2. Fracas at the Feisty Fish

A crowd of multicoloured pennants fluttered over the rooftops of San Aria, beckoning the three travellers to enter its gleaming, whitewashed walls. They had followed the winding river until it had branched, then branched again, fragmenting into a wide, flat delta that reflected the rising sun in acres of rippling wetland.

Valerios rode ahead, merrily splashing through flooded fields on the back of his cloud-white steed. He had introduced the animal as “Hayl, my trusted ally,” with the same respect and solemnity as a footman presenting his lord’s guests. His two-legged companions picked their way along in his wake, scurrying and leaping across the earthen embankments that cross-hatched the delta.

Caela had expected to find herself waiting for Lux as he clanked along behind her, but the young man had made a most impressive transformation. Having packed his teakettle armour into his bulging backpack, he was now able to closely shadow the ranger’s every move, matching each of her silent springs with a powerful leap. He wasn’t as cat-footed as she was - losing his footing on the loose-packed earth more than once - but each time, he hauled himself back up with practiced ease.

As they drew nearer, San Aria emerged from the horizon’s haze, swelling from a silhouette on the skyline to a leviathan looming over them. Outlined by the fiery light of sunrise, the flags flapping high above seemed to burn, flickering like candles on a giant’s birthday cake.

They followed the moat that encircled the city, its waters gilded by the morning sun. The sound of voices and jingling coins reached their ears as they reached a small jetty, where a battered sign announced:

ENTRY TAX: 2G

A handful of horse carts had already formed a queue, their owners grumbling as they counted out coins.

Valerios snorted derisively. “Not much of a city entrance. Mine shall be far grander.”

Lux, on the other hand, was captivated. He beamed at the pier. “Well, I’ll be darned! This must be the start of the canal system. I hear San Aria has more miles of waterway than roads.” He looked up to admire the sunlit walls, shaking his head in admiration. “Now that’d be something.”

He pointed toward a massive archway that had been built into the stonework, allowing water to flow into the city’s inner sanctum. The gigantic portcullis blocking the way was slowly rising, water streaming from each black iron prong. As they watched, a simple wooden raft glided out, its brawny punter bending backward to slip beneath the gate. With a few purposeful punts, he guided the raft towards the jetty, mooring it with the well-practised toss of a rope.

Caela, who had been hypnotised by the raft’s approach, suddenly returned to herself.

“The tax! Two gold? That’s a lot of money,” she muttered. She’d been planning to stretch that much across four days.

Lux sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “To be honest, my purse is lighter than a handful of sunlight. I was planning on working up some scratch once I got into the city.”

They both looked up at Valerios, who stared ahead silently. His copious facial hair couldn’t hide his embarrassed scowl.

“Damn merchants,” he groused. Then, straightening his posture, he declared, “But one should never shy from hard work. We shall plunder these dragons’ hoards with the sweat of our brows!”

—

It wasn’t for another hour that they were able to enter the city. Hayl seemed to have the same effect on horses that Valerios did on people, and the other beasts threatened to tip the raft in panic when the white mare tried to embark. They were forced to wait while the rest of the entrants went ahead into the city.

Once the raft had returned, the stocky gondolier stuck his pole into the riverbed mud. From the raft floor he retrieved a wax tablet and stylus, which he held officiously as he looked the travellers up and down.

“Names?”

“Names?” the trio echoed, with varying levels of disgust.

“Council policy,” the gondolier replied flatly. “The city documents all entrants to ensure no undesirables get in.”

“Do people ever... lie?” Lux asked. “Just askin’,” he added quickly.

“All the time,” the boatsman said, unbothered. “That’s why they gave me one of these.”

He waggled his leathery finger, showing off the silver ring encircling it.

“This little trinket’s from the Mage’s Guild. Pings when it hears a lie.”

He readied his stylus, and prompted them with a nod of his head.

“Now, may I have your names, please? And please don’t test the ring; it’s bloody loud when it goes off.”

“Caela Vandor,” Caela said hastily. “Of Ardelign.”

“Lux Alcedine,” Lux added.

Everyone looked expectantly at Valerios, who breathed in portentously.

“Names are power,” he began, speaking in ritual tones. “They tell a man’s history. The boy, for example, is marked as a humble denizen of the coastlands, while the girl can be naught but an elf.”

