Entrance to the City

We came over the final hill of our journey, and looked down upon the village. It looked like a normal village, with a few people bustling about. Houses were simple, unadorned and kept tidy�"the outside at least. There were only a few dozen houses, and in the center of it all what looked to be a well.

“Is this it?” I asked.

Damien nodded, carefully guiding the horse down the slope. “There are only about a hundred of us total. We are fifty miles Northwest from your kingdom. Thankfully, traveling this way we are further from the East Region. We live here virtually without detection. The occasional nomad may come this way, but they usually pass without much word.”

“How did you get here?”

“My father was an explorer. This place is ten miles from the Great West, and of course my father wanted to explore there. He left me here with my mother. My mother died a year later, and I haven’t heard from my dad since he left. That was when I was six, so eleven years ago.”

He sighed, then added, “But what would you care?”
            “My father died when I was young, defending Kolaria on the battlefield. So, I know how you feel.”

“And your mother?”

“Died in childbirth,” I said, wiping at my moistening eyes. “Sometimes I wonder how she was. All I have are stories and paintings.”

We came up to the edge of the community and trotted down the main street.            “Hello, Damien!” an old man called out. “If you are looking for Father Vincent, you can find him in his quarters.”

Damien acknowledged the man, and then headed down a side alley. From there we dismounted and headed up the stairs that lined the side of the house, leading to the second floor. He gave the aged wooded door a knock.

“Tight knit community we have here,” Damien said, waiting for an answer. “All types of people here too. Father Vincent upstairs and Desdemona downstairs.”

“Who is Desdemona?”

He leaned in closely, cracking the first smile I’d seen of him. “She’s a former prostitute.”

Just then the door opened and we stood before Father Vincent. He wore a robe, typical of a priest. He was short, bald, but only in his early forties.

His soft green eyes darted back and forth from Damien to me. “I take it your journey was safe.”

Damien nodded. “Yes, I was able to save him.”

“With violence, I am sure,” he said, shaking his head and motioning us in. “I abhor violence. Either way, come in and sit. We have a lot to talk about.”

Author's Note

Again, ignore formatting

Reviews

[Amanda J. S.]

I've already commented this on Worthyofpublishing.com, but I can say it again—I really enjoy this book! And I really find the characters quite... quaint :-)

[Steven Cash]

Well, thanks so much Amanda