The Chronicles of Krarshe: The Hearts of Men, Volume 1

Krarshe stretched as he let out a great yawn, like he had so many times before in the store. His tiredness seemed independent of how much time he spent in the store; even a few hours proved to be enough for him to start falling asleep.

It was the last day of classes before their recess began. Somehow, the impending vacation made the day feel even longer than usual. He tried to pass the time by drawing in the dust on the counter, but his repeated use of this tactic had left little undisturbed dust with which to draw. It didn’t stop him from trying, however, as his thoughts drifted to some spells he’d experimented with on his own before Landry had come to the training area the past few days.

Some shouting in the courtyard pulled his attention to the window. He could see students storming out of the main entrance and toward the front gate. “What in the world...?”

“Karshe!” Tibault shouted as he burst through the front of the store, followed quietly by Bri.

“Wait, what happened to the afternoon lecture?”

“They ended it early,” Bri explained. “Like usual before recess.” Bri walked around the store, looking over the shelves. Krarshe couldn’t tell if she was looking for something, or just out of habit. “The professors dismiss the junior students so they can give extra time for the senior ones. They usually have projects to submit instead of exams, so they give them the opportunity to get some extra assistance.”

“Uh-huh...” Krarshe thought back on what Lycia had said regarding how the school operated. It seemed even less credible now.

“Wait. Are you stuck manning the store?” Tibault asked, looking around as he walked up to the counter.

“I haven’t heard anything otherwise.”

“That’s too bad. Oh, Bri. Were you going to tell him about it?”

“It?”

“Oh, right. Thank you, Tibault,” Bri said, putting a wand back on the shelf. “My family hosts a gala at the start of Second Harvest. Personally, I can’t stand them, so-”

“So she’s inviting us,” Tibault interjected.

“Right.”

“To... suffer with you?” Krarshe joked.

“Why else would I invite you two?” The three of them laughed.

“Is it formal?” Krarshe asked.

“Usually,” Bri said. “My parents force me to wear a formal gown.”

“That could be a problem...”

“Why?”

“I don’t own anything like that. Probably not up to your parents’ expectations.”

“Maybe we can see if you can borrow some of my brother’s clothes,” Tibault said. “You’re probably about his size.”

“There you go. Problem solved,” Bri said. “There’s no escaping this gala. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“What, did you try to escape through the window or something?” Krarshe asked.

“Once or twice, maybe.”

“Guess I’m stuck then,” Krarshe said with a shrug.

“Well, first would be to make sure the clothes fit,” Tibault said. “Maybe we can stop by my home and try them on.”

Krarshe groaned.

“What’s that for? My house isn’t far.”

“It’s not that. I just get out of here pretty late normally. And it’s a long walk to my inn, remember?”

“You should just get going now then,” said a slow voice from the back room.

Krarshe spun around to see Landry slowly reveal himself, grinning. Or at least, Krarshe thought he was grinning. The beard and mustache made it hard to tell. “But-”

“It’s fine, you have my permission. Now go, go,” Landry said, waving Krarshe away.

Krarshe turned back to his friends, who simply shrugged. He turned back to Professor Landry. “Thank you, sir.”

“You go have fun, Krarshe. That’s what youth is for, no? Heh-heh. Enjoy your holiday.”

Krarshe bowed and hurried out from behind the counter, following Tibault and Bri out of the store. He could feel himself smiling like a fool. It was only a few hours that he really gained, but the freedom was invigorating for some reason.

The three of them chatted as they walked out the academy gates. The Harvest sun was already nearing the city walls, and the cool breeze whipped down the streets of Castle Ward.

“So, where do you live?” Bri asked.

“Just down Emerald Alley” replied Tibault.

“That far?” Bri groaned. “Well, let’s get going then.”

“Where is that?”

“Oh, right. You’re not from here, Ka- Kr..arshe,” Bri said, catching herself to correct his name. She would still trip up on his name from time to time, but had gotten significantly better. “It’s not THAT far, really...”

“It’s only a few streets down from White Stone Plaza. It’s really NOT that far.”

“I just don’t like the cold, okay?”

“And... where is that?” Krarshe asked.

Bri and Tibault both stopped walking to stare at him. “The plaza in front of the castle...” Tibault said. “You don’t know many street names, do you?”

“People name streets?! What a novel idea,” said Krarshe as he looked off into the distance, stroking his chin pensively.

“I... can’t tell if you’re joking...”

Bri coughed, interrupting the two boys. “Krarshe’s inability to navigate the city aside, it’s not far. Let’s just get going, my hands are going numb.”

“Mine have been numb for a while,” Tibault added.

“... Mine are fine.” Krarshe laughed.

Bri and Tibault shot him a sideways glance. Bri sighed. “Let’s just go.”

