Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 29

The alley opened up in a rather desolate corner of the city's market district and out strode Farren and Linder. Down a flight of moss-covered, sun-cracked stone stairs, there stood what looked like a run-down apothecary, its rusty sign hanging askew.

"Know why it's so hard for an outsider to get to Silver Knife?" Farren looked up at him.

Had he known why, he wouldn't have cornered her outside of Silver Knife seven years ago. He simply could've strode through the main entrance-- only if he could find it. He never did.

"The place doesn't exist on the map," he said, "but only in rumours."

"Ah, I wish it were that mystical-- a place only existing in people's memories, some sort of mass hallucination," she said, taking long, carefree strides, "now that would've been rather grand. But I'll tell you the truth."

With a dramatic twirl of her skirt, Farren stepped around to face him, a dashing smile playing on her lips.

Linder knew this was vital information she was about to disclose, for which he'd once wandered fruitlessly down the streets and found nothing, that this was an answer to the illusion which had fooled him.

But he found it difficult to concentrate on anything else other than ...her. He had seen her in battle garb, armed with her axe and spiked helm adorning her head, not unlike a crown. Yet today, dressed in the plain, rustic attire of a peasant girl, she was strangely reminiscent of the people from the little village where he came from. A sudden homesickness clawed at his heart.

Hollow praise, she says. Does she not see what I do?

The bounce in her steps, unhindered by the weight of armour and weapons, the specks of gold caught in the deep brown of her eyes, wind ruffling her wild hair...Sweet Draedona, he regretted tricking her back in the alley.

"...and the entrances keep changing," she finished explaining.

"Huh?" Linder hadn't registered a word Farren had said. Get back to your senses, you fool. He needed to cover it up somehow. "Actually, I didn't get that part about the entrances changing. Mind repeating that?"

"Is that so?" Farren cocked her eyebrow, seeing right through him. A crooked smile tugged on her lips. "Then let me show you the practical demonstration instead. Theory seems to...bore you."

She led him down the stairs to the door of the apothecary. Before she could knock however, the door flew open on its creaky hinges and out came an aggravated customer, muttering rather colorful phrases about the shopkeeper.

"Whatever, I want my money back, that's all!" said the customer in response to something the shopkeeper yelled back, then shoved past the two of them.

Inside, the shop was completely different from its dilapidated exterior. A neatly arranged apothecary it was, fire crackling in the hearth in one corner, and a large painting of a raven occupying the wall on the left.

Across a counter laden with herbs and vials and potion bottles, sat a witch-- quite possibly the owner of the shop-- still shouting after the customer.

"Well, if my remedies are so bad, why not go to a Dark Saints healer and fix your headache, eh?" she yelled, "oh, I know! You ain't got coin for that!"

She was a woman in her twenties with dark, plaited hair, dressed in a black lace gown and a pointed hat atop her head. She was stunningly beautiful, and equally as angry-- if the loud thunk with which she placed a jar of dried herbs on the counter was any indication.

"She's guarding the entrance to Silver Knife," Farren said out of the corner of her mouth, "she is the one who'll let us pass."

Linder doubted they were entering today. Yet Farren was her usual self. She leaned low over the counter, fixing the witch with a hooded gaze.