9 Home #2
Vaelira looked from the young man to Eli, who was already moving ahead, his hood drawn tight against the chill mountain air. Giving her trusted companion a reassuring stroke, she watched as Millie was led away, then hurried to catch up with the others.
They turned left onto a broad street lined with shops unlike any she’d seen before. Storefronts were built into the tall stone buildings, with glass paned windows and neat little mats before each door. Hand painted signs swung above each entry.
Miss Selma’s Silks, Eretria Jewellery, Needles & Notions, Madame Noctra’s…
The shops seemed to go on forever, some dark and shuttered, but most still open, lamplight glowing invitingly from within.
They turned right onto a narrow street, leaving the shops behind.
Night had settled now, cloaking the few shadowed doorways they passed.
The gloom deepened until a pair of torches came into view, revealing a black iron gate rising from the cobblestones.
Two guards stood on the other side, and one lifted his torch higher, its light catching their faces.
As before, the guards snapped to attention.
“Welcome back, Lord Commander,” one of them said, while the other unlocked the gate.
The trio passed through and continued down the narrow street.
There were no doorways either side now, only pale, unbroken stone.
At the end of the street rose a tall building, its upper floors bridging the path with a broad archway.
They passed beneath it into a wide, low tunnel, the scuff of their boots soft against the worn stone.
Beyond, another arch opened into a courtyard.
A single tree stood in the centre, its bare branches reaching skyward like outstretched fingers.
Pale bark gleamed faintly in the torchlight, dark fissures running along its trunk, a wide wooden bench circling its base.
On the opposite side of the courtyard, several archways opened into a long hall, and above them shadows moved across the warm light that spilled down from the upper windows.
On the right, heavy wooden doors stood shut beneath a large clock.
To the left, a single storey building stretched the length of the courtyard.
Torches blazed on the surrounding walls, casting dancing shadows across the large paned windows.
“Welcome to the barracks,” Jurah said, pride softening the lines of his face. Eli stood beside her like a ghost, hands loose at his sides.
The sound of fast footsteps echoed and a tall guard with cropped blonde hair appeared beneath the far-left arch, a sword strapped at her hip.
She started across the courtyard but stopped short when she spotted them, standing at attention.
Something gold glinted at her neck where her cape was fastened. A Royal Crest.
“Lord Commander,” she said respectfully, but unable to hide the tinge of surprise.
“At ease,” Jurah replied.
The woman nodded and continued walking, glancing sidelong at Vaelira when she passed. Once she disappeared through the arch behind them, Jurah gestured to the large double doors on their right.
“Training rooms,” he said, then pointed to the left. “Refectory.” He motioned ahead to the lit windows above. “Dormitories.” Turning, he nodded towards the building behind them, to the left of the archway they’d come through. “Report to my office tomorrow morning for orientation.”
A lump rose in Vaelira’s throat. This was it. This would be her home for the foreseeable future.
Home. Among strangers, in a city so large it made her feel entirely insignificant. The image of Freya’s wild grin flashed in her mind. There was no going back now.
They crossed under the archways, finding another long hall branching off from the one that ran parallel with the courtyard. At the far end, a gilded gate sealed the opening beyond.
“What’s down there?” Vaelira asked.
“The Noble Quarter,” Jurah said. “You are not permitted to enter without express permission.”
She nodded, her eyes lingering on the silhouette of a guard standing on the other side of the gate, the street beyond silent.
They climbed the stairs, passing two levels of dormitories before reaching the top floor. Voices murmured behind closed doors, but none opened as they passed. Jurah stopped at a door like all the others, marked only by a number. Thirty-two.
“Your room,” he said, handing her a key. She took it, the metal cold and heavy in her palm.
“At the end of the hall is the washroom. Men’s on the left, women’s on the right. Breakfast starts at six. Orientation at seven.”
Vaelira nodded, her head spinning. She needed to lie down.
“Thanks,” she said, then added quickly, “Lord Commander.”
Jurah smiled at the formality and patted her on the back. “You’ll do fine,” he said, then turned back down the hall.
Vaelira sagged against the doorframe.
“Are you okay?” Eli’s asked.
She spun too quickly, heart lurching. She’d completely forgotten he was there.
“Is your room up here?” she asked, trying to ignore the pounding in her skull.
He smiled wryly. “No, not here.”
“Okay, well, goodnight.”
She turned the key in the lock and closed the door behind her. She didn’t wait to listen to his footsteps as he left.
The room was small. Tiny, actually. There was enough space for a narrow bed and a dresser beneath the window but nothing else.
The curtain hung open to the night, the torchlight from the courtyard casting a faint glow across the ceiling.
She lit a candle, unbuckled her weapons, dropped her pack to the floor, and collapsed onto the bed, willingly succumbing to her exhaustion.
A knock woke her.
She blinked, disorientated. The candle was still lit, but it hadn’t burned down by much. Frowning, she stood slowly, her head spinning. She opened the door, finding a young boy standing in the hall, something wrapped with cloth in his hands.
“Hello,” she said, peering down at him.
He pushed the bundle towards her, eyes darting back down the hall. “Take it please, miss.”
She did, then without another word, he turned and hurried away, his footsteps silent on the stone. She shut the door and looked down. Beneath the cloth was a plate with cheese, bread, and thick slices of cold meat. An unexpected kindness from Jurah.
She sat on the bed and ate, grateful for the silence and a quiet moment to breathe. When she lay down again, she remembered to blow out the candle.
Vaelira skipped breakfast, her stomach too tight with nerves to eat. She crossed the courtyard, the clatter of cutlery and quiet murmur of voices drifting from the refectory. A few people ducked in and out, but no one gave her a second glance.
She had arrived several days late for orientation, so Jurah gave her a brief tour of the barracks and showed her to the stables.
She only had a moment to see Millie before he hurried her back to the courtyard and handed her a sheet of parchment with her weekly schedule.
She settled on the bench beneath the tree and began to read.
To her surprise, the schedule didn’t look entirely different from what she’d known in Anhaven.
Weapons Training, Drills, and Sparring were familiar.
So were the formal classes such as Demon Lore and Civic Duty, but a few stood out.
Etiquette and History weren’t taught in Anhaven, and even First Aid was reserved for those already on active duty.
As a first-year guard, she wouldn’t have been allowed on duty beyond the wall.
If anyone nearby needed first aid they would have been taken straight to Kili at the Sanatorium, but she supposed that wasn’t always an option here.
In a city this size, some wounds couldn’t wait for professional attention.
She didn’t even know where the Sanatorium was.
Everything felt massive here, indifferent to any one person’s needs. Caerthalyn made her hometown feel like Meer, with its feeble wall and lacklustre guards.
Eli had been right. She had a lot to learn.
One word on the parchment made her pause. It was repeated several times throughout the week. Patrol.
Did they expect her to patrol the streets already? What was she meant to do if a fight broke out, or if a disagreement turned into a full-blown riot? She pictured the crowded chaos of New Town and tried not to wince.
At the bottom of the page, there was a note, stating that recruits would be excluded from patrol duties in their first week while they got their bearings. A small mercy.
Underneath this, a final note had been inked in bold.
CURFEW AT SUNDOWN.
ALL RECRUITS INSIDE BARRACKS.
NO EXCEPTIONS.
Vaelira paused. There had been a curfew in Allen too. Strange that areas with such immense fortification would need a curfew in place. Unless it wasn’t due to breached walls and the risk of demons infiltrating the city.
She set her questions about the curfew aside for the moment.
At this time of year, she would barely have time to finish her training and lectures before heading to the refectory for dinner.
With that, and only one day off at the end of the week, there wouldn’t be time for much else.
Like socialising with other recruits… or finding her way into the Royal Library.
She glanced up at the clock. She was already thirty minutes late for drills. Exhaling, she rose from the bench and strode up the stairs, pushing open the heavy doors as anxiety prickled under her skin. But beneath the nerves was a current she hadn’t expected.
Excitement.