“Sometimes, too, a name can determine a man’s future. It may be a symbol of noble birthright, or a tether to an identity. I was not to be tethered in this manner. This is why I shed the name of my birth, and constructed a new one. When you hear the name Valerios, you see a star ascendant, a bright future that is only missing one thing: The word ‘King’ before it.”

The boatsman’s ring remained silent.

“W-well,” he said. “That’s all right then. Welcome to San Aria.”

At last, they were finally able to slide into the cool blackness of the entrance tunnel, emerging into the blinding metropolis of San Aria. Clusters of flat-roofed buildings rose up around them like stacks of crates, many topped with a shining dome or thin spire. All of them, however, flew a flat-coloured flag. Caela tried to count the colours, but gave up at twelve.

She caught Lux looking at her out of the corner of her eye.

“What?” she asked, feeling her cheeks redden under his inquisitive gaze. Realizing he’d been staring, Lux blushed too.

“Sorry. It’s just… I’ve never met someone that’s ‘of’ somewhere before.”

“Oh, Ardelign’s nowhere fancy,” Caela replied modestly. “Our Sarciel isn’t even that old.”

Lux gave her a blank look. Caela became conscious that, for the first time, she was talking to someone who’d never even heard of her home.

“Ardelign’s the name of my village,” she clarified. “We elves build our homes around these huge, ancient trees called Sarciels, that are incredibly sacred to us.”

She felt the pang of homesickness. It had settled over time on her journey, but now, as she reminisced, the feeling returned to twist her insides into knots.

“Ardelign is… beautiful. The whole village is held up in the branches, so if you were travelling on the forest floor you could walk underneath it without ever knowing it was there. But if you climb up, you find yourself right in the middle of the canopy, where the leaf-light turns everything into a sea of green.” She sighed, lost in the wistful memory, before shaking it off.

“But,” she continued, “Like I said, it’s nothing fancy. Apparently there are elven cities with Sarciels that are millennia old, so tall they scrape the sky itself.”

She broke off, giving Lux a rueful smile, which he returned.

“I ain’t one to judge,” he said wryly. “Best my village has is a nice beach and a permanent smell of fish.”

Caela grinned.

“My uncle once said that other elves would see Ardeligners as country bumpkins.”

“That’s us,” Lux agreed. “A couple of hicks.”

They swept into a maze of canals, some barely wide or high enough to squeeze through. Their route brought them alongside a square piazza, still bustling with traders even at this early hour. Morning-lark cityfolk impertinently hopped on and off their raft, seemingly unsatisfied with all the other bridges spanning the waterways.

Their gondolier, a thick-set Dwarf, had broken the silence only once to ask where they were planning on staying. Caela quickly piped up to direct the rower to “The Feisty Fish, please,” before Lux could say “it’s ok, the canal will do fine,” or Valerios could demand to see the mayor.

The others looked at her with some confusion. “My uncle lives here. I was going to stay with him. You’re welcome to come along, though!”

Lux picked sadly at the lining of his near-empty coinpurse. “I’ll clean his latrines if he can do us a good deal on a room.”

With that, they found themselves disembarking at a long, flat building decorated with strings of sun-bleached seashells.

A swooping piece of driftwood engraved with the words “FEISTY FISH” hung over the door. Further down, a smaller piece read: “NO LITTERING. KEEP OUR WATERWAYS CLEAN. THANK YOU.”

Valerios disappeared around the side of the building, returning without his steed. He shook his head ruefully. “You’d think those nags had never seen a real horse before. Well, they’ll have to share their stables - perhaps some of Hayl’s glory will rub off on them.”

The two knights looked expectantly at Caela, who gave a small nod of reassurance (mostly to herself) before pushing open the tavern door and venturing inside.

Caela wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting - perhaps a seedy dive bar manned by hard-bitten pirates - but she was pleasantly surprised by the Feisty Fish. A fresh, salty breeze wafted in through the cracked-open windows, along with shafts of sunlight that sprawled along the dark tiles. The floor was broken up by a web of burbling water channels that were lit by some underwater glow.

Caela jumped when a shadow flitted along one channel, momentarily flashing a fin. Then, she heard a delighted gasp from Lux as the shadow popped up near a table, and addressed the genial patrons in a motherly voice.