As they got closer to White Stone Plaza, Krarshe noticed colored fabrics hanging from shop walls and around entrances. Most were red and orange, with the occasional gold or silver. The sheets of fabric were twisted in drooping arcs along the front of buildings and across the street, from one building to another. Krarshe had noticed them the past two days or so, but wasn’t sure what they were. As they passed a store, he noticed one of them had the word Tevaona embroidered upon it in gold lettering.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Tibault asked.

“That word on that cloth.”

“Tevaona?”

“That one.”

“It’s the name of the festival,” Tibault explained. “You... Have you always been this ignorant?”

Krarshe shrugged. “It’s my first time at this festival.”

“You didn’t know that streets had names!”

Bri cut in before Krarshe could retort. “It means ‘Teva’s Blessing’.”

“... In what language?”

“I... don’t know, actually,” Bri admitted.

“You know, me neither,” Tibault added.

“Are you sure it’s not Teva-oh-nah?” Krarshe asked.

“I’ve always heard it Te-vaoh-nah,” said Bri.

“Same.”

“Hmm.” Krarshe thought about it to himself. “I guess it’s moot.”

The three continued toward the plaza, observing the various decorations. As they got closer and closer, they started seeing more people. Most were nobles, dressed in more layers than any commoner would likely own. A sweet smell drifted in on a cold breeze from the direction of the plaza.

“Oh that smell...” Tibault closed his eyes and sniffed deeply. “I love harvest season. Especially the apple tarts.”

Bri’s stomach rumbled. “Please don’t bring up food. I’m getting hungry.”

“That’s right, you barely ate at lunch today,” Tibault noted.

Krarshe’s stomach joined the chorus. “That smell is too good to not make you hungry. What was it again?”

“Probably apple tarts. Or a pie? I can’t tell.”

“Is this torture? Are you torturing me?” Bri asked, her stomach crying out again.

Tibault laughed. “How about I make us some food when we arrive at my house?”

“You can cook?” Bri asked.

“Of course. We... aren’t really wealthy enough for servants. Well, not multiple.”

“Do they not cook for you?”

Tibault shrugged. “My mother prefers to cook. And, she forced me to learn it too.”

“Cooking isn’t that complicated,” Krarshe explained to Bri.

“I know that,” Bri shot back. “I am a great cook. I’m just surprised that Tibault knew how to.”

“Should I not?”

“You don’t seem like the type to.”

“I can probably cook better than you, Bri.”

“Impossible.”

“Shall we try it then?”

“Are you challenging me, Tibault?”

Tibault smiled. “Absolutely.”

“Hmph. Okay, challenge accepted. I can’t let my honor be stained. Just you wait, you won’t be able to stop eating what I make.”

“Same to you. Let’s also have my mother try each as well, as an official judge of our three dishes.”

“Wait, three?” Krarshe asked, surprised.

“Isn’t your mother a bit biased?”

“She’s a harsh critic when it comes to food. I have no doubt she won’t give me any special treatment over the two of you.”

“No, wait. Am I cooking too?” Krarshe asked again, more insistently.

“Well, it won’t matter either way. Your mother will have no choice but to grant me victory,” Bri said smugly.

“You may be my friends, but I won’t show you any mercy,” Tibault said proudly.

“How did I get involved in this?!” Krarshe asked desperately, his words not reaching either of his friends.

“Wait, wait. What’s that?” Bri asked, drawing everyone’s attention to the crowd that blocked the entirety of White Stone Plaza.

“I don’t know. Let’s go take a look.”

The three of them approached the mob as they tried to peek over the shoulders in front of them. Search as they might, there were no openings through which they could slip through. Krarshe stopped and turned away from the crowd, frustrated. “Oh! Tibault! Bri! Over here!” he called out. The two stopped and looked back at Krarshe. Krarshe started pulling a wooden crate away from one of the stores.

“Stop that! You’re going to be accused of stealing!” Tibault shouted in a hushed voice, just loud enough for Krarshe to hear it over the noise from the crowd.

“It’s empty. It’s fine,” Krarshe said dismissively. He climbed up on the box. “... What? Who are they?”

“Who?” Bri asked, climbing up on the box.

“Hey! Not you too!”

“Come on, Tibault. We’re only borrowing it for a moment.” She looked over the top of the crowd. “Teva’s protection... What is going on?”

“What? What’s happening?” Tibault asked. He looked around and sighed. “Move over! And help me up!”

Krarshe and Bri pulled him up onto the box. “Who are they?” Krarshe asked again.

“Whoa...” Tibault muttered in awe. “I don’t know, but they look important...”

