“Well, yes,” said Alfric. “Not entirely, because Interim is one of the largest nations in the world, almost thirty thousand hexes not including all the oceanic territory, but I tried my best to remember everything about this general area.”
“Mmm,” said Isra.
“Did you want another civics lesson?” asked Alfric.
“No,” said Isra. “One a day is fine.”
Alfric couldn’t tell whether that was a joke or not.
Their long silence resumed.
“Say,” said Alfric. “Where are you from?”
“Not far from Pucklechurch,” replied Isra.
“I mean, where were you born?” he asked.
“Not far from Pucklechurch,” Isra replied a second time.
“Oh,” said Alfric. “I just meant… you have a light accent. And we don’t get many people with our color of skin in these parts.” His own skin was a shade darker than hers.
“My mother and father were from Tarbin,” said Isra. “They moved before I was born.”
“Tarbin,” said Alfric, nodding. “My own family is from North Tarbin, though we crossed the sea five hundred years ago.” There were relatively few nations left in the world, but North Tarbin had been holding on for a long time, and it was Tarbin they were holding off against.
“My father taught me about Tarbin, but that was years ago,” said Isra. “I haven’t spoken the language since he passed.”
Alfric didn’t speak any of the languages of North Tarbin. It was a point of pride among his family that they were as Inter as they came.
The silence descended again, this time like a thick and suffocating cloud, but as a small mercy, it wasn’t too long until they saw the hex boundary, and then Alfric could pretend that they weren’t talking because they were focused on getting there. If it were anyone else, Alfric would have filled the air with unimportant thoughts about Tarchwood.
The warp point at Tarchwood was larger than the one at Pucklechurch. It was fully enclosed, and it had an attendant, though she was sitting slumped in a chair when they entered and only reluctantly got up from her seat to usher them to the side. Alfric nonetheless thanked her and offered her a tip, but she didn’t seem to understand, and he sheepishly stuck the ring back in his pocket.
Tarchwood was built on the edge of one of the huge Proten Lakes, and the
hex had ended up so that it was a short walk to the city proper, which
had mostly clumped up by the lakeshore. There were a few taller
buildings, though of course nothing like the enormous city of Dondrian
or even a more residential area of Dondrian. Here, finally, there were
Isra moved at the same pace she’d used on the roads, but there was something wary and tentative in her movements, to say nothing of her face. Alfric thought she had the look of someone trying very hard to fit in and not show fear.
“I’ll take point,” he said. “I know the names of the shops and how to navigate a city.”
Isra nodded and seemed somewhat reassured that the only thing that would be asked of her would be to make sure he didn’t steal anything. He would have to be a fool to do that though, given what he knew her bow was capable of.
Tarchwood had more wooden structures than Alfric was used to and more than had been used in Pucklechurch. Dondrian had a fire some five hundred years prior, and wooden structures had been outlawed. Looking at the buildings, he couldn’t help but think about that and see the three- or four-story buildings as tinderboxes. Putting out fires had become a lot easier since that time, thanks to advances in both magic and coordination, but Alfric had always been more afraid of fire than other people seemed to be. Fires could also, of course, be undone, but Alfric found little comfort in that.
Not that there seemed to be much risk. It was a somewhat wet day, and the air was damp against his skin, as though it had just finished raining moments ago.
“Here, I think this is a likely place,” said Alfric when they came to a small shop. The sign professed that the store had many things, among them novelties and henlings. “We’ll see what we can get for what we have.”
The owner of the shop was a tall man with large ears who eyed them as they came in, particularly Alfric. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“We’re dungeoneers looking to make a sale,” said Alfric. “We have a large number of books and hope to sell them as a lot.”
“And the contents?” asked the big-eared man. He was looking back and forth between the two of them.
Alfric shrugged. “We don’t know. From what I saw, it seems to be a mix, but I’m not sure.”
The big-eared man sighed. “Then you’re just starting out?”
“Yes,” said Alfric, frowning. “Sorry if there’s something I’m missing here.”
“How many do you have?” he asked.
“Six hundred,” Alfric replied.
“All right,” nodded the shopkeeper. He held out a hand. “Mergan,” he said. Alfric might have guessed that: the sign outside had said ‘Mergan’s Emporium’.
“Alfric,” Alfric replied. He nodded to Isra. “This is Isra.”