“Another round, ladies?”

The women at the table cheered their agreement, waving empty pitchers at the fish-tailed speaker and showering her with a mess of friendly banter. Their server stacked a wobbling tower of drained glasses and, holding them above her head, dove back into the water to swim back down the channel. She tossed the clinking stack into a tub of soapy water before performing a championship-worthy u-turn to race towards the entrance.

The swimmer popped up in front of the mesmerised trio, hands planted on her hips. Up close, Caela saw an older woman with tanned, freckled skin that was clearly toned by a lifetime in the water. She noticed with a start that what she had taken for a clingy bodysuit was, in actuality, a shimmering layer of scales that extended from her chest down her torso. Caela couldn’t see below the rim of the channel - nevertheless, her sharp ears picked up the idle swishing of a powerful tail.

Caela side-eyed the men standing behind her. Valerios was twisting one end of his moustache, nonplussed. Lux looked like he was ready to risk it all. Her own expression must have been similarly ignominious, because the woman winked at her and asked, conspiratorially, “First time?”

Caela nodded, grateful for the icebreaker. “Just arrived. We were hoping to stay the night. My uncle’s supposed to be staying here, too.”

The mermaid reached up to squeeze the ranger’s hand, leaving her only slightly damper. “Then you’re in the right place. I’m Ren, proprietress. Welcome, all, to the Feisty Fish!” She smiled toothily at the trio. “Why don’t you gentlemen take a seat while the young lady and I look up her uncle in the room registry?”

With the flash of a smile and a fin, she was gone again, swiftly navigating the channels back to the bar. She leapt like a salmon into an elevated bath, leaning out on her elbows to retrieve a damp ledger. Carefully towelling her arms, she began to thumb through under the lamplight. Caela glanced at the others before hurrying over, quick-stepping over the gaps in the floor.

Lux and Valerios watched her go. They shrugged at each other, then began picking their own way into the Feisty Fish. The inn was bustling with a jovial daytime crowd, so the knights bounced from one full table to another until they spotted a vacant booth in the corner. They were just about to pull out two chairs when a pair of blood-red riding boots emerged from the darkness. Their wearer, hidden in the recess’ shadows, lazily put his feet up on the table.

“Sorry, gentlemen, but this one’s occupied,” the reclining figure drawled in a rich, creamy voice. Lux turned away, murmuring an apology, but bumped into a steel bar that turned out to be Valerios’ outstretched arm.

“Hold,” Valerios rumbled, bushy eyebrows twitching as he peered into the alcove. “This table holds many chairs. You’re only using one.”

“I’m meeting someone for a bit of one-on-one. Y’know what I mean? Private.”

Valerios leaned closer, trying to size up the silhouette in the corner, moustache twitching with irritation. If the speaker noticed, he didn’t show it, voice just as amused. “Sorry, boys, not looking for any dance partners tonight.”

The big man grinned like an ape, baring his teeth humourlessly.

“You dance?” he asked, in a voice like distant thunder.

The boots flashed back under the table as the man in the booth sat up. He leaned forwards, letting the azure light trace the lines of his face. The man looked younger than Valerios, older than Lux, but it was hard to say for sure. Where Valerios’ face had the rough-hewn look of an ancient stone monolith, this man had the hand-shaped smoothness of a porcelain figurine. His hair, butter-blond, was just long enough to be pulled back into a stubby ponytail, a few loose strands falling to carelessly frame his face. Something about his posture seemed fluid, catlike - Lux could see muscled shoulders under his loose, half-buttoned linen shirt.

“Yes, I dance. One partner. Till you drop. Know what I mean?” He smiled sideways, clearly amused. “Tell you what, my colossal comrade, it’s my night off, but we could always have a quick bout. How about this: Arm wrestling. One round. Winner gets the table.”

A chortle burst from Valerios. “A contest of strength? The drink must have gone to your blond head, my friend. Very well. Come meet your doom!”

He dropped into a wicker chair with a heavy thud, the wood creaking ominously under his bulk. Oblivious, he planted a steel-plated elbow onto the table with a resounding clang.

