“What be your business in Milagre?”

Samuel had made excellent time on the rest of his trip from Harlest, taking the King’s Road out of the Dagorra Forest and heading to the northwest where Milagre was settled. Much of the countryside remained unchanged from a hundred years ago, he thought. It could have been the exact same plain he, Shigeru, and Grimr had passed through on their way to Neratas. Though he was considerably faster than that first journey, finishing the trip in just under three extra days.

Milagre had changed a great deal, he noticed. The walls were a meter or two higher, and more farmland had been developed along the river. More buildings were clustered together outside city limits to house the working families. Farmers and other laborers teemed back and forth in a steady stream, carrying tools to the fields or crops back to the city. It was a lively ecosystem of its own, one that continued day to day without interruption.

Predictably, the guard on watch had stopped him just outside the large eastern gate, stepping forward and raising one hand to bar his access. It was unfair to expect them to remember every face, so they assumed that every person that tried to pass through the gates was a stranger. Either that, Samuel thought, or he looked conspicuous without a burden to carry. He stood out from the crowd, so the guard had chosen to stop him. Two workers slipped around him and the guard, their heads down as they hauled large sacks on their shoulders.

“You got cotton in your ears, young man?” The guard snapped in a peremptory tone. “What be your business in Milagre?”

Samuel took a moment to wonder what in the world cotton was supposed to be, then fixed a smile on his face. Offering a slight bob of his head, he put his hands to either side to show he was unarmed. He had the blade from Arcana, of course, but the guard had no way to know about it, and he didn’t find it necessary to share the information.

“I am Samuel Bragg,” he explained. “I am Champion to Arcana, and I have come to Milagre for food, shelter, and a chance to visit the College.”

The guard furrowed his brow as he studied Samuel, apparently weighing his words. “Identification, now. Would you be having any to prove your claim?”

Samuel hooked one finger around the silver chain of the amulet he’d recently gained and fished it out from his robes. The flat circle of metal that bore the unlidded eye of Arcana was more obvious now, and the guard peered closely at it for several long minutes. Apparently, he was impressed, for he took a step back and nodded in approval.

“That seems to be in order, then,” he said, a little too loudly. “Be on your way. You can find the Heron Tavern at the end of the King’s Road.”

Samuel nodded again and moved between the two guards. As he moved away, the guard called out, as if an afterthought, “Don’t cause trouble, or you’ll have us to deal with.”

Samuel waved briefly to show he’d heard and continued his way down the large road. It was paved with large stones just at it had been a hundred years ago, but a lot of the buildings were newer, built out of more sturdy and long-living materials. The people seemed more lively as well, shouting and laughing as they moved about their business.

The Heron Tavern was a magnificent building at the end of King’s Road. All manner of shops and services lined this road, with the end building being the most impressive. For one, it stood two stories higher than most of the other buildings. The entire structure was made of sturdy wood, with thick beams supporting the higher floors and clean white walls that looked freshly painted.

Dozens of windows dotted the outside of the building, and Samuel could notice light through some of them as it got a little darker, indicating that at least half the rooms were occupied. At least that meant he could find room and board here, he thought. As he pushed the front door open and stepped into the building, the first thing he noticed was how spacious the main taproom was. He was considerably taller than the average person, and he heaved a sigh of relief as he realized that he could stand at his full height without bashing his head against the rafters.

The room was packed with customers despite the odd hour, with a great deal of noise evident as soon as the door was opened. It was a few hours until the sun would dip below the horizon, so most people should still be working the fields, or perhaps laboring in one of the many businesses around the city. But there were several dozen patrons here already, eating and drinking merrily. He wound his way past many boisterous tables, making it to the bar with some trouble.

Behind the bar was a short, graceful, and curvy woman with a wide, honest grin. She had flaming red hair and green eyes that glinted with an amused light as she turned to face her new customer. She didn’t seem to be bothered by her workload or the noise. This was clearly her environment, and she was thriving.

“Welcome to the Heron, Dear,” she said, pitching her voice above the babble. “What can I do for you?”

Samuel slid onto one of the stools. “A cup of coffee would be great, thanks. Also, I need a room.”

She had the coffee poured into a clean mug for him in a heartbeat, putting down a bowl of sugar with a spoon. “How long will you be needing the room?”

Samuel stirred a few spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee and took a long sip, smacking his lips in appreciation. “I’m not sure. I’ll pay for two nights in advance. If I need it longer, I’ll pay for longer.”

“Alright then,” she said cheerily, deftly refilling a few empty kegs for some other customers and sliding them back. “That will be two royals even, including the coffee.”

Samuel fished the coins out of his pouch and handed them over. “This is good coffee,”

“Thank you kindly,” she replied. “It’s not as good as what the Royal Family drinks, but it’s better than what they serve at the docks of Sheran.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Samuel said with a laugh. “I’ve never been that far north.”

She paused slightly in her movements as if she’d only just truly taken notice of him. She stared at him with knitted eyebrows, apparently taken aback by his strange appearance. Samuel tried to ignore her scrutiny, pretending to be interested in the discussion of three men at the next table. But then a second later his interest was really engaged as he caught what they were saying.

“Aye, the Mitene Union is getting a bit restless,” one man, a merchant by his clothes was saying to his companions. “They’re getting tired of the unfair trading terms, and the word is they want war.”

“Those savages?” The man to his right interrupted incredulously. His arms were hard and muscled like a warrior. “What chance do they stand against the King’s army?”

“They’re not so savage now, Michael,” the merchant said, wagging a finger. “They’ve got some real nasty fighters there now, and they lead the rest.”

“But what of the peasant unrest?” The third man asked. He was thin and weedy, with gray hair. “We can’t afford to fight another country with this problem we’ve got.”

“Hardly a problem,” the merchant snorted. “They can’t afford to leave their farms to fight unless the King makes ‘em.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the older man said. “They’re good and riled now. I’ve never seen ‘em so angry. Them Rainhalls have been too harsh for too long.”

Interesting, Samuel thought to himself. He knew the Rainhall family name, of course, from his last time in Milagre. They were one of the most influential noble houses of Gorteau. Based just west of the capital, they oversaw much of the western half of the nation. But this was the first he’d heard of potential unrest. There were enough people in Gorteau, that if they were to revolt, the Crown would have their hands full.

The noise level in the taproom continued to rise, and Samuel could no longer overhear the mens’ conversation. He was tempted to ask them to explain more, but he didn’t want them to know he’d been eavesdropping, even accidentally. Still, he found his mind fixated on the thought of an actual war with another country, tapping his coffee mug against his teeth as he tried to imagine what that would look like.

Shrugging slightly, he reminded himself that he was a scholar, not a fighter. While the idea of learning from war did intrigue him, he wouldn’t go so far as to get wrapped up in it. In his eyes, he saw pointless fighting as well, pointless. If there was nothing to be learned from an action, then why take the action? He set his empty mug down and headed for his room.

The bed was comfortable and clean, and the open window let a nice cool breeze enter from the street outside. He paused only long enough to remove his satchel and outer robe before collapsing into the bed. He yawned hugely, comforting himself with the knowledge that Gorteau was a vast nation, and had a large standing military. Even if you didn’t count the recruits and militia that would fill out the ranks in time of war, the nation wasn’t a threat to be taken lightly. This happy thought in place, he rolled over and was almost immediately asleep.