotted in parts. In other words, exactly how Jordan pictured a relatively honest smuggler.

"Watch your mouth," Mallet shot back in response, surprisingly stern.

"I'll be caught dead before I let Sickle anywhere near you."

"Sickle, that's her name, is it?" Foxhill grinned even wider.

"Good to know, it'll warm my dreams tonight. But enough pleasantries, are we here to talk business or what?" Old man Mallet sighed audibly. Five seconds into the interaction, Jordan already sympathized to the fullest. He had half a mind to turn around and walk away, even if this wiry Pathfinder might be his best chance of getting to Featherift City in one piece.

"Who's this then?" Foxhill darted his attention onto the younger man." Jordan … Yu? Yu as in you, or Yu as in me? Bahahah! That's a strange name, stranger. Not from around here, I take it?"

"Commonwealth," Jordan recited, loath to speak any more than necessary.

"For real? Not having me on, are you? Bahahah! This day keeps getting better and better! Are you headed to the city? Can you teach me your Westerner language? Where's your Vessel? Can I see it?" Too many questions at once. Not in the same way as a job interview, but Jordan hated this too. He tried to catch Mallet's eye to convey just how much, but the old man was far too committed to the mission.

"Ah-Jo here is something of a family friend," Mallet spoke with the patience of a saint, "and yes, he does need to reach the city. Within the week, if you can manage it."

"Pfft, what do you take me for? Of course I can manage it!"

"Good. And as I said, he's a family friend." As Mallet said this, he pressed something into Foxhill's hands. Jordan couldn't see it, but he had a fairly decent idea of what had just happened.

"So, I trust you to take extra good care of him, yes?" Foxhill didn't so much as glance at the 'package' in his hand. Apparently, the weight of it was enough of an indicator. He grinned again.

"Listen, I'll be straight with you. This doesn't remotely cover what you're asking of me, especially considering how heavy that thing looks." Foxhill nodded toward Mallet's wagon, at the cauldron stowed in the back. Despite his many questions, nothing had escaped this Pathfinder's notice.

"But I like you, Old Mal," the man continued, still smiling.

"I'm curious about this Westerner, too. And lucky for you, stranger, I'm prepared to give you a discount. Because it just so happens that I've already got one customer waiting to depart. Question is, can you convince her to let you ride with her?"