A large escort of mounted knights trotted in pairs down the street that led from the city’s northeastern gate in Castle Ward. They wore full plate armor which shone in the quickly setting sun. Every third pair of knights held a large green banner. As the long, pointed flag waved and whipped, Krarshe could just barely make out a blue bird emblazoned on it. The bird looked to be a hawk, or an eagle, carrying a spear in one talon and a staff in the other. Krarshe didn’t recognize the emblem from his travels, but he knew it wasn’t the rose of Remonnet.

“Look! Look! It’s a carriage!” a young boy shouted excitedly nearby in the crowd.

Krarshe looked toward where the knights had rode in from. As the boy said, a white carriage came rolling down the street, its windows covered on the inside by green curtains matching the color of the banner. The side of the carriage facing Krarshe and his friends bore the same emblem he saw on the banners.

“Momma! Momma! Whose carriage is that?”

“Hush!”

“I can’t believe he’d come here personally...” commented another man in the crowd.

“Maybe it’s not really him,” came another voice.

“Only Talyra’s king would ride in a carriage like that.”

“Maybe it’s an envoy.”

As the carriage rattled and bounced down the cobblestone road toward the castle, the crowd became more and more restless. Krarshe could hear some people shouting profanities at the cart as it passed, shaking their fist at whoever rode within it.

“This seems like it’s getting dangerous,” Krarshe tried to whisper to his friends through the growing roar of the crowd.

“What?!” Tibault yelled, cupping his ear.

“He said it’s getting dangerous!” Bri yelled back.

“Who is she?! Welcoming in our enemy!” came another yell from the crowd.

“Give me back my boy, whoreson!”

The crowd somehow got even more rowdy. The mass of people moved and surged like the sea. One of the knight’s horses reared back, startled by an object flying out of the crowd. Krarshe wasn’t sure, but he thought it was a shoe. Thankfully, the knights seemed unfazed by the hostility.

“We should go around this! Before a sword is unsheathed!” Bri shouted. “Tibault! Detour!”

“Right! This way!”

The three climbed off the box. Tibault led Bri down the road toward Feyfaire, getting jostled by angry nobles and merchants, as Krarshe shoved the box back against the wall where he’d found it.

“She’s incompetent, to surrender to an enemy.”

Krarshe stopped shoving the box for a moment. He wasn’t sure where the barely audible voice came from, but it was oddly calm. He watched Tibault and Bri flee the scene of the crowd, and started after them.

“Indeed. She should just dispose of him while he’s here.”

“She won’t.”

Krarshe slowed down, but kept walking to not draw attention to himself. I really shouldn’t be listening to this... he thought. But, his curiosity was overwhelming.

“Can you really abide by this?”

“... You were right.”

As Krarshe passed the corner of the nearby store, he saw two men talking in the alleyway. He couldn’t make out their figures well, but was able to see the sheen of short, golden hair on the shorter one. The taller one wasn’t visible, but the air about him gave Krarshe an uneasy feeling. A feeling like he’d never felt before. The short glimpse of this man chilled him to the bone and made his skin crawl. The world began to feel as if it was spinning. He took a breath as he hid around the corner instinctively, steadying himself against the wall of the store.

“Will you listen to me now?” asked the taller one.

“... Yes. We need to make our move soon,” replied the blonde one.

“Good. We’ll discuss this later, somewhere more private...”

“Krarshe!” Bri yelled, startling him. She had apparently turned back to find him. “Let’s go!”

“R-right!” He followed behind Bri. What was that about? Whatever it was, it seemed suspicious... He looked at Bri as she ran just ahead of him. Should I mention it to Bri? Tibault? As they got away from the noise of the crowd, they stopped to catch their breath.

“What was that... all about?” gasped Tibault, trying to catch his breath.

“I...” Bri took another deep breath. “I have... No idea...”

The three stood hunched there, bracing themselves against their knees, breathing forcefully.

“Okay. Well.” Tibault breathed one more deep breath before pushing his curly, disheveled hair back only for it to flop back in his face. “Shall we get going?”

“Yeah... Yeah.” Bri said, her usual poise and dignity returning. “I’m even more hungry now.”

“Oh, that’s right. I need to show you how inferior your cooking is, don’t I?”

“Oh yes, milord Tibault. Demonstrate your lordly cooking to me,” Bri mocked.

“You may be a high noble, but I won’t forgive that insult!” Tibault laughed.

The two of them started down a small road branching off the main street, heading toward the Silver River. Krarshe followed just behind them. He watched as they joked and jabbed, laughing and smiling gleefully. ... No. I don’t want them to get involved with... whatever that was. Whatever that feeling was, it can’t be good. Nor safe. He looked at his friends quietly. It’s as do’mro says. ‘It’s wiser to avoid the squabbles of men.’ No doubt it’d be better if they- no, we stay out of it. Krarshe nodded to himself. He jogged to catch up to Bri and Tibault, joining in the jovial atmosphere of the start of their recess.