Part Two: Market Day
Morning found the rains gone and the sun adorning a skyline only faintly touched by cloud. Yesterday's fears seemed distant indeed as Taurin rose from his slumber and unshuttered the windows. Today was Market Day! The entire city of Peldor would come alive today as visitors from the surrounding lands came to celebrate. After a quick but very filling meal in the downstairs tavern he went to see Hamar. The innkeeper seemed to be in a very good mood.
"Off to experience Market Day, are you? Remember to be careful, but it's not really the Collector's way to strike when there are lots of people about. He's the sort who prefers to target people when they are all alone, late at night or in a deserted part of the city. I don't think there'll be a single empty street today, not with the treats we have lined up. They even say … They say that Victen Armos will be here!"
That was certainly big news. Victen Armos was regarded far and wide as the greatest swordsman alive. Some said he was the best in more than two centuries. Even in Bellguard his name was fabled. Among other things, he was the only male to have served as chief of the Toroian royal guards, the elite force that had always been commanded by a female since its formation four hundred years ago, and the youngest man to have ever won the World Swordsman Contest. He had won that prestigious contest eight years ago, when he was seventeen. His ability and his legend had increased considerably since then. People said he had never lost a swordfight. Taurin's face must have given away something of his delight, because Hamar smiled triumphantly.
"They've done up the old Fighting Pit for his grand match in Peldor. It's a special show, free for anyone who wants to watch. You'll get to see all of his trademark techniques … The Whirlwind Turn! Rolling Thunder! The Sidethrust!" His voice fell almost to a whisper. "You might even get to see the legendary Crimson Juggernaut! And that's just part of the festivities. I'll be getting someone to fill in for me a bit later; I want to be out there celebrating, myself!"
Taurin left the Pirate's Haven in a hurry, eager to behold everything Market Day had to offer. In the bright morning light, his fears seemed ill-founded and quite nonsensical. Clearly the Collector, whoever he was, would have better things to do with his time than track down a stray boy who had done nothing to harm him. There were many people in Peldor that he would be busy robbing, and the city was so vast that if he sighted Taurin ever again it would be the purest luck. If Taurin was in danger at all, that danger would more likely come from common street thieves.
The young boy wondered briefly how his father was faring. Calman had said that Henrik would recover, but that he would be wounded for several days. If Taurin found himself near the Old Castle, he would visit the Chambers of Healing to see his father; otherwise it could just as easily wait until tomorrow. Market Day would be very busy for the boy from Bellguard even without making a special journey to the Old Castle. Taurin was very eager to check on his father's progress, but a day like today was very rare.
Market Day came only every second year. It had eventually grown into a festival that saw travellers from surrounding lands descend on Peldor for a day of trade and merriment, but it had its origins in the fact that voting took place on the same day. Master Greylin had explained the tradition to Taurin's class many times. Peldor sent two councillors to the High Council in Mysidia. Each councillor served for four years, with one councillor's term ending halfway through the other's term. The High Council was the governing body of the Federation, a circle of nine men and women who administered the lands surrounding the great cities of Mysidia, Peldor, Havent and Endor-Eblan. Because voting took place in the cities, people who made their home in the surrounding towns and farms would visit the closest city to vote. Sometimes the journey could be very long, so the travellers would remain for several days, filling the inns and crowding out the marketplaces. Over time the day's significance in terms of trade increased even as times became less turbulent and fewer and fewer people bothered to vote. These days many people failed to realise that they could indeed vote on Market Day, a trend that Master Greylin lamented.
Taurin gave a start. Lost in thought about his stern teacher, he had suddenly realised that the man immediately in front of him looked remarkably like the object of his musings. The boy had travelled down several busy streets and had reached a plaza crammed with hawkers and tables of goods, not to mention customers. The man's back was to Taurin, but his slightly stooped posture was identical to the bearing mimicked by so many students in Bellguard. His slight build was the same as Greylin's, as was his pale complexion, as was his thinning grey-brown hair that hung down almost to his shoulders is a mess of strands and curls. Even his weathered brown robes were reminiscent of the type Greylin liked to wear.
