Chapter 15 The Road to the Capital

Chapter 15 The Road to the Capital

The first day of travel was almost pleasant.

The road from Oakhaven to Aethelgard City was well-maintained, wide enough for wagons and trade caravans. Farmers moved their goods to market. Travelers passed with nods and waves. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, and for a few hours, Caspian almost forgot they were walking toward a war council.

Tobin filled the silence with his usual enthusiasm. "I heard the capital has buildings seven stories high! Seven! Can you imagine? And street vendors on every corner selling food from all over the kingdom! And actual bathhouses with hot water!"

Fizzlewick consulted his tome. "Aethelgard City was founded approximately 847 years ago by King Aldric the First. It has survived three sieges, two plagues, and one catastrophic fire that destroyed the original market district. The current population is estimated at—"

"Fizz," Elara interrupted. "Maybe save some facts for when we actually get there."

"I have approximately 847 facts prepared! I can't just—"

"You can and you will."

Fizzlewick muttered something about fact suppression but closed his tome.

Bulkan walked at the back of the group, carrying more than his share of the supplies. Every hour or so, someone would try to take something from him. He'd grunt, refuse, and keep walking. After the third attempt, everyone stopped trying.

Marnie walked beside Caspian, her spoon tucked safely in her apron. She hadn't spoken since they left, but she didn't need to. Her presence was calm. Steady. Like a grandmother who happened to carry ancient power in her kitchen utensil.

Boris brought up the rear with Bulkan, surprisingly sober and surprisingly quiet. Every few miles, he'd look back toward Oakhaven with an expression Caspian couldn't read. Nostalgia, maybe. Or regret.

By midday, they'd covered enough ground to reach a small waystation—a clearing with a well, some benches, and a covered area for travelers to rest. Several other groups were already there, taking advantage of the shade.

Elara guided them to an empty bench. "We'll rest for an hour. Eat something. Then push on."

Tobin collapsed dramatically. "An hour? I need a day. Maybe two. My feet are already plotting against me."

"Your feet are fine."

"You don't know them like I do."

Caspian sat on the grass, stretching his legs. The walk wasn't hard—he'd done worse in the Deepwood—but there was something mentally exhausting about traveling toward something so big. The capital. The Royal Circle. The weight of everything pressing down.

A group of travelers nearby caught his attention. They wore matching gear—not quite uniforms, but close enough. Their weapons were quality. Their posture was confident. Guild members, probably from somewhere bigger than Oakhaven.

One of them, a young woman with short hair and a bow slung across her back, glanced their way. Her eyes scanned the group, lingered on Caspian's stick, and then moved on. She didn't laugh. Didn't mock. Just observed and returned to her companions.

That was new.

Tobin noticed too. "Did you see that? She looked at us and didn't laugh! That's progress!"

"Maybe she's just polite," Elara said.

"Or maybe word's getting around." Tobin sat up, excited. "Maybe people are starting to hear about the Gilded Fox! About our victories! About Caspian's magic stick!"

Caspian groaned. "Please don't call it that."

"Magic stick! Magic stick! Magic—"

A piece of bread hit Tobin in the face. Marnie, expressionless, was already pulling out more food.

Everyone laughed. Even Bulkan's shoulders shook slightly.

The second day was harder.

The road grew busier as they approached the capital. Wagons, travelers, merchants, and more guilds than Caspian could count. Some nodded politely. Others ignored them. A few glanced at their worn gear and shabby appearance with barely concealed disdain.

One group, wearing the colors of a mid-tier guild called the Crimson Blades, made no effort to hide their amusement.

"Is that a guild?" one of them said loudly to his companion. "They look more like a traveling circus."

The other snorted. "Check out the giant. Did he steal that axe from a museum? It's ancient."

"And the old woman with the spoon. Is she going to cook for them?"

Tobin's face went red. He started to turn, but Elara's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Not worth it," she said quietly.

Caspian gripped his conduit but kept walking. Words didn't matter. They never did.

The Crimson Blades laughed as they passed, their voices fading behind them.

Boris spat on the ground. "Idiots. They'll learn."

By evening of the second day, they reached the last waystation before the capital. It was larger than the first—more like a small village, with inns, stables, and markets catering to travelers. The inn they found was crowded but had room in the common room for them to sleep.

After securing their spot, they gathered around a small table for dinner. Marnie had somehow improved the inn's food with her spoon, earning grateful looks from the whole group.

"So," Tobin said between bites, "tomorrow. The capital. What's the plan?"

Elara shrugged. "Find the Royal Circle headquarters. Present ourselves. Listen. Try not to embarrass the guild."

"That's not a plan. That's a hope."

"Same thing, with us."

Caspian smiled despite himself. She wasn't wrong.

A commotion at the inn's entrance drew their attention. A group of travelers had arrived, and they weren't just any travelers. Their gear was pristine. Their weapons hummed with Aether. And their uniforms bore the unmistakable insignia of the Iron Vanguard.

The room went quiet. Even the innkeeper stopped moving.

The Vanguard members scanned the room with practiced efficiency. Four of them. Three men, one woman. All armed. All dangerous.

Their leader, a tall man with close-cropped hair and a scar on his jaw, walked to the innkeeper. "We need rooms. And food. Quickly."

The innkeeper stammered an agreement, scrambling to accommodate.

One of the Vanguard, a younger man, glanced around the room. His eyes landed on the Gilded Fox. On their worn gear. On Caspian's stick propped against the table.

He nudged his companion. "Look. It's them."

The other Vanguard member looked. Recognition flickered in her eyes.

The leader finished with the innkeeper and followed his companions' gaze. For a long moment, he studied the Gilded Fox. Then, without a word, he walked toward their table.

Tobin tensed. Bulkan's hand moved toward his axe. Even Fizzlewick stopped talking.

The Vanguard leader stopped at their table. He looked at each of them in turn. When his eyes reached Caspian, they lingered on the stick.

"You're the ones who found the Glimmer," he said. It wasn't a question.

Elara met his gaze. "We are."

"Word traveled fast. The council wants to see you." He paused. "I was at the Deepwood. I saw what was left of the ruins. And the old man. Alden." His expression was unreadable. "Impressive work for a small guild."

Caspian wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult.

The leader turned to leave, then stopped. He looked back at Caspian. "Your stick. Word is it changes shape. Evolves with you."

Caspian nodded slowly.

The man's eyes narrowed. "I've never heard of a conduit like that. None of us have." He paused. "At the council, people will want to study it. Want to study you. Be careful who you trust."

He walked away, joining his companions at a table across the room.

The Gilded Fox sat in stunned silence.

Tobin whispered, "Did an Iron Vanguard just give us advice?"

Bulkan grunted. It sounded like "yes."

Elara looked at Caspian. "He's right. Tomorrow changes everything. People will want what you have. The stick. The spoon. The knowledge. We need to stick together."

Caspian nodded. "Together."

Marnie patted her spoon. It glowed softly.

That night, Caspian dreamed of the capital. Massive walls. Crowded streets. Faces watching from every corner. And at the center, a throne, and a King waiting to decide their fate.

He woke before dawn, heart pounding, and couldn't fall back asleep.

The third day brought them to the capital.

Aethelgard City rose from the horizon like something from a storybook. Massive stone walls, twice as tall as anything in Oakhaven, stretched as far as the eye could see. Towers rose above them, their peaks catching the morning sun. Banners flew from every parapet, displaying the colors of the kingdom and the great guilds.

The road leading to the main gate was packed with travelers. Merchants, pilgrims, guild members, officials. Everyone moving toward the same destination.

Tobin's jaw dropped. "It's huge. It's actually huge. I thought the stories were exaggerating."

Fizzlewick was already flipping through his tome. "The outer walls are forty feet high and twenty feet thick! They've never been breached! The inner city contains approximately 847 distinct neighborhoods, each with its own—"

"Fizz," Elara said gently. "Look up. Just... look."

He looked. For once, he was quiet.

They joined the flow of traffic toward the gate. Guards checked papers, asked questions, waved people through. When it was their turn, Elara presented the summons from the Royal Circle.

The guard's eyes widened slightly. He looked at the group, at the worn badges, at the old drunk and the silent woman and the giant and the talkative spearman and the kid with a stick.

"The Gilded Fox," he read slowly. "You're on the list. Welcome to the capital."

They walked through the gate.

The city exploded around them.

Noise. Color. Smells. Thousands of people moving in every direction. Buildings stacked together, some three or four stories high. Shops spilling goods onto the street. Vendors shouting. Children running. Guards patrolling. And everywhere, guild members in their colors and uniforms.

Tobin grabbed Caspian's arm. "I'm going to die here. Not in battle. Just... overwhelmed to death."

Caspian felt the same way. But he kept walking.

A messenger boy appeared beside them, slightly out of breath. "Gilded Fox? I'm to take you to your lodging. The Royal Circle arranged it."

They followed him through the chaos. Down streets, around corners, past markets and fountains and monuments. Finally, they stopped at a modest but respectable inn near the center of the city.

The innkeeper was waiting. "Gilded Fox! Welcome, welcome! Your rooms are ready. The council convenes tomorrow morning. Someone will come for you." He ushered them inside, clearly eager to please anyone connected to the Royal Circle.

The rooms were small but clean. Beds. Washbasins. Actual privacy.

Tobin immediately claimed a bed and flopped onto it. "I'm never moving again."

Bulkan stood in the corner, looking uncomfortable with so much space.

Fizzlewick started exploring immediately, cataloging everything.

Marnie found the kitchen and made friends with the cook within minutes.

Boris sat heavily on a chair. "We made it. We actually made it."

Elara stood by the window, looking out at the city. "Tomorrow. The council. Are we ready?"

Caspian joined her at the window. Below them, Aethelgard City pulsed with life. People with power. People with plans. People who would want what they had.

"No," he said honestly. "But we're here anyway."

She smiled tiredly. "That's the Gilded Fox way."