The stranger reached forward to unhurriedly clasp his hand. Valerios’ thick eyebrows twitched at the strength of his grip, but only set in further determination. The stranger calmly rolled up his sleeve. Lux’s eyes widened, first at the vascular forearm powering the man’s vice-grip, then at a bicep like a knotted oak branch. Tattoos of thorny vines spiralled around the man’s upper arm.

An interested murmur started up around them. The nearest drinkers had begun to take notice, turning their chairs to watch. Clearly, they expected a show.

In the synchronised motion of two veterans, the competitors placed their free hands on the table surface. They locked eyes, and applied tension. Valerios called back to Lux.

“Boy! Call it!”

Lux awkwardly shoved away chairs until he could get a sideways view of the contest.

“Uh… go!”

Instantly, the veins on both men’s heads popped as they strained against each other. The wooden table groaned under the force. Valerios, the taller of the two, leaned in, leveraging the weight of his gauntlet to force the other man’s arm down. His face was slowly turning beet-purple, his eyes bulging as he barked his exertion in short exclamations.

His opponent appeared to have maintained his good humour, although Lux watched a heavy bead of sweat escape his blond hairline and run down a pinkening face. The boy was amazed that anyone could withstand the gigantic knight’s strength for so long. Slowly but surely, though, the stranger’s arm wobbled down, his wrist quivering a handspan from the tabletop.

“Gods, you’re strong, I’ll give you that,” he chuckled through gritted teeth. “You’ve really got me on the ropes.”

Lux realised, too late, that the words weren’t meant for Valerios. The blonde man’s eyes flicked toward him. He winked.

With a sudden shift in balance, he reversed the momentum. Muscles coiled like springs as he surged forward, pushing the contest back into his favour in a single press. There was a cheer from their audience, even more onlookers gathering.

“S-sorry, old boy…” the stranger gasped, through teeth still gritted with effort. “H-had to make it… look good…”

His thin shirt strained against the torque of his arm until it burst open at the shoulder, revealing a forest of thorns tattooed on the rolling surface. He seemed ready to claim his win, a victorious grin on his face - when Valerios stood up.

The knight rose with such seismic force that their hands remained locked, and the stranger was pulled clean out of his seat. For an instant he hung from Valerios’ arm, bravado turned to confusion, before the knight sent both his arm and the man attached crashing through the table.

The impact sent splinters flying, a scandalised oooh coming from the crowd. Lux winced, already picturing the trouble they’d be in.

Valerios had only a moment to savour his triumph, staring down at the pile of splintered wood, before the stranger’s crimson boots came snaking out of the wreckage to wrap around his forearm. Valerios growled in frustration, trying to dislodge the stranger’s octopus-like wrestling grip.

“Down, boy-” he snarled, shaking his arm violently.

The grappler only tightened his grip. A flying boot barely clipped Valerios’ ear, sending the knight stumbling. The pair flailed back and forth throughout the tavern, sending even more furniture and patrons flying. There were mingled cheers and boos as the audience ducked for cover, shouting out their encouragements and bets.

“The Rose! The Rose!”

“Two gold on the knight!”

“Wait till Ren throws them out!”

They crashed into another table. A pitcher of ale tipped, dousing them both in cold froth. The blonde grappler stuck to Valerios, eyes flashing with determination. More chaos erupted as Valerios twisted, trying to throw him off, but the stranger clung like a barnacle, laughing between gritted teeth. The pair tottered, about to trip into one of the open channels of water, when a flash of steel swung through the air.

“Enough,” growled Lux, placing another hand on the grip of his sword. It was currently hovering underneath Valerios’ armpit, ready to slice up both the arm and the man attached. Both men froze, breathing heavily. The stranger, clinging to the underside of Valerios’ arm, looked at Lux. His expression, though upside down, was sceptical.

“Know how to use that thing?”

Lux didn’t blink. “I know at this range, you’ve got a better chance at dodgin’ your bar tab.”

Before the man could weigh up his options, a hoarse chuckle doused the conflict like a bucket of sand.

“Rose, lad, can’t keep your hands to yourself for one night?”

Caela’s head snapped round at the familiar rasp.

“Uncle Mene!” she cried with childish delight.

Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the white sun, was a ragged-looking feline man. One eye had a pale cataract, the other framed by a vertical scar. The tabby fur visible amongst his many belts was greying and patchy. A notch in one tufted ear spoke of many battles survived - survived a long time ago, perhaps, but survived nonetheless.