The man, who had been examining a table of dusty-looking books, turned around, and Taurin was left with no doubt. This man was Greylin. The middle-aged teacher who had seemingly dedicated his entire life to the study of history and lore to the sacrifice of everything else was here in Peldor—the remote, quiet man who had come to Bellguard almost ten years ago and remained a mystery to everyone. True to form, Greylin's face was worked into an expressionless mask, his deep brown eyes—eyes that seemed to bear the weight of all of history's tragedies and to have experienced the passing of long years far greater than Greylin's age—quickly spotting Taurin. He ambled towards his student.
"Taurin, I see you also have come to Peldor." The even, familiar voice greeted Taurin with a tone that conveyed happiness but no excitement. Sometimes it seemed that Greylin was incapable of excitement.
Forcing himself to smile, Taurin shook his teacher's hand. "I've come here with my father. We're here for Market Day." There was no need to tell Greylin any more than that; it wasn't as if the quiet scholar held any interest in other people's lives.
"Ah yes, for Market Day. Your father has always travelled here to vote, even if many people no longer see the point." His eyes narrowed slightly, a rare glimpse into the teacher's mind. "This year it could prove more important than anyone realises."
"You'd be here to vote then?" Taurin meant it as a question, but he was quite sure of the answer.
"Of course. But there are some books I'd like to buy as well, if I can find them in the right condition and at the right price." It was all Taurin could do to stop himself from grimacing. Greylin had come to Market Day and his only concerns were voting and books. Perhaps all adults became dull one day, but nobody else in Bellguard was quite as uninspired as old Master Greylin; the other grown-ups in Bellguard remained interested in weapons and ale and gossip. Greylin was only interested in history. He even managed to make that as boring a hobby as he possibly could. To him, the ancient wars were "unfortunate" and the tragedies that gave history its colour were "unnecessary".
"I hope you find some of your books for a good price," Taurin managed after a few moments. "I'd like to buy some things, too, if I can find the money. Good luck."
Greylin bowed slightly before turning back to the outdoor book stall. "Good luck, Taurin."
Leaving the middle-aged teacher behind, Taurin cast his eyes over the plaza in front of him. It was filled with stalls and hawkers of every description, from fruit merchants to weapon traders to artists. The young boy must have spent an hour or more just looking at the wares on offer, and was only brought out of his trance by the sharp voice of a passing woman addressing her children.
"No, stay close to me! On the other side of this market is the Fighting Pit. If you don't stop looking at all those stalls, we won't make it in time to see Victen Armos fight."
The name of the legendary swordsman was all it took to bring Taurin to his senses. Almost dropping the dagger he had been examining, he fell in behind the mother and her three children and made his way through the crowded plaza. Travelling down one paved street and then another, he found himself before a broken marble archway that led to a large arena ringed by circles of seats, each one positioned slightly higher than the one in front, so that the seats at the higher levels looked down on the arena as if from atop a hill. The bottom row of seats was elevated about twelve feet above the pit, looming over it from atop a steep stone wall.
Taurin found a spare seat amid the already teeming crowds and sat down. He was at the end of a row, next to one of the aisles that ran past all the rows of seats down to the fighting floor. On his other side sat a dark-haired girl garbed in purple silks that looked as if they must have been expensive, but were torn and stained with dirt. Turning his attention away from the crowds, Taurin surveyed the arena below. He was almost halfway between the pit edge and the top row of seats, and directly faced a pair of iron gates fixed into the steep wall that ringed the hollow. It was as good a seat as he could have hoped for, and gave him a very good view of the spectacle that was about to occur.
The Fighting Pit was one of two structures in Peldor that could serve as arenas. It was the older of the two by almost two centuries, but was by no means the greater. The other was the magnificent Royal Stadium, but it was no longer called by that name; it was now known as the Eternal Memorial, a giant edifice of marble and silver that stood fairly close to the Old Castle. The Royal Stadium had taken almost three score of years to complete, and had only ever housed one duel. To this day it was kept in perfect condition, maintained lovingly while ancient buildings tumbled around it and antique monuments faded away and were lost. But its grounds now housed a beautiful garden, focused around a single block of white marble bearing the words: Here fell Peldor Harvey, Bringer of Light, Wisest of Kings, Lord of Men. 546 RE to 31 PC. It would never witness another duel again.
