“Mom! Mom! Can we go in yet?”

  A young boy with straw colored hair pulled at his mother’s sleeves. His mother turned to him and chastised him.

  “Not yet Iggy. We have to be patient, we worked very hard for this. So a few hours here and there, isn't keeping us from anything. ”

  The two stood by their cart, which was stacked full of fresh produce and handicrafts from their village, and were waiting their turn to enter the city. This was a season’s worth of work and the two were to go into the city and sell their villiage’s toil for coin. In turn, they will take the coin and buy household goods requested by their neighbors, and if there was any left, they were to deposit it in their shared account, used as a reserve for poor harvests, which felt more common than not nowadays.

  Iggy’s parents took turns going to the city market as the villiage representatives, and this time it was Genevieve’s turn as her husband was busy sowing next season's crops with Iggy’s siblings and other men in the village.

  Today, the city guards took much longer than usual. Only letting people into the city after a thorough examination of their goods and possessions. On the other hand, a steady trickle of traders left the city, and ensured a good wagon or two’s worth of space down the dirt road that were filled with people stretching their legs and chatting in the open.

  “Woah, woah!” a commotion from the crowds of traders ahead caught Genevieve and Iggy’s attention.

  “Everyone get out of the way!” A scream cleared the people lollygagging on the outbound lane like a plow did dirt, Genevieve pulled Iggy to the side and the two hid behind their old mare, Honey, who had made this trip for longer than Iggy had been alive.

  A large carriage barrelled down the road and straight through the crowded road. Two figures drove the vehicle, spurring on two giant, stout horses, pulling a large, box carriage. The two horses were larger and more muscular than any horses that Iggy had ever seen. And a beautiful young girl, beautiful brown curls flowed in the air as her carriage passed.

  It was a brief moment, but in the half second that the horses ran by, Iggy had lived an entire adventure as a member of the king’s calvary, breaking through enemy lines and conquering lands far away. He would prove his worth in battle and would be granted a large swathe of land on the frontier, and enough money to build a large homestead and barn. He would enter a tournament, and find the brown haired girl, and win it for her honor, and she would have him. The child dreamed, his future in reach.

  He turned excitedly to his mother, “Did you see the two war horses?”

  His mother didn't answer, she stepped out back into the open road after peeking her head out and just stared down at the carriage that continued to zip down the road. She wasn't the only one, most of those in line had stepped out to look at the carriage disappearing into the distance.

  “They are much larger than our Honey,” Iggy continued his conversation with the family’s horse. He patted her on the head, “and they are so much faster too! Think of the places that they can go… Honey! Do you think you'd be able to keep up?”

  Honey snorted. The young child babbled incessantly in front of her face. He was clearly excited by something, but she didn't know what. Probably something to do with the two young whippersnappers that ran past them. His eyes were bright and his hands waved back and forth.

  “Adventure! We can go on an adventure! You’d be my trusty steed and we can catch up to King Arsalan out west! Father has an old sword and shield from grampa! I can borrow it and we can head out once we get back home. We just need to think of what supplies we need. And we are in the right spot! We can buy a new saddle for you, and a new halter!”

  He continued his chatter, Honey blinked slowly. She was certain that he had big plans for her. It was the same for all his siblings. When she was younger, she could catch their youthful enthusiasm, she would dream about running across grasslands, free and unencumbered. But nothing ever came of their enthusiasm. They would just fall back into their routine of working the land, giving up their dreams of leaving or finding a trade.

  Genevieve finally snapped out her shock and came back to the two, checking up on her son and relieving Honey from his imagination. That was some much needed excitement for those waiting by the gates and speculation kept the folk busy for the remainder of their wait. Rumors was that it was a quack doctor making their getaway, but no one was quite sure about the strangers who came down the road.

  It was a few hours, but they were able to make it through the city gates before nightfall. Two silver coins were paid to the gate guards, who picked over every single box stacked on their wagon before waving them on. Usually they charged a single silver coin, but a thorough examination of their goods meant that the full customs charge was charged. Genevieve, often acknowledging the benefit of doubt that they had with the city guards, was surprised by the diligence shown today and grumbled at the higher than expected customs.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  They looked over their town privilege, a paper license to sell at the market granted to family generations ago, and waved them through. They were given a wooden chit that would allow them to park their wagon with the constabulary and let Honey stay in the shared stable for the week that they would be in town. They were told by the guards where the nearest inn with available space was - which was The Red Goat, who has both floor space and the hospitality to provide a group dinner and breakfast for the traders and travelers that came through town. Free of charge for those with chits, they would press the chit against an ink pad and press it up against their log for future reimbursement. It was just a few bronze coins for those without.

  In the morning, they set up for the market. Genevieve walked around the market, chatting with strangers and friends alike. The lightning fast carriage was a good ice breaker and it seemed like everyone was charged the inflated customs. Eventually everyone gathered in a circle, sharing what they had to piece together on the story.

  Through awkward suggestions and body language, everyone came to an unspoken understanding that everyone’s stalls would have to raise prices to cover the unexpected customs charge. They all had things to buy and bring home and for them, they were needed - for most, they could not disappoint their villages by compromising on their shopping lists. Coming home short often attracted the ire of those either ignorant of trade or had bones to pick from long held jealousies or distrust of their representative.

  Those who arrived in town before the scrutiny were the only winners here, normally, they would mark down the prices of their wilting vegetables to have one last push to clear out their wagons to make a few more coins and load up on more goods. Now, they actually were able to raise prices and still be the cheapest on the market, though most decided to hold their prices instead of raising it. They could already imagine the earful they would get from the regulars at their stalls.

  The morning market opened uneventfully, albeit with some grumbling from market goers who noticed that prices had increased overnight. But it was all business as usual, if not better than usual. The market hustled and bustled with people. People shopped around more than usual, which was not unexpected, but they stuck around after making their purchases - which was more unusual.

  Genevieve handed over a basket of eggs along with some vegetables to an excitable older lady who gossiped unsolicitedly, “The town criers had been yelling through the streets - saying that a royal herald from the capital is going to be coming. I know we arent that far from the capital, but no-one usually cares about us out here, we just kind of do things the way we always do. So it must be impoetant!

  “Are you sure you can't give me something extra?” the older lady asked expectantly. Things are so expensive today, and I need to cook something for my grandson - I see you have a growing boy too,” she gestured at Iggy, who was rebundling vegetables in quarter bronze bundles in the cart.

  Genevieve wasn’t usually one to humor freebees, but she did appreciate the tip on what was going on. She handed over a couple of carrots to the older lady, “they say carrots are good for the eyesight, it’s all mine snacks on.”

  Before the older lady could say her thanks, the rattle of a bell clattered in the market.

  Ding-a-ding, ding-a-ding.

  “Hear Yee, hear yee!”

  A herald, dressed in the coat of arms of the royal family, stepped up on a box set in the middle of the market square. Four soldiers stood at each corner of the box, creating a fence with their weapons.

  “I have news from the capital! From the battlefield to the west.”

  He paused, taking a deep breath before yelling out, “The king has fallen! To the savage kolbalds to the west.”

  The crowd murmured. They had been expecting another swift victory. For thenpast decade, King Arsalan had been leading one victorious campaign after the other, most announcements had either been of victory or conscription for war to be done. Most announcements around taxes and national news had been by the Duke and the Count.

  “The king is dead, and long live the king!

  King Arsalan the Second will be crowned under the Blue Sky when he becomes of age. Arsalan the Second will have direct rule of the crown provinces of Tunda with his grandfather Duke Awais of the Western Coast.”

  “Mom, what does this mean?” Iggy thought of the horses and the brown haired girl.

  “Nothing from us, we just keep quiet and the new king will come to age in no time at all.”

  “Long live the King!” the herald yelled again, “Our campaigns to the west will be paused until the period of grieving is over. The levies of this town will return. The war taxes will be held for the next campaign. And…”

  He took a deep breath.

  “The Royal Runecarvers, the Solonovs are wanted for their negligence in maintaining the king's arms and armor. They are to be put to trial to meet justice.”

  Gasps came from the crowd.

  “Last night, they vacated their workshops before we learned of the king's death and made an escape today as our soldier marched here for their arrest. When escaping, they have killed more than a dozen of our loyal soldiers, some of whom are sons and daughters of this city of Tarbek.”

  The herald gestured to a woman, who was allowed to join him upon his stage.

  “Gresha’s son Tafir was murdered in an attempt to enforce justice today. And Gresha had barely been able to grieve her king, before being asked to identify the corpse.of her own son. He wasn't just killed, but was torn to shreds by a secret magic that the Rune Carvers had withheld. Do not trust them. Do not harbor them. Do not welcome them back.”

  But there was more, and perhaps more impactful to the villagers,

  “To make up for the lost magic capabilities. The restrictions on the exploration of the ancient ruins scattered through the lands have been relaxed. Upon royal decree, adventurers can apply for permits and grants to explore and excavate the ruins - with the crown claiming 50% of all loot and findings.”

  As quick as his last dream came, Iggy’s dream changed. This was news. This was news that he understood.