Sweeping his moss-green travelling cloak out of the doorframe, he shut the door and met his rapidly-approaching niece. He caught her charge, bundling her in a soft embrace. Caela breathed in, smelling the comforting campfire notes that clung to the ends of his fur. He chuckled again, coughing a little, and spoke warmly.

“Now isn’t this a nice surprise. My favourite niece.”

“Only niece,” she replied, and he laughed at the joke as if they hadn’t performed it a thousand times before.

Ren, who had been poring over the tavern ledger with Caela, swam up to the gathering.

“The old cat’s your uncle?” she said, incredulously. Caela nodded. Ren frowned even more unbelievingly.

“You described him as: ‘Old. Male. Scar on one eye. Grey hair,” she said, pointedly.

Caela returned her stare blankly, not seeing the issue.

Lux turned to her. “Y’didn’t think to mention he was a Tabaxi?” he asked, flatly.

Caela blushed. “Oh. Yes. Um. I forgot.”

She rushed to explain as everyone opened their mouths. “I forgot it wasn’t common here! I’m so used to the kinds of people that were in my forest. I haven’t travelled much.”

She looked up at the feline whose waist she was still clutching. “This is my uncle Menelaus. He’s travelled all over.”

Menelaus shook his fluffy head modestly. “A long time ago, with this one’s grandfather - and the lovely Ren, who’s aged the best of all of us.”

The mermaid swatted good-naturedly at his heel. “Oh, stop it, you old furball. You’re only trying to distract me from the table that someone broke.”

Caela and Lux looked forlornly over at the wreckage. At this point, Valerios and his barnacle had disengaged - though from the way they glowered at each other, neither was considering the fight over just yet. They both flinched at Ren’s sharp tongue, looking guilty.

“I’ll pay for it,” the tomcat reassured her, then, raising his voice, “and a round for the house!”

A cheer came from the onlookers, whose ongoing interest in the proceedings was easily usurped by the prospect of a free drink.

Menelaus pulled a chair free from the destruction and sat down with a groan, turning his attention back to Caela. “So, little hunter, what brings you to San Aria? I doubt you left home for the first time just to visit your old uncle, did you?”

The old cat fixed his good eye on her, using that incisive gaze that had always drawn the truth from Caela when she was young and mischievous. This time, she decided to delay telling him the full story.

“We’re just travelling, really. Lux, Valerios and I - we’re hoping to make some money. We spent most of it getting into the city.”

Mene hummed to himself. “Looking to make your fortune in the great wide world, eh? Can’t fault you, I was the same back in the day, always headed on some mad errand or another. Nowadays I’m not so spry, so I’ve got people to do that for me, eh, Rose?”

“Fine name,” Valerios muttered, sarcastically.

“It is a fine name, Sir Valerios,” Rose said, with great pride. “The Rose, champion duellist, at your service. I carry no weapon because my body is a weapon, admired for its beauty and feared for its edge. For, you see-”

He punctuated this last point by turning his back and tearing off the remains of his tattered shirt, revealing a sprawling tattoo - vividly red roses in a bed of thorns. As he flexed his back muscles, the plants seemed to move on their own. The three newcomers seemed to be the only ones taken aback by such a display, as the other onlookers joined in on the shirtless man’s chant.

“The Rose has been pretty e’er since he was born. But never forget: The Rose has thorns!”

Ren rolled her eyes as the man soaked up the cheers and heckling of the tipsy patrons.

Mene rasped a laugh as he tossed a bar towel at Rose’s exposed chest. “Cover them up, young bull, you’ve got a job to do.”

As Rose departed to seek a more suitable replacement for his torn shirt, the old cat turned to the others. “Actually, you might go with him,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll pay you lot well for your troubles. This is a… strange one, and I think you could be a lot of help.”

The trio exchanged uncertain looks, but Caela’s hopeful expression - and the promise of payment - had them in agreement.

It didn’t take long for Rose to return, pushing his way through cheerily drunk customers in an almost-identical white shirt. Caela supposed that if he tore his shirt off that often, he’d need to buy them in bulk. When he finally reached them, Mene clapped him on the back.

“Good news. You’ve got backup.”

3. Stone Rose >>