Time stretched on, and the Fighting Pit was soon completely full. Suddenly the ceaseless chatter died away and an expectant hush filled the air. A man in flowing crimson robes was standing in the middle of the pit, his tanned face decorated with a pointed black beard. He waited until the crowd was completely silent and then spoke in a quiet voice that somehow carried to the farthest rows of onlookers.
"Welcome everyone. My name is Shek Armold, the Federation's Representative in Peldor. For those of you who have never been here before, welcome to our fine city." He paused briefly as several spontaneous cheers erupted from the crowd. "Today is a very special day for all of you, and for Peldor. Today you are all going to witness the immortal Victen Armos compete in combat." The last couple of words were almost lost in an outburst of applause that lasted for more than a minute. Eventually it died down, and Shek Armold continued. "You all know that Victen Armos is undefeated. Nobody has ever bested him with a sword. That could change today."
He had to pause again as several overly enthusiastic onlookers jeered him. Smiling slightly, he continued. "Today Victen Armos will face six of Peldor's finest soldiers in a match to be conducted with wooden practice swords. If any contestant is touched by a sword—that is, if any part of their body whatsoever comes into contact with a sword—they are eliminated and must leave the pit at once. The soldiers of Peldor will act together as a team, focusing their energy only on Victen Armos." Again several jeers cut through the air, but most of the audience was listening intently. "The battle will continue until all six soldiers are eliminated or Victen Armos is struck by a sword." He bowed slightly. "Remember to vote today so that we keep a friendly voice on the High Council for when my job comes up for renewal next year, and enjoy the rest of today's festivities. The battle will begin very soon."
Then he was gone, the iron gates clanging shut behind him. The crowd began muttering restlessly, several shouting for Victen Armos. The girl beside Taurin was leaning forward intently. After what seemed like forever, the gates opened slowly once again. Taurin found himself on his feet along with the rest of the crowd. He was slightly disappointed when he saw half a dozen soldiers wearing the Federation's uniform enter and take their positions throughout the pit. Many people around him were shouting derogatory comments at the six soldiers, but most were simply waiting in eager silence, their eyes fixed on the open gateway.
Then it happened. Wave upon wave of applause burst from the crowds as a tall man in red leather armour strode through the gates and into the arena. At first Taurin thought his hair was brown, but as it caught the sunlight he realised it was actually orange. Fierce blue eyes looked out from a lean face, clean-shaven and unmarked by any scars. Victen Armos was quite broad across the shoulders, but otherwise of smaller frame than Taurin would have suspected. He strode unchallenged around the pit for several minutes, waving to the crowds and soaking in the awesome reception. Then the iron gates shut with a clang. Victen slowly drew a wooden sword from his sheath and turned to face the Federation's soldiers.
They were on him instantly, six powerful blue-garbed figures bearing down on him from all directions. Their onslaught was so sudden that Taurin feared the legendary warrior would disappear in their first rush. He simply stood there, his head cocked to one side as they approached. They were almost upon him when he threw himself to the ground. Curling himself into a ball and casting himself forward, he disappeared through their ranks. His sword dashed up swiftly, striking one soldier straight in the chest. With a short gasp, the soldier fell to his knees. The crowd cheered heartily. "Rolling Thunder!" exclaimed the dark-haired girl next to Taurin, evidently familiar with Victen's distinctive techniques.
Five soldiers remained. They quickly recovered and charged towards Victen. His sword flew from one soldier to the next, parrying their skilled thrusts with undisguised ease. Then Taurin let out a gasp. One soldier stood right behind Victen, and was preparing to strike. Suddenly Victen spun around, his sword-arm held out stiffly. The wooden blade struck his opponent's exposed neck with a terrible impact, sending the soldier sprawling. "Whirlwind Turn!" came the exclamation from the dark-haired girl as the crowd rose to its feet cheering.
