Power Quest: The Rebellion of Terrakia by Andrew Koenig (best free e book reader .txt) 📕

The sun broke the horizon, slowly crawling atop the Kaneele Woods, the warm light dispelling the darkness with pink and orange fervor.  Despite being the early morning, the unseasonably humid temperature was already beginning to climb. 

            As the first few rays of morning reached the city of Kaneele, people awoke and began their busy days.  Outside the vine ridden, grey, decaying walls of the city, farmers wiped the sweat from their brows as they cleaved through wheat with their cumbersome scythes.  The wooden handles calloused their hands and drained their energy with each swing.  Horses swatted at flies with their bristly tails, temporarily knocking the pests off balance.  Pigs rolled in their filth and mud to keep themselves cool while chickens screeched and ran in and out of their packed coops.  Farmhands gathered and packed the wheat, then delivered it to the nearest bakery or brewery.  The farmhands sat in their horse-drawn carriages, loaded with wheat, cabbages, potatoes, carrots, and other assorted vegetables.  They rode along the dusty dirt and gravel paths, passed filthy children at play and women balancing their infants and groceries.

            Crowds of people bustled within the crumbling city walls.  The marketplace clamored with the shouting and bargaining of hundreds of people.  A fish vendor stood behind the table of his striped green and brown tent, holding the belly of a nauseating Red Rengner Perch and waving it around, proclaiming the delicious qualities such fish possess.  Mason jars filled with pickled herrings lined the table at the back of the tent.  The herrings’ glassy eyes stared at passersby with unblinking tenacity.  A mother hurriedly pushed her wailing child away from the stand as she grabbed the perch from the vendor and flung 7 copper coins on the table.  The vendor grinned from ear to ear as he dropped the coins into his barren coin purse.  The grin fell from his face and was replaced by a dejected frown as he shook the purse and heard only a faint clink as the coins rattled loosely.  He sighed and picked up another perch, then began his sales pitch to anyone who would listen.

            Across the market from the fish vendor stood a tall, grey inn, rectangular in form.  The most color it boasted was the large wooden sign above the door.  In a bright yellow finish, it read: ‘The Common Cup Inn’.  Thin, leafy grape vines lined the sign, signifying that weary travelers could relax with a goblet of wine.  A crude engraving of an ale bottle in the bottom right corner of the sign also seemed to hint that stronger ales and brews were also available for purchase.  Large, leaded windows lined the bottom floor of the inn, while smaller clear pane windows lined the top floor, one for each room.  A polished stone roof sat atop the inn’s granite brick structure.  A large oak door, reinforced with iron bands, rested beneath the inn’s sign.  The doors had an image of a tankard full of ale engraved on them and painted a dull orange.  At six in the morning, the common room behind the door was not particularly loud, but some regulars were already up and about, drinking away their troubles as early as they could.

            The doors flung open with a thunderous crash that was drowned out by the cacophony the marketplace crowd created.  A hungover drunkard stumbled out of The Common Cup Inn and was immediately blinded by the piercing light of the sun.  He stumbled to his right and bumped into the blonde, fair-skinned teenage boy beside him, knocking a basket of bread from the boy’s hands.

            The boy cursed and grabbed the lurching man’s arm to steady him.  The man’s hands immediately went to his face, shielding his eyes from the harsh light of the sun.  “Whart time ish it,” the man groaned, slurring his words.  “Me head ish pounding like a bit-” He choked on his words as he heaved last night’s meal onto the boy’s faded brown leather boots, now coated with a soupy, yellow sludge.

The boy sighed and did his best to fake a smile at the drunkard.  “It’s okay, Mr. Habar, I’ll get some new boots, I suppose…”  The boy bemoaned.  His voice partially cracked, but, generally, it was fairly calm.  He put his arm around Mr. Habar’s waist and led the drunk towards the inn.  “How about you come inside and lie down?  I’ll have Granny Velma bring you a smoked rabbit haunch with some stew, as well as some red leaf tea.”

“Oh, thanks, Casimer, yer a good lad…”  Mr. Habar mumbled as he followed the boy into the inn. 

Casimer opened the large oak door and escorted the drunkard into the common room of The Common Cup Inn.  It wasn’t particularly busy, but Casimer recognized a small handful of regulars scattered around the room, most with a tankard full of booze.  A large man leaning against the stairwell wall raised his tankard and howled with laughter. 

“Leif too drunk to make it out the door again, eh?”  He roared, spilling ale on his filthy tunic.  As Casimer approached the stairs, he could smell the alcohol on the man’s breath and tunic.  He smiled a little before helping Leif up the first step.

“No, this time he managed to get out of the door,” Casimer chuckled, supporting Mr. Habar’s weight as he trudged up the staircase.  “Fell into me and threw up on my boots, as well!”

The uproarious laughter continued as Casimer finally got Leif upstairs and into a room.  He helped the drunk into the straw filled bed and placed a light brown fur blanket over him.  Leif thanked him and quickly fell asleep, snoring the minute his eyes closed.  Casimer smiled and looked around the room.  It was one of the smallest in the inn with only one bed, a table and chair, and a wash basin.  Casimer slowly stood and blew out the goat horn candle on the table.  He left the room, shutting the wooden door behind him.

