The stone wall towered over their heads as the band rode forward. Expansive wooden gates were set into the side of the defensive structure. A multitude of armored guards stood checking in wagons, riders, and several groups traveling on foot.

Dozens of races sporting a variety of clothing styles processed toward the gate. A group of walking Aibeck nodded to Grath as he rode past. Their revealing outfits matched his own, and even the women only showed a token concern for modesty.

Grath returned their nod.

Ahead of Alden’s band, the guards were admitting a group that looked like a family of half-animals.

Those people are Naital, Alden realized.

Alden had only encountered the animal race before on their traders’ annual passage through Sacram Village. Their torsos and faces were mostly human, but they had long rabbit ears, sinuous cat tails, and backwards knees. Fur covered their flesh from elbows to clawed fingertips and from knees to paws. The Naital wore tight pastel tunics and short wool pants.

Once the Naital cleared the checkpoint, it was the Sacram band’s turn to be inspected. Alden led his companions to the gate.

The guards wore boiled leather armor on their torsos and limbs, leather caps on their heads, and furry capes. Each guard held a spear. The blades were not long for hunting megafauna, but short as would be used on smaller animals or, Alden realized with a start, probably on unruly people.

“Business?” an older male guard with a rough face asked. The man squinted up at Alden on his kinvalo.

“We’re here for the Bloodpit Trials,” Alden said. “I’m Alden son of Jobath, and this is—”

The guard waved at Alden with an impatient grunt. “Place of representation?”

Alden was taken aback at the guard’s lack of manners, but he quickly answered, “Sacram Village, along the Northern Sea.”

The guard nodded, then pointed to the open gate. “No riding mounts allowed in the city proper, but there’s a stable inside and to the left. Available inn space as of this morning was mostly in the western quarter. Look for a sign with a bed on it. Oh, and a bed looks like a sleeping fur but laid on top of a pile of cut grass.”

Alden thanked the man, and the Sacram hunters were waved through. Towering wooden gates rose twenty feet on either side as the hunters passed into the city. Two wagons could have driven side by side under the stone archway.

As soon as they stepped foot into the city, a wave of stink hit Alden. Unwashed bodies, sour sweat, excrement, urine, and choking smoke assaulted his nose. The collective din of hundreds of shouting voices deafened him to all else.

The hunters had to dismount and jostle their way through the streets while leading the kinvalo. They followed the gate guard’s instructions to the left and stabled their mounts. An aging stable master demanded payment to house their animals, which confused Alden.

Grath dug into his saddlebags and paid the stable master with three sparkling circular shells.

The seashells seemed to please the grumpy old man, though this puzzled Alden even more. Children of the Sacram tribe made a game of collecting the sparkling pink shells when they washed up on the beach in the autumn.

“How many of those shells did you bring?” Alden asked Grath when they were back outside.

“About four hundred,” the Aibeck replied.

“What!” exclaimed Alden. “Why?”

“People here value them,” the Aibeck told him. “The shells hold value representing time spent on work, and they can be traded for goods or services.”

“They serve no purpose,” Alden argued. “You can’t even eat them if you’re starving.”

“Indeed,” said the Aibeck. “But the people of this nation have agreed that the shells have meaning, and the rulers of Ceralahn dictate what each shell is worth.” Grath’s purple fingers drew out a handful of shells from his bag and tucked them into Alden’s belt pouch.

Alden shook his head, no less confused than before.

The hunters converted their saddlebags to carrying satchels and strapped them to their backs with their weapons. Cobblestones thumped underfoot as the band strolled around the open square inside the city gates.

A flash of red caught Alden’s eye just before a small redhaired human girl ran in front of the hunters. The five had to stop abruptly to keep from running into her. As luck would have it, the girl was equally startled to have almost caused an accident. She tripped over her own bare feet and fell hard on the ground.

The girl sat back on her haunches and looked at her hands, which were skinned raw and bloody. She sniffled and started to cry.

“Hey, now,” Alden said as he squatted down beside the girl. “Let me see.”

The redhaired girl looked frightened at being addressed by a tall man armed with a huge sword, and she froze. Alden guessed her age to be about seven winters old. She gave no resistance as he took her tiny injured hands in his own.

Healing warmth flowed from Alden into the girls’ bleeding hands. When he released her, the girl stared at the smooth pink skin of her unmarred palms.

She gasped and looked up at Alden. Radiant joy blossomed across her young face and sparkled in her green eyes. “Thank you!” she said in a high-pitched singsong voice.

And then she was gone, racing back into the crowds and weaving her way between tall legs.

Alden lost sight of the girl, but a contented smile remained on his face. I’d better slow down and keep my eyes open, he thought, if I don’t want to cause any more problems. He turned to survey the city around him.

Up on the side of the mountain where the city rose up the slope, a massive wooden structure built in a large oval shape dominated the base of the mountain.

The black-haired Shaman had just opened his mouth to ask Grath about the oval building when a man came darting through the crowd. Tangled blond hair fell into his frantic blue eyes. He wore strange red robes cinched with gray cord, and leather sandals shod his feet. In his arms, he held a thin object the height of a man wrapped in a thick purple blanket.

The frantic man ran up to Alden and tried to thrust the wrapped object into the Shaman’s arms. “Take it, boy! It’s yours now.”

Concern quickened Alden’s pulse as he pushed the cumbersome object back into the man’s chest. “What is this? Do you need help?”

Lalaine, Jincra, and Braden froze in place with confused looks. Grath had gotