Free Farmers & Mercenaries by Maxwell Alexander Drake Page A

finally subsided.”
    “You should have seen it! The Kith beast was a terror!” Clytus could not help except grin. “It slew Ginnius Mulma’Asion before he could even make his first attack!”
    “Ginnius?” Grilmire hrumphed. “I never liked that pompous fool. Twas about time someone put him down.” He again wiped the sweat cascading down his brow. “Who killed it then? The Twins?”
    Clytus leaned back in his chair. “The Twins did not fare any better.” He raised a hand to forestall the merchant’s interruption. “Oh, they lasted longer. Alas, both now have met the Twelve in the aftermore.”
    “Nix! Keep me in suspense no longer! Who felled the beast?”
    Shaking his head, Clytus answered after a moments pause and a grin at the merchant’s boyish excitement. “No one. It came down to old Salmik. Yet by that point, I did not envy him his task. He made a good showing—wounding the thing and almost ending it—only the beast’s strength remained too great. He also dwells with the Twelve now.”
    “Live in the Games, Die in the Games.” Grilmire made the sign of the Twelve in front of his chest. “What of the beast? What of it now?”
    Pushing his seat back, Clytus stood. “Who knows? The Julitans will think of something, I am certain. They will have to recoup some of the losses from this day. The amount they spent in death tax alone must have been substantial.” He turned and mingled with the stream of people passing through the Bazaar.
    “Be careful up north, Clytus!” Grilmire’s shout rose above the din of the crowd. “I would hate to lose one of my best customers!”
    Clytus chuckled.
    Aye, old friend, I would hate to short your bank vault as well.
    The main thruway of the Bazaar led in the direction he needed to go, so he let the current of people sweep him along. The Bazaar in Mocley, much like any market area of the major cities he had seen in his day, sat near the main entrance gates. Permanent stone and mortar shops surrounding temporary wooden stalls, intermixed with tents sitting next to farmers on wagons where people criss-crossed, hawking the wares they carried on trays or bags or boxes. They sold a variety of items from every corner of the known Plane. A mixing of colors and sights and sounds and smells that never failed to impress Clytus.
    He considered leaving the Bazaar south by way of Main, past the Great Palintium—the Temple of the Twelve Gods of Man was the first sight one saw when coming from the Bazaar through the gates of New Town. It was a huge building, some thirty stories high with many spires and steeples. Its large, grandiose staircases led past massive statues of the Twelve Gods of Man to spill onto wide patios bedecked with finely crafted columns and frescos. Unfortunately, it was nearing midday, which meant priests standing along Main with incense braziers burning, holding the artifact of their God, taking in offerings and doling out prayers for the midday worship session.
    It never ceases to amaze me how much people need to believe in something.
    This inevitably slowed traffic to a crawl as it crept past the Great Palintium, and Clytus had no time for such.
    Instead, he continued east through the Bazaar coming out at Narian Way.
    Narian, ha! As if this street was paved with gold.
    He passed by the Boulevard of the Gods at an intersection where a large center fountain stood—one of many fountains scattered throughout the city. Water flowed over statues of Mermidians at this one, depicting the sea folk who lived in the waters of the Glonlore Bay. Each one appeared frozen in time, as if caught while playing and splashing in the fountain’s water. Their nakedness, spackled with scales and fins at strategic locations, accentuated the allure of the water creatures.
    Though I would wager that only a handful of people in this city have ever laid eyes on one of the creatures that live in the waters at their very doorstep.
    Continuing down Narian Way, and closer to the gates