“Does Mr. Habar ever see his wife?”  Casimer asked the large man as he walked back down the stairs.  “I don’t think he’s left the inn all week.”

“I reckon not,” the man rubbed his rugged chin and shrugged.  “Yup, she left him last week.  Ran off to Frantel with some noble, as I recall.”  He sighed shook his head.

“Gods!” Casimer shouted, his gentle, electric-blue eyes widened in shock.  “How could that happen?”

“Well, Leif hasn’t had a job for at least a year, ya know?”  The man slurped his ale and sighed.  “Ever since Zeke declared the whole military ruling here, Leif wasn’t needed as a town guard anymore.”

“That’s terrible…”  Casimer mumbled, his fists clenched at his sides.  “Maybe he can get work at the Imperial garrison?”  He suggested, looking up at the man hopefully with an innocent sparkle in his eyes.

“Doubtful,” the man shook his head.  “Most of the Imperial Guard despise men like him.  And, between you and me, Leif ain’t exactly the patriotic type, ya know?”  There was a loud crash as the large oak door at the front of the inn burst open.  Two Imperial guards strolled inside and took a seat at the bar, slamming their fists on the table.  The man beside Casimer sneered and brought his tankard of ale to his mouth.  “Eh, maybe now isn’t the time to discuss such things, kid.”  He whispered into his mug, just loud enough for Casimer to hear.

Casimer glanced at the guards sitting on the wooden bar stools.  They were wearing the dark maroon armor that came standard for all Imperial guards.  The armor bore the king’s insignia on the shoulders.  Zeke’s insignia was a raven, with its wings spread and its beak open, carrying a crescent moon in its talons.  The insignia was built right into the armor, creating a ridged crest on the pauldrons.  The breastplate was smooth iron; the only part of the armor that was smooth, in fact.  The other pieces were layered over each other and held together with strips of leather. 

One of the guards looked over his shoulder and glared at Casimer.  Casimer looked away and made his way past several wooden tables and into the room he shared with the innkeeper.  “Hey, Granny Velma, you in here?”  He called as he entered the bedroom.  There were two beds and two dressers placed against opposite walls.  Between the beds was a nightstand with a candle and two books on it.  Casimer looked around, but saw no sign of Velma. 

“I’m in here, boy!”  Velma called from the adjacent kitchen.  Her voice chimed with the pleasant friendliness of old age and the stern whip-crack of a mother. 

Casimer stepped into the kitchen and pointed to the bar in the common room.  “A couple of guards came in and sat at the bar.”  Casimer began.  “I assume they’re here to drink all of our ale.” 

“Oh, Casimer, don’t be so cynical,” Velma scolded as she tossed a pinch of salt into a large kettle full of a tomato soup.  The flames licked the bottom of the kettle, heating the soup and making it boil.  “Did you pick up the bread from Mr. Diarmaid?”  She asked, stirring the soup.  The wrinkles around her olive green eyes deepened as she smiled warmly at Casimer.  Her thin, dull pink lips parted with her smile, revealing a front row of somewhat yellowed, yet remarkably straight, teeth.

“Well,” Casimer murmured.  “I picked it up, but when I got back, Mr. Habar came stumbling out of the bar and knocked it out of my hands.”  Casimer grabbed a clove of garlic off of a hanging spice rack and handed it to Velma.

She took the garlic from Casimer with her wrinkled hand and crushed it into the soup.  “I hope you plan on picking up more.”  She insisted sternly.  Velma grabbed the kettle and placed it on a large cooling rack, then pushed a few loose strands of peppery grey hair back into the bun above her frail head.

Casimer nodded and grabbed two mugs from a high shelf.  “I will after my class today.”

“Your class?”  Velma asked in cross surprise as she grabbed the mugs from Casimer.  Her eyes were open in surprise, but her eyebrows were furrowed, her sparkling green eyes burrowing themselves into Casimer’s spirit.

Casimer’s eyes immediately darted to the floor.  “Yeah, I enrolled in a course at the College of the Arts.  I’ll be taking a handful of courses there for a few months.”

“Casimer, you know I need you to work here with me.  I can’t run the whole inn myself!”

“I know, Granny Velma, but the classes are during the day, when we don’t have much to get done.  I’ll still be able to take care of all the morning chores, and I’ll be back in time for the late night rush.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Velma urged, sternly.  “I have work to get done.”  Velma huffed and marched out of the kitchen through the swinging wooden door.  Casimer could hear her greet the guards at the bar and offer them a pint of ale, on the house.  Casimer looked down and noticed that his fists were clenched tightly.  He let out an exasperated sigh and released his fists.  Casimer left the kitchen and headed through the storeroom to the outside door.

Casimer sat next to the small well outside the inn and gently scrubbed his boot with a wet rag.  Mr. Habar’s vomit hadn’t dried up too much, so the scrubbing was gentle and rhythmic.  In little time, the intense yellow soup was replaced by the dark brown leather of wet boots.  Casimer knew that they would still probably stain after they dried and he sighed, but he began putting the boots back on his feet.  He heard the squeak of rusty door hinges and he looked up at