The four soldiers that were left fell back uneasily, regarding the legendary warrior with apprehension. Before they could recover, Victen was amid their ranks, launching thrusts in every direction. One soldier took an ambitious lunge at the red-armoured warrior. Victen vaulted backwards before the blow could connect; the soldier's sword struck one of his companions full in the chest.
And then there were three. They spread out in different directions, determined not to meet the same fate as the Toroian legend's last victim. Victen bounded towards one of the remaining soldiers, his wooden sword meeting his opponent's in a swift and uncompromising exchange. Suddenly he had disappeared behind his opponent, moving as the soldier attempted to parry a blow that never came. Victen's sword came hard to his back, and the soldier was eliminated. "Shadowstrike!" The girl beside Taurin spoke with a tone that approached awe.
The crowd was cheering relentlessly as Victen examined his last two opponents. Taurin was almost surprised to find himself among the most vocal. One of the soldiers launched himself at Victen, his blade bearing down in a menacing arc. Victen quickly sidestepped, and swung his sword upwards between the soldier's legs. The cheering was slightly less uniform this time, as many people in the audience winced in pain. "Silent Devastation!" shouted the girl triumphantly. The soldier crumpled to the ground, utterly beaten.
For long moments, Victen and the final soldier regarded each other forebodingly, the onlookers silent as they awaited one or the other to break the stalemate. Gasps suddenly went up through the crowd. Victen had not moved, but there was unmistakably a smile on his face. "I don't believe it," the girl whispered to nobody in particular. "I'm going to see the Crimson Juggernaut." The Federation soldier apparently knew what was coming, too. His face had gone deathly white and even from the distance it was evident that his sword-arm was shaking.
Victen moved forward and met his last opponent. He struck first to the left and then to the right, and the soldier blocked both blows. The warrior in red armour struck in either direction again, but this time his blows were more exaggerated, and his adversary took longer to meet the thrust from the right. The next attacks saw Victen jump to the left, thrust, and then jump back to the right and launch another attack. The pattern continued for a short time, the soldier's parries becoming more desperate each time. When he almost fumbled a particularly powerful blow from the left, Victen came at him again, this time from the centre rather than the right.
The crowd was totally silent now. Most of them knew what was coming, and the rest quickly guessed that it was something remarkable. This was the most devastating move in Victen's arsenal. It was called the Crimson Juggernaut, and no enemy had ever blocked it. It happened so quickly that Taurin could barely register what was happening. One moment Victen stood before his opponent, sword held in its normal position. Then he had leaped backwards slightly, his weapon held above his head like a war hammer. Before Victen's final opponent could fully recover from the last thrust to the left, the fabled warrior had leaped forward again, the sword coming down like a meteor. The soldier's frantic attempt to block it failed miserably. Sometimes Victen's opponents managed to bring their weapons back in time to meet his blade, but never with enough force to stop the onslaught; this time, this challenger did not even come close. The sword tore downwards along his face and chest with the force of a thunderbolt, ending the battle with a finality that appeased even the most drama-hungry onlookers. The soldier collapsed like a tower that just imploded, and Victen was left standing above his bloodied, comatose body, the Toroian's wooden sword held aloft in triumph.
The crowd was silent for several moments as it contemplated what had just happened. Then, all at once, a deafening applause began, loud beyond anything Taurin had ever heard. It seemed to last forever, continuing while Victen walked around the pit, waving to the crowd and smiling in triumph. He held his blood-streaked sword high in the air one last time, and then disappeared through the now-open gateway. The applause continued for a good while longer, eventually dying away to be replaced with a sombre silence as the onlookers considered the spectacle they had witnessed, realising that they had beheld the handiwork of a legend.
All at once, the crowd began to disperse, people leaving the Fighting Pit to experience Market Day's other attractions. Several remained, their eyes still focused dreamily on the arena floor. Among them was the dark-haired girl in worn purple silks. Her voice brought Taurin out of his own reverie.
"Was that the first time you saw Victen Armos fight?" Her voice was surprisingly soft for someone dressed so shabbily. Caught by surprise, he turned to face her.
"That's right. I've never been to Peldor before. My name's Taurin Eldoom. I'm from Bellguard."
She looked back at him, her soft brown eyes containing a hint of scepticism. "Where's Bellguard. I don't think I've ever heard of it. By the way, my name's Ravena. I'm from the town of Katheton." She smiled slightly, a flash of white teeth that contrasted against her tanned face and dark red lips.
Taurin would have guessed the girl to be about his age. If her brown hair had been any darker, it would have been black. It hung messily down her back, almost to her waist. Parts of it were tangled badly. If it weren't for her messy appearance, Taurin supposed that she would have been quite pretty.
"It's about half a day's journey away, on the Farnost Lowlands. Not many people have heard of it; it's a small village."
"I suppose you're here for Market Day." It was a statement rather than a question. Taurin nodded in response.
"My father and I came here so that he could vote and I could see Peldor. He's gone off somewhere for a little while and left me by myself." That seemed to satisfy her, because she did not pursue the matter any further. For some reason he could not explain, Taurin felt he could trust this strange girl, but there was no reason to mention the Collector just yet. "What about you?"
She gestured casually at her torn clothing. "I ran away." He looked at her incredulously.
"You ran away from home?"
Ravena nodded solemnly. "That's right. I came here to get away from my hometown. There were problems in Katheton, and I got sick of them." Taurin's surprise must have shown, because she let off a slight laugh. "Don't worry. I've been away from home for over two weeks now—I've lost count of the actual number of days—and I've been able to look after myself so far."
"How old are you, anyway?"
"Fourteen," Ravena responded casually. "What about you?"
"I'm thirteen, but I don't know if I'd be able to survive on the streets for a fortnight." He shivered involuntarily, the thought of the Collector stalking him through Peldor for two weeks cutting momentarily through the noonday light.
Ravena simply shrugged. "You've never had to try. Where are you headed to now, anyway?"
"I don't know," Taurin replied truthfully. "I was hoping to see some of the old landmarks, but I don't know where to start."
Ravena smiled disarmingly, her white teeth a brief flash of light. "What you need is a guide. I know Peldor almost as well as anyone, and can take you wherever you need to go. Does that sound good to you?"
Taurin nodded vigorously. "It would be a big help. Where should we go first?"
"We'll visit the heart of Peldor's history." She paused dramatically. "The Hall of Royalty."
The Hall of Royalty was a mammoth building of bronzed stone, its massive golden-brown doors thrown open to reveal a dimly lit hallway. Ascending a flight of stairs that was very wide at its base but narrowed as it approached the giant doors, Taurin and Ravena found themselves inside. A long corridor stretched away before them, its floor paved with a thick red carpet, its ceiling vaulted high above. Several sentries stood at the far end of the room, their boredom visible in their glazed eyes. Apart from the sentries, the two children were alone. The hallway had an ancient feel to it, though in truth the current structure was a much more recent building than many others. Yet it seemed that the Hall of Royalty bore the full weight of Peldor's one thousand years of history.
Ravena led him to the far end of the corridor. They passed through a pair of elaborate doors and found themselves in a small room dominated by a crystal chandelier. An impressive door stood on the other side of the room, set atop four small steps. It was divided into four giant panels, each of which revealed a scene from Peldor's distant past. Two slightly less intricate doors were also visible, one to their left, the other to their right.
"Well," Ravena announced, gesturing to the far door, "in that room you will find the Sword of Legend. Some people say it is the most valuable relic in all of Peldor—even in the all the Federation." She shrugged. "I don't know about that, though. Even if it's as powerful as they say, it's useless to anyone nowadays; it's embedded firmly in a block of marble. If we go left we'll reach a flight of stairs going down to the royal tombs. Not really my sort of thing, but you might enjoy it. But you have to pay to look around. To the right we have a series of rooms with a lot of paintings and artefacts showing the history of Peldor's kings, from Oldar Baron all the way to the final king Remingtar Stalvenos. Where do you want to go?"
Without hesitation, Taurin made his way through the far door and into the house of the Sword of Legend. The room that greeted him made his jaw drop. The room was shaped like a circle, its walls dominated by several marble arches that disappeared into the ceiling far above. In the centre of the room a circular dais held aloft a small white shrine. The shrine housed a block of white marble adorned by the same design of a sword embedded in a crown, flanked by moons that Taurin had seen at the city gates, this one etched in a faint silver colour. From the marble rose the most fabulous weapon Taurin had ever seen.
Its hilt made of sparkling silver and wrapped with red leather that had endured the ages without damage, the Sword of Legend glowed like a beacon in the night. An elaborate silver crossbar flowed into a narrow hand guard that joined to the sword's pommel. In its centre was etched a pair of wings, light seeming to flow from the curious design. But it was the blade that caught Taurin's attention first. It ran from the crossbar into the block of marble, its edges parallel lines without flaw. The blade burned with a radiance that it could not disguise, its magnificent light forcing Taurin to look away. This was the sword of kings, the weapon that Cecil and Peldor had brought to bear against the forces of evil. This was the blade of Paladins.
"It's brilliant, isn't it?" Ravena's voice came from behind him, taking Taurin's attention away from the sparkling blade.
"I've never seen anything like it." That was the simple truth. Nor would he again, he thought. Here was a weapon that seemed to come not just from another age, but from another world.
They spent several minutes staring in awe at the Sword of Legend, their eyes drinking in its brilliance, their minds transported to a time long gone. Finally, Ravena turned and disappeared. After several more moments spent gazing longingly at the sword, Taurin followed her.
They now went through the door to the right, and in the rooms that followed, Taurin immersed himself in Peldor's proud and dark history. Murals told of the birth of Oldar Baron in a nameless village by a great river, of his journey through the wilderness as a child, and his coming to the lands that would one day bear his name. Paintings depicted his desperate attempt to rally the surrounding towns to repel an invasion from across the ocean, his prowess in the war that followed, and his rise to the throne.
In faded sketches, Taurin saw the kingdom of Baron discover technologies now lost forever and build a fleet of flying ships to conquer neighbouring lands. The war of the four kingdoms rolled by in series of tapestries, and before Taurin knew it he was witnessing Cecil the Brave draw forth the Sword of Legend and travel to the moon to conquer an evil that predated the world of men.
Then he was looking back on the life of Peldor the Great, his desperate war alongside the Warriors of Kain against the invaders from the Underworld, his mighty deeds as he fought against the Seven Crimson Mages, his daring rescue of the beautiful Alena Rasslehelm and their subsequent marriage, his efforts to construct a system of roads and border forts, his role in building great cities throughout his realm, his journey to Mysidia to preserve the power of the Crystals of Light, his actions to seal away the black arts, his death at the hands of his own son. Taurin shivered as he saw Theolen the Fallen study the forbidden arts of black magic, building up an arsenal of spells the like of which had not been seen since the foundation of Mysidia and the end of the Shadow Years. He tensed as he watched him overcome Peldor in single combat as the whole city looked on from the seating of the Royal Stadium. He bore witness to Theolen's inability to wield the Sword of Legend, and his journey to Mount Ordeals to unlock its power. He lamented the end of the Harvey line as Theolen—unable to conquer his dark past—was torn apart by the spirits that inhabited the shrine atop Mount Ordeals, his ashes scattered in the wind.
And so the House of Eldan began its time on the throne of Baron, now called Peldor. But the next painting told of the Black Siege, the return of the armies of monsters thought forever defeated in the time of Cecil and Peldor. Eventually aid came from Eblan and the siege was broken, but not before the gates of the city were thrown down and King Ipswen seized by the invading armies. The quiet ages that followed—depicted in peaceful tapestries of soft colours—saw Peldor withdraw from the affairs of surrounding lands, and lose contact with the goings-on in the wider world. The Argorlans ruled in that time, quiet but diligent men well suited to those happy years. Eventually their line faded, and Karlen Janlor came to the throne.
A man well-versed in the lore of foreign kingdoms, he could sense the changing nature of the world around him. Disturbed by the rise of warlike kings in the neighbouring lands, he began an unpopular but effective campaign to bolster Peldor's armies and to repair its crumbling and abandoned border forts. It was left to his great-grandson Gard to face war when it eventually came. The Dusk Wars saw battle on every front, and the paintings that depicted it were sombre indeed. Several times throughout the decades of battle that followed, enemy soldiers marched through Peldor's streets, sometimes making it as far as the walls of the Old Castle. Gard became ill during the long wars and passed away, leaving the remains of the kingdom to his nephew Armant. Armant fell in battle, repelling an assault that threatened to swallow the entire city.
Remingtar Stalvenos came to the throne next, the last king that Peldor would ever produce. His statue stood in the final room, a proud man with his head held high. Murals depicted his valiant defence of the city, and his formation of the Circle of Paladins—an order of men both wise in lore and skilled in the art of swordplay. They founded themselves on the principles espoused by Cecil and Peldor long centuries ago, striving to recapture something of the glory of Peldor's distant past. The Circle numbered thirteen, including Remingtar, and became the body of government during those dark days. Long years of war saw the invading armies driven back beyond Peldor's old borders and vanquished.
After the war, Remingtar decided that the age of monarchies was over, at least as far as Peldor was concerned. He decreed that the Circle of Paladins should continue to rule the city and the surrounding lands, but that each paladin must vacate his position upon reaching the age of seventy; the people of the great city would then choose a successor. Later this was widened to include all people throughout the realm, and the Circle of Paladins eventually gave way to a government of mayors and officials—and after almost two hundred years without a monarch, Peldor sent representatives to Mysidia to engage in the discussions that would lead to the founding of the Federation. But the final painting in the Hall of Royalty showed Remingtar Stalvenos pictured against a golden sunset, the royal crown clasped in one hand as he declared the age of kings at an end.
Taurin let out a sigh of exhaustion, the first seven hundred years of Peldor's history having passed before his eyes in an hour that felt like an age of the world. Yawning slightly, he turned towards Ravena who was still reading the plaque beneath the last painting.
"It really brings home how old this city is."
The dark-haired girl nodded. "Even the last part of the story happened three hundred years ago. And it's been more than a thousand years since Oldar Baron first came to this land. It makes for a lot of history."
As weary as the long history of Peldor's kings left him, Taurin was eager to see more of the ancient city. "Where should we go now?"
A faint smile crossed Ravena's face. "Give me a moment to recover, okay? I've had enough history for one day, but there are plenty of other things we can see. Lots of old fountains and statues, a few nice parks, even some pretty roads. I'll show you around the city."
As unappealing as Taurin found the thought of pretty roads, he had to admit that he was better off following Ravena than finding his way around Peldor alone. So the two children explored the city for the next few hours, one experiencing its landmarks and passageways for the first time, the other passing along streets her feet had traversed many times. There was far more to see than they could fit into one day, but they tried their best. As afternoon faded and evening crept in, Ravena decided it was time for Taurin to go home, and began heading for the Pirate's Nest. That disappointed him, because he enjoyed the girl's company. Back at the inn he would be by himself, and he would be bored.
"Will you still be here tomorrow," Ravena asked suddenly.
Taurin nodded. "I'm in Peldor for a few days."
The girl looked well pleased. "Terrific. If you don't have anything to do, we can probably look around the city some more? All the shops will be closed tomorrow, and the museums will, too. But there still should be plenty to see."
"Sure, where will we meet up? I'll need to go to the Old Castle tomorrow, for a little while, but it shouldn't take too much time out of the day."
She pursed her lips slightly. "Easiest place to meet might be Haunlett Park. There's a stone bench just a little way away from the Three Kings. Wait there after breakfast, and I'll find you."
With that she bid him farewell, because the inn was now in sight. As he watched her recede into the distance, Taurin finally turned and headed inside, to await dinner and then head upstairs for much-needed sleep.