The guards pulled up to the entrance, stopping just before the threshold.
The outer wall to Olderim was monstrous. An endless stretch of stone dwarfed its surroundings.
Before us was a door, its metal surface etched with detailed depictions of elves riding elks, branding weapons, and wielding magick. Its beauty was inspiring yet intimidating. Two burning torches stood on either side of the entrance, illuminating the metal designs in hues of red and orange. No other signs of life stirred outside the walls, the night swallowing up all but the entrance before us. Everyone was silent, awaiting the next move.
A hollow sound grew from behind the doors and they began to open. Dull light spilled from the crack as they opened wider. Hands rose to blocks eyes, mouths aghast in wonder at the vision presented before us. The wagon was pulled forward into the light, into the city beyond. The last thing I heard as we entered was Petrer’s long drawl, “Fuck.”
“WHAT TOOK YOU so long? Everyone else has arrived already.” The guard beyond the gate spoke only to the two who had brought us, not once glancing back at the wagon.
“What do you expect? They’re from the furthest village from ’ere,” one replied. It was the first time I’d heard his voice since leaving Horith.
“Anything to report?” The gate guard asked.
“Seems like they got to Talnot. It’s a ghost town back there.”
The gate guard’s face twisted. “I’ll pass it on to the King.” With that she waved us forward, and the wagon began to move once again.
Olderim had changed a lot in the years since my last visit. Although, visually, the details of the streets were hazy in memory, it was the scent of burning coals and the sea that reminded me of a time long ago. The once contained city had since tripled in size. Ancient, deep oak structures blended with newer sandstone buildings, a patchwork of architecture.
Olderim was the primary Elven settlement in Thessolina, a walled fortress bustling with life. Home to the King and what was left of the royal family; the citadel was the most important in the land. It’d been built next to the ocean and used as the main trading port since its creation, naturally becoming the hub of all major trading between Morgatis and Eldnol.
My eyes scanned the streets of Masarion, the outer rim of the city, as the wagon jolted across its cobbled streets. The domed stone roofs of the newer buildings towered above the rickety dark wood shacks sitting crookedly beside them. The older structures I remembered, but the grand stone buildings were new to me.
Fa had told me of Olderim’s growth every year he arrived back from trading, but I never imagined such a large change in such a short period of time.
The streets of Masarion bustled with life, the most I had seen since leaving Horith. Smoke seeped from open doors of taverns as elves of all ages disappeared into the red glow of the buildings. Strings of material hung across the narrow streets, tied between shutters from opposite buildings. Slacks, cloaks and other clothing pieces hung from it, swaying in a choreographed dance with the breeze. I thought back to the time I’d visited, when I was only seven moons old. It was a struggle to remember the time, but I saw brief images of embers burning in open hearths and tankards spilling with an amber liquid. I’d loved city life, even begging Fa every year since to bring me back. But he never did. With each moon that passed, my memories of Olderim faded and warped into an incoherent string of images that did not match what I saw before me.
The wagon jolted, knocking me from my seat. I landed on Petrer’s lap, thrust forward by the sharp bump. Others too had fallen, some laughing and others shrieking. The guards turned to look back, but said no words of apology.
“Sorry…” I mumbled as I pushed off his lap, although Petrer’s smirk suggested he didn’t mind at all. I stumbled back to my seat in time to see a haggle of elven women dressed in deep burgundy cloaks entering the loudest tavern we’d past yet. I took a shuddered breath when the door opened, my mouth watering over the scent of ale and steamed meats that poured onto the street.
Petrer pointed, noticing the glowing interior before the door slammed shut. “Shame we can’t sneak in there for a quick pint, my mouth is as dry as the Morgatis desert.”
I nodded, cutting the conversation short so I wouldn’t miss a single detail of the fascinating place. Petrer huffed and leaned back in his seat, clearly bugged from my lack of response. At least he got the hint.
***
WE PASSED THROUGH the maze of interlocking streets, dim alleys and countless archways. Hanging bowls of fire lit the way, casting orange shadows across the path ahead. I rubbed my hands to warm them, every now and then blowing hot breath onto them. I was jealous of the passing fires, they seemed to tease me with their heat and glowing embers of comfort.
The wagon rolled over a bridge of marble and smooth stone. I leaned over the side of the wagon and caught a glimpse of the waterway beneath us. Silver finned fish propelled above the water, moonlight reflected across their scales. I’d never seen water so clear, each grain of sand visible in the depths below. The lakes and rivers in Horith were muddy and dark, nothing like the one beneath us.
Calls from younglings sounded to my left. I turned to their cries to see a small group, each taking turns jumping into the river, their light laughter bouncing across its surface like a skipping pebble.
Even in the belly of night, the city was burning with life. It was contagious; I longed to join them and bathe the day’s journey from my skin.
We reached the end of the bridge and I spotted a sign, the word Thalor carved into its wood. The middle district of Olderim, a place I hadn’t visited before.
Only grand structures of white stone stood, lining the streets of Thalor.
From what I could see, it was like stepping into a different world. If I didn’t turn back to see Masarion over the bridge, I may not have believed we’d ever been through it.
I looked up to admire the buildings that towered above. Grey slated dome roofs, each a work of the best craftsmanship and stature sat atop each building. I could only imagine those who lived inside, each rolling in coins and power. These were not made for common folk, that much was clear.
Apart from the candlelight from the many rooms, there was no other sign of life in Thalor. Not a single elf walked by. There was no laughter from taverns, or noises of evening trades. Silence wrapped around the wagon, the echo of rolling wheels and elk’s hooves were the only sounds in the city.