Chapter 2 – The Last Night

  Dawn’s light spilled through the window, painting the wooden beams of my ceiling in hues of amber and gold. I sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the weight of yesterday’s events still in my mind. It was not, after all, a dream.

  I freshened up, grateful that my ample funds afforded me magical conveniences—saving me the labor of mundane tasks like fetching water. Yet, the reflection in the mirror offered little comfort: my disheveled hair, dark circles beneath my eyes, and untrimmed stubble painted a dismal picture. Goddamn you deserve a trip to the boonies, who’ll sign big deals with you.

  I had once aspired to emulate the refined style of bureaucrats, keeping my dark hair cropped short and my face clean-shaven. My muscular build and chiseled features could have given me an edge, had I not allowed laziness to dictate my appearance. Perhaps Aldric would have rescinded his decision had I been well groomed.

  I shrugged off the thought, shivering at the implied implication of Aldric’s taste into men. The man was old, and just the thought of intimacy with him was enough to disgust me.

  Looking around, I noticed that I was in for a loss, though small. I would have to leave the furniture behind.

  Moving on from brooding, I decided to get on with packing, folding my clothes, putting the utensils in a sack, and some other things for personal hygiene. I did not want to worry about laundry once I was in Niege.

  Once I had gathered everything, I brought out the cubes. One tap later, they expanded, a black ethereal wall expanding between the compartments that later turned transparent. Everything was packed in two cubes, leaving only my armor, axe and sword out.

  “Come on, buddy, we got places to be,” I called out Jericho once I had finished packing my stuff.

  Mounting Jericho, I made headway towards the tavern, taking a detour towards my favorite sweet stall.

  A stout dwarf was manning the stall, who gave me my favorite fire gourd tart, with which I was once again on my way towards a well-kept tavern. There, I grabbed breakfast while ordering a stew for Jericho. My pal liked his meat and broth seasoned with carrots and peas.

  A particularly delightful tart as a dessert later, I was on my way to the guild.

  When I had left yesterday, the guild’s building had seemed to drown out all light, while its saloon doors felt like the maw of a vicious beast that had chewed me up and regurgitated me once I had lost all value. After a good night’s sleep later, I was over the beast part at least.

  Every corner of the hall evoked memories of my past life—as both adventurer and guildmaster. Although guild layouts were invariably similar, I had always favored the Raakwell guild for its spacious design and meticulously maintained gardens. I absorbed the familiar sights—the expansive hall, the five counters, the notice board, the bustling exchanges—struggling to stifle a surge of sentimentality. I was leaving it all behind. Tears threatened as I beheld these unchanging scenes; even in Niege there would be a guild, albeit a modest one, but it would never be the same. I was, in effect, retiring for the second time.

  Before I started really shedding tears, I moved out. Guess Flavel’s not here.

  I turned back, leaving a message for Flavel - an invitation to the tavern for a final farewell party – before pressing onward towards the Industrial district.

  Cutting straight through the streets lined with tanneries, smithies, mills, and who-knows-what, I headed for my target – Tharfel’s Fireborns.

  “Tharfel!” Once inside the smithy, I shouted over the constant clang of metal, calling out to the elderly dwarf undoubtedly hard at work in the back.

  Moments later, I encountered Lisha—the elven clerk whose slender, blonde beauty had drawn considerable business to Tharfel’s establishment, setting it apart from other dwarven smithies. “Hey, Lisha, how’s it going?” I called.

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  “I'm doing well, Liam. How are you today?” she replied with her characteristic confidence, her eyes locking with mine. Every conversation with her sent a flutter through my stomach.

  “I'm not doing too well,” I admitted, glancing at the glass shelves that displayed exquisite examples of dwarven craftsmanship. “I'm being transferred—to a no-name place called Niege.”

  “So sudden?” she remarked, surprise tinting her tone. Perhaps I ought to have a drink to brace myself.

  “Things happened,” I explained. “Would you accompany me to dinner tonight? After all, who knows when we might meet again?” I offered my best smile, extending a hand in invitation.

  “Hmm, where to?” she mused, an amused smile playing on her lips as she leaned against the counter.

  “I was thinking-“ Before I could continue, our conversation was abruptly interrupted by a loud voice from the rear. “Back off, Liam! If you're leaving, there's no point in wasting Lisha’s time! Ain’t that right, laddie?” bellowed Tharfel as he sauntered in. The old dwarf sported a lush white beard reaching his chest and, like his pride, had yet to succumb to baldness. As with all dwarves, he was compact, broad, and sturdy—though now he wore glasses to compensate for his failing eyesight.

  “Tharfel, did I ever tell you that you dwarves have excellent sense of timing for smithing?” I said in the most deadpan voice I could muster.

  “That ain’t even a compliment, tis’ a fact,” he boomed.

  “Well, try to incorporate the same timing to your life outside of forge. Maybe start by not barging in when a successful deal is about to be closed.”

  He just scoffed. The nerve of this shorty.

  “Well, ‘eard you got transferred to boonies?” he began.

  “Yeah, and no, nothing can be done. I received the order directly from Aldric, face to face. Just wanted to let you know I was holding a party tonight at the usual tavern, and you have to come too, Lisha,” I let them know that no excuses for absence will be entertained.

  When I got out, Jericho had been waiting for nearly an hour, and he made his dissatisfaction known, snorting and pawing the cobblestone road.

  “Sorry, sorry, buddy, just one more stop, then you’ll be free to laze around all you want.”

  The final stop of the day was the Dreseon Central Bank—a massive edifice built entirely of stone, its halls illuminated by golden chandeliers and guarded by both golems and human sentinels. I had no doubt that even a minor transgression here would invoke the full might of Raakwell.

  “I would like to cash a cheque,” I said to the clerk behind the counter, handing in my guild issued slip. Niege, being such a small town, was certain to lack a bank.

  The clerk processed my request, coming back with a tray. On it were eight large golds, ten small golds, and a hundred silvers.

  “On second thought, could you exchange two silvers for copper as well?” I thought about the possible situations I could encounter.

  Once all transactions were complete, I departed the bank with eight large gold, ten small gold, ninety-eight silver, and two hundred copper coins in hand.

  The only thing left was the dinner party.

  The remainder of the day passed uneventfully as I headed toward the tavern—this time without Jericho. I knew he would not appreciate waiting outside for the hours I planned to spend inside, and I did not wish to impose that on him. For a change of pace, I proceeded on foot rather than by carriage. The enchanted lamps along the main road burst into life, casting a luminous glow on the path as the common folk began retreating to their homes.

  The tavern was just as I remembered—teeming with boisterous patrons and suffused with the pungent aroma of cheap alcohol. Scanning the room, I quickly spotted Flavel. The rouge was sitting with his hood lowered, exposing his snowy hair and youthful face. He was popular, made evident by the glances passed to him by the females around him. I promptly moved to sit with him.

  “So, I hear you going away for good, and the best you can do is a dingy tavern?” he remarked as soon as he saw me.

  I lifted my hands in mock surrender. “I’ve also invited Tharfel and Lisha, and I assure you that none of us are inclined toward fancy restaurants,” I grinned. “Besides, you’re hardly the picture of refinement yourself.”

  He offered no retort, merely a wry smirk in response. “I heard about what happened,” he said suddenly, his tone shifting to seriousness.

  “From where?” I really could not puzzle out who would rat out the guild’s inner workings. I could use a guy like that.

  “I’ve got my ways,” came his enigmatic reply. “You know, brother still asks about you. If you want-”

  I understood the unspoken message. “Let’s leave it. I’m content with the current circumstances - who knows, maybe I’ll even make a name for myself here. Hey, Boss!”

  I ordered the finest alcohol on offer—a move that earned Tharfel’s hearty approval, as he pounded my back when he arrived a short while later. “It looks like they gave you some nerve with that transfer, lad!” he declared with a grin, as the two jugs of alcohol vanished without leaving their mark.

  “Nah, old man, I’m just drinking because I’m with you all. Doesn’t mean I like it,” my speech was a bit slow, but still understandable.

  “Hmm, you and your Brinepaw,” Lisha teased, her eyes upturned in playful admonition. “Perhaps you need to sample another type of milk to refine your taste.”

  Is she implying something more?