Chapter 35
It had been a few days since we'd left the village for the city. I was already regretting not taking the lizard along for the entirety of the journey.
Instead of keeping our one available mount, I'd responsibly sent Scaly back to the forest the moment we crossed the Wailing Woods. Why was I suddenly acting like a responsible adult?
Despite my aching legs, I knew it had been the right decision to let Scaly go. A giant lizard tends to attract unwanted attention, and I wasn't in the mood to be arrested or attacked again.
At the time of our departure, Laine had cried like he was saying goodbye to the love of his life. Scaly, on the other hand, had looked about as emotionally invested as a rock. Actually, scratch that. I've seen rocks with more warmth.
Now, we were walking. On foot. In the cold, dark night.
"I'm just saying," Laine whined for the sixth time in an hour, "the journey would've been faster with Scaly. And warmer. And did I mention faster?"
"A giant lizard tends to stand out, genius," I snapped.
Laine muttered something under his breath that I chose to ignore. Mostly because I was too tired to punch him.
We climbed over a hill, and I spotted lights in the distance. A town.
"Laine," I said, "keep walking. That inn you've been crying about isn't far now."
Laine perked up immediately. "Thank the gods. I think I'm developing permanent trauma from lizard separation. My legs aren't built for this much ground contact. I'm not a walker, Sam. I'm a sitter. A professional sitter."
"You're a professional idiot," I muttered.
He ignored me. "Also, my boots have a vendetta against my feet. I think they're plotting a murder-suicide."
I adjusted the cage at my hip, the one holding Vorrak, the talking skull. He was still sealed in soundproof cloth, bouncing against my side like an annoying magical maraca. If he said anything, I didn't hear it. Which was great because Laine was enough to keep me in a sour mood...
In minutes, we were on the outskirts of the town. Fires crackled in massive braziers, and people were running around, dancing, laughing, and wearing some truly hideous costumes.
Naturally, I assumed the worst.
"Is this… a riot?" I asked, frowning.
Laine looked around. "No, I think they're… celebrating."
"What makes you say that?"
He pointed up.
Atop the town gates was a glowing, floating banner that read:
"Welcome Heroes!"
Which, frankly, felt a bit presumptuous.
"What heroes are they welcoming?" I asked Laine.
He shrugged as we entered the town.
One guy passed us wearing what I'm pretty sure was a bed sheet duct-taped to his shoulders, yelling something about "banishing the fire wyrms." Another had wrapped himself in aluminum foil, marching like a soldier made of leftovers.
A woman waddled by in what I think was a troll costume but mostly looked like someone had lost a fight with a sack of potatoes.
Laine looked absolutely delighted by his surroundings. "Look at them! They're getting into character."
"I don't think 'confused garbage monster' counts as a character," I said.
A child ran past us with a soup pot on his head. He paused just long enough to shout, "The Hero of Cabbage returns!" before hurling a toy spear at a scarecrow.
I briefly considered turning around and going back to the forest to escape whatever madness this was. Instead, I gathered myself and kept walking.
We weaved our way through the crowd. No one paid us much attention, which suited me just fine.
Eventually, we found the inn—if you could even call it that.
It looked like it had been built by drunk termites and held together with nothing but hope and a series of bad decisions. But at least it had a roof and walls, which were the only two requirements I had at this point.
We pushed open the door.
Inside, the air smelled like sour ale, burnt soup, and something faintly reminiscent of wet socks. A crooked chandelier dangled from the ceiling by a single, frayed rope, practically waiting for the perfect moment to drop.
The floorboards groaned under our steps, and in the far corner, an animal that may have been a cat glared at me from a barstool it had claimed as its throne. I decided not to question it.
Even though the inn looked like a carpenter's failed side hustle, it was just as lively inside as it was outside. People cheered while chugging drinks and singing off-key songs about "heroes" from the past.
"Laine, go deal with the innkeeper," I said, gesturing vaguely at a stout man behind the bar who was yelling at a barrel.
"Why me?"
"Because I've had enough human interaction for one lifetime."
While Laine haggled over room rates, I approached a drunk guy who was laughing at his own joke.
"What's the occasion?" I asked.
He looked at me like I'd asked why the water was wet. "You're not from around here, huh?"
"That obvious?"
He grinned. "Festival of Heroes starts tomorrow. Biggest one we've had in years."
"Heroes," I repeated flatly.
"Yeah! People dress up as their favorite legends, reenact famous battles, and tell stories around bonfires. Free ale for everyone too. You'll love it!"
I highly doubted that. First of all, I couldn't get drunk due to the immunity I'd been 'gifted' with. Secondly, drunk people were far more annoying than regular people, especially when you were the only sober one.
Laine returned, somehow having secured rooms for us at half price, along with a complimentary dinner that strongly resembled leftover stew. But beggars can't be choosers, so I gobbled up what I could.
After dinner, he handed me a key, and I handed him Vorrak's cage in exchange.
"I'm not dealing with him tonight," I said.
Laine opened his mouth to argue.
I gave him a look.
He let out a resigned sigh and trudged up the stairs like a man heading to his own execution.
I climbed up to my room, locked the door behind me, and collapsed face-first onto a bed that felt like heaven—if heaven was lumpy and smelled like old boots. Still, it beat sleeping on dirt.
I was asleep before my boots hit the floor.
I woke suddenly to a cacophony of drums, shouting, and what I could only describe as the very distinct "WHUMPH" of someone being launched from a catapult.
This was not the peaceful nap I had hoped for.
I sat up, groaning as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I staggered over to the window and opened the shutters…
Oh. Of course.
A parade.
Balloons, streamers, and people in armor made out of painted cardboard. Children chased after candy and confetti—like the little gremlins that they were. A man in a golden robe stood atop a cart shouting into a crystal megaphone.
"LET THE FESTIVAL OF HEROES COMMENCE!"
I shut the window so fast I nearly caught my own fingers in it.
I stared at the ceiling. "Nope," I muttered. "Absolutely not."
There was no way I was getting involved in this. We needed to buy horses and head to Lis immediately.
"Laine!" I shouted through the wall. "We're leaving!"
No answer.
I got dressed, pulled on my boots, and walked over to his room. Vorrak's cage was sitting there on the floor, rattling slightly as the skull inside muttered something about "overrated peasantry" and "medieval karaoke." I grabbed the sound-dampening cloth and tossed it back over the cage.
"Not today," I said.
Downstairs, the tavern was nearly deserted. Everyone had probably sprinted off to the festival.
I asked the innkeeper if he'd seen my "idiot companion."
He pointed toward the town square without looking up from the glass he was polishing. "He's with the other idiots."
Fantastic.
"You don't like the festival, do you?" I asked the man.
"You think a festival that gives out free ale would be good for business?"
Fair point.
I left the inn and elbowed my way through the crowd, past a man dressed as a griffin (badly), two women in matching dragon onesies, and someone juggling what I really hoped weren't actual swords. The whole square was a riot of color and sound. I hated it all with a passion.
And there, standing on a small wooden stage, wearing a stupidly wide grin and waving a toy sword like a man possessed…
Was Laine.
A sign behind him read:
"Challenger Registration – Festival of Heroes!"
I groaned at the sight.
He spotted me instantly and shouted, "We have a new challenger!"
The crowd turned. People started clapping. Someone forcefully slipped a sash around my shoulders that read "Hero Candidate" in embroidered gold thread. Another person tossed a handful of glitter directly into my face.
I was one eye-twitch away from setting the entire stage on fire.
Laine leaped off the stage, practically skipping over to where I stood. "Good news!" he said. "First place gets one hundred gold coins and a magical bag of holding!"
"I don't want either of those things. And aren't all bags supposed to hold? What's magical about that?"
"Well, I do," he said cheerfully. "And don't you want to see how many eggs you can carry across a balance beam?"
"Not even slightly."
Laine ignored me. "Come on, Sam. For me. After everything I've done."
I stared at him. "And what have you done exactly?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Let's not go into the nitty-gritty of things."
A trumpet blared before I could stab him with the stupid sash pin. Somewhere in the distance, a voice declared, "Let the games begin!"
People cheered. Someone grabbed me from behind and pushed me into a roped-off area. Another person handed me three small throwing axes, gesturing toward a straw bullseye target roughly the size of a barn door.
My opponent was a disheveled man in patchy robes who smelled like cabbage and despair. He raised his axes like a trained warrior.
The bell rang.
He went first. His first axe missed the target entirely and hit a chicken coop. The second axe fell right out of his hand mid-swing. The third got stuck in the rope barrier. He bowed anyway, and the people cheered.
I sighed, raised my first axe, and tossed it without looking.
Dead center.
The crowd exploded like I'd just reinvented fire.
Laine screamed, "You're a natural!"
I wasn't. I was annoyed and tired and just wanted to go home. I threw the second axe with no effort. It slipped from my fingers and bounced off a post, somehow hitting the bullseye again.
People lost their minds.
I didn't even let go of the axe for the final throw, planning to embed it in the ground and end this farce once and for all. The blade end simply slid off the wooden handle mid-swing and sailed through the air, embedding itself perfectly in the center of the target.
Children started chanting. "True Hero! True Hero!"
The cheering made me wince.
I turned to Laine. "I hate you."
The next round was an obstacle course. Wooden planks, ropes, some fire for dramatic effect, and a challenge that required balancing an egg on a spoon while being screamed at by a man in a goblin mask.
I grabbed my egg on the first step and threw it to the ground.
The crowd gasped.
Then someone shouted, "He's completed the Hidden Trial of Sacrifice!"
Trumpets blared. A goat somewhere bleated in approval. I was given extra points.
I was beginning to suspect the judges were just making things up as they went.
By the time the third challenge rolled around, I was being carried on the shoulders of three burly men wearing glittery tunics. A parade of dancers circled us, throwing flower petals, and someone sang a ballad about "The Hero of the Flaming Axes."
I tried to escape but was firmly repositioned on a platform and crowned with a circle made of breadsticks.
Laine gave me a thumbs-up from the crowd and mouthed, You're doing great!
I mouthed back, I'm going to kill you.
Then I saw him.
In the back of the crowd. Watching from under a hood. The robes were dark black and not that uncommon, but something about them was strangely familiar.
The Cult of the Void.
I had a sinking feeling that this ridiculous festival was about to get a lot less fun.