Chapter 7

By the time she had made it to the town, Furness, according to the barely legible sign she passed on the way in, the sun was low in the sky. At the tree line, she had scooped up the protesting Marelon and shoved him into her bag. His muffled protests had stopped after a moment or two, and thankfully he had never been the type of cat to use his claws while angry.

“I’ll give you a little treat when we are done here,” she whispered, and strode into town toward the center. She assumed that the marketplace was the center of any town, just as it was in Bartet, and she followed the sounds of chatter. Sure enough, she turned a corner and stumbled into a large, cobblestoned courtyard with open air stalls in the center and shops lining it on all sides, a few homes speckling the scene at odd intervals. She had changed in the nearby forest into britches and a loose shirt, hoping it would help disguise her identity. Without a cap of some kind, there was almost nothing she could do to disguise her long, shiny, wheat-colored locks. But she had used a ribbon to tuck as much of the hair up, disguising the length, as possible. She had practiced that many times, in preparation for today. Some men and boys had longer hair, adventurers and mercenaries, but even if it didn’t obscure her gender, it at least caused her to look somewhat unlike herself.

The first place she went was a clothier, looking for a hat to tuck her hair into. When she ducked inside, she saw a blond, portly shopkeeper with handsome, kind eyes. He was busy helping a woman, who was looking for something intently, and didn’t see Gwendolyn come in. She made herself scarce in the corner where hats could be found and looked for a cap that could fit her hair under it.

“Excuse me sir,” a voice called, and she turned toward it. It was the shopkeeper, approaching her now that he seemed to have finished assisting the young woman nearby. “Oh,” he said as she turned, “sorry, ma’am. Not a lot of women around here wear britches.” He stopped a foot or so from her, hands on his waist as he took in her outfit. He had a well-maintained beard and a shockingly white smile. His eyes were very blue, like most people in The Floating Valley. He was surveying her with curiosity, but thankfully no suspicion.

“Yes,” she smiled sweetly at him, “it’s more common in the low country though.” She had no idea if this was true, and she was banking on him not knowing either.

He looked skeptically at her light hair and features, “are you from the low country?” He asked.

“No, no,” she replied, trying to keep her voice somewhat breathy and unlike her normal voice, hoping to disguise her accent. “But I was raised there from the time I was young.”

She didn’t know how well she was doing, as her only point of reference for what the rest of Imirene citizens sounded like was Yarna Everald and Erod the bookkeeper. However, she realized it was possible that this shopkeeper had had even less experience than she did with people from outside The Floating Valley, because he seemed very convinced.

“How fun, how exotic!” He proclaimed. “I’ve never traveled outside Furness, myself. Other than the occasional jaunt to Bartet or another nearby town.”

“Oh, I’m not familiar, I spend most of my time up in the Northern part of The Floating Valley,” Gwendolyn lied.

“What brings you here?” The shopkeeper was a curious gentleman.

“I was… uh, lost. From the party I was traveling with. I don’t mind fending for myself, but I was hoping to find the road off The Floating Valley so I can meet up with my companions.”

“Ah, you’re a right long way,” he said. “But if you go across the street, tha’ man at the stall with the bright green awning’ll sell ya a map, compass, travel supplies like that.”

“Thank you,” she said gratefully. “I’d also like a hat, to keep the sun off my face.”

“Mmmm, well let’s see,” his face bore a sudden look of concentration and he waved his hand over a pile of the caps in front of them. “Ah,” he finally exclaimed, “this’un should fit your hair and the brim, as you see, will protect you from the sun. Popular choice for the farmhands in town.”

“How much?” Gwendolyn asks, reaching in her bag for the coins and praying that Marelon wouldn’t jump out. Thankfully, he didn’t.

“Ah, sounds like you had a run of bad luck,” says the man. “Take it, as a gift.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—” she started to object, but he held up a hand.

“Young lady, I’m not sure if you’ve actually lost your party, or what’s going on. But I know a person in need when I see one. I wouldn’t have this shop if someone hadn’t done me a kindness years ago, when I arrived at this village with no money, no food, and no prospects. I try to return the favor wherever I can.”

“Why…” in her curiosity she had dropped the fake lilt in her voice, “why did you have nothing when you arrived here?”

“A long story,” he gazes out the window suddenly, with a sadness, “and not one for now, when I sense you’re in a bit of a rush. But if you come back here and see me sometime, I’ll tell you.”

“I’ll do that,” she said. “I will.”

“Aye, I’ll be holding you to it.” He gave her a smile and opened the shop door for her. She emerged onto the street and ducked behind the shop to fashion the cap on her head, disguising her hair.

When it was in place, she strolled in a faux casual way toward the green awning on the stall the clothier had pointed out. As she approached, she saw that the stall did have adventuring gear.

“How can I help ya today, ma’am?” A young man with bright red hair and a large nose popped his head up from behind the stall, holding products in his arms. “Was just restocking, give me a mo’.” And with that his head disappeared again.

“Sorry about that,” he said a second later, standing up. It was only then that Gwendolyn noticed that he was remarkably tall. “You look like an adventurer, ah?”

“Of a sort,” she replied. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“No ma’am, grew up to the north, town by the name of Avenine.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“I haven’t,” he replied, “I’m a traveling merchant. I’m set up to sell here for a few weeks, and then I’ll be moving on.”

“Interesting, is that lucrative?” Gwendolyn asked, for a moment forgetting her urgency. This was her problem, among others. She loved to speak to people and hear about their diverse and interesting experiences. She could lose herself in any type of story, and every person on the street had one to tell.

“You looking for a job?” He asked with a smile.

“No, just… curious, I guess.” With that she started to cast her eyes over the wares. “I’m lost, actually. I was with a party and we got separated. I need to make my way to the road off The Floating Valley, can you show me on…?” she gestured at the maps.

“There are three roads, and a few smaller paths, off The Floating Valley,” he replied. “D’you know which one you need?”

“The closest one,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more such questions.

“Ah, that’ll be the Eastern Pass,” he says, pointing to a map. “We are here,” he jabs a finger at a spot disappointingly far away. “Maybe a two-day journey on foot, maybe a little more. You walk fast?” He asked, eyeing her.

“Uh, well, I’m not slow. I don’t know about fast,” she said.

“Plan on a three-day journey, then,” he said. Then he glanced up at the sky and added, “it’s getting late, and you don’t look like you have much in the way of weaponry. Best stay the night at the inn and start tomorrow.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” she said, “I really must be going.”

“You try traveling through the night in these parts, only place you’re going is into a wyvern’s mouth,” he cautioned.

“Look, you start in the morning. Follow this river, see,” he points to the Valley River, “up here to this lake. That’s Lake Sudwick. There’s a town here,” he points to a spot to the north of the lake, “that you can stop at if you need to. But you’ll approach the lake from the southwest, so you can avoid it if you want. Once you see Lake Sudwick, you need to head directly east. The road will be visible when you exit the forest here, and you’ll walk about two hours through the Outer Plain. The road is dangerous, be careful.” He started to hand her the map, paused, and said, “here, I’ll write the instructions on the back.”

While he did that, Gwendolyn picked up a compass and a larger waterskin. “I’ll take these as well, when you’re done,” she said to him.

“That’ll be twenty-five bronze,” he said.

“Is that all?” she asked.

“I’m giving you a bit of a discount,” he replies. “Adventurers must stick together. Also, if you’re looking for road friendly provisions, visit the blue stall a little bit closer to the inn, that way,” he waved to his left, “and tell the girl behind the stall I sent ya’.”

Gwendolyn gave him a look, and his ears went slightly pink. “We travel together,” he offered as an explanation.

“Of course,” she gave him a sly little grin and headed off in the direction he had indicated.

It only took her a few moments to find the blue stall, with a pretty, brown haired young woman standing behind the counter.

“Hi,” Gwendolyn greeted her, “The man behind the counter at the exploration goods stall said I should come by?”

“Oh, you mean Osmont,” said the woman with a faint little smile, “how lovely of him to send business my way,” her eyes, which were the trademark blue of The Floating Valley, got misty for a moment. “How can I help you?” She turned her attention back to Gwendolyn.

“I’m looking for some food I can take with me, I’ll be traveling tomorrow.”

“How exciting! Where are you headed?” The woman had a strange voice, speaking with a mild accent that Gwendolyn suspected was fading over years of living in Imirene.

“The Eastern Pass,” Gwendolyn says. “Got separated from the group I was traveling with.”

“Well, that’s about a two- or three-day walk, do you already have some supplies?”

“I have some salted meat and cheese. Hardtack.”

“Well,” she says, “that will certainly be enough to survive on, but,” she hesitates, “I don’t know how much you have to spend, I have some pickled vegetables and dried fruits that can add some variety to your journey. They’re expensive, but delicious. I can also give you some honey from the northerly beekeepers, it softens the hardtack.”

“I’d love some honey,” Gwendolyn said gratefully. Hardtack crackers barely qualified as food in her opinion. “And, maybe some of the vegetables and the fruits.”

“What do you like?” Asked the woman, adding, “I’m Faun, by the way.”

“Unusual name,” noted Gwendolyn.

“My mother is from Parcee, moved to Imirene when I was a kid, before the war started. Name is pretty common in Parcee, it was my grandmother’s.”

“It’s lovely,” Gwendolyn told her.

“Well, as you’re a friend of Osmont, I’ll give you a bit of a deal.”

“Oh, not sure about friend,” Gwendolyn mumbled. “We just met.”

“Ah, Osmont considers everyone he’s ever met a friend. Wouldn’t have told you to mention his name if he didn’t want you to get the special price.”

“Well, how much is it?” Gwendolyn asked.

“I’ll give you a large jar of pickled vegetables of your choice, a large packet of dried fruit of your choice, and a small jar of honey for one hundred bronze.”

“I assume you’ll take silver?” Gwendolyn asked while digging around in her bag once more.

Faun laughed, holding out her hand. Gwendolyn dropped two silver coins into it, and then Faun asked, “what kind of vegetables would you like?”

“Do you have carrots or parsnips?”

“Have both, and a jar of mixed. I’ll give ya mixed. How about fruit?”

“Apples?” Gwendolyn asked without hesitation.

“Aye, now you’re letting me off easy. I expected you to ask for something more exotic,” Faun grinned and pulled a pouch of dried apples out and laid them on the counter. Then she rummaged around and pulled out a jar of honey. “Enjoy,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Gwendolyn. She scooped the items into her bag, and Marelon gave a little confused growl as the items settled in next to him. She was careful to make sure they didn’t hit him. “Where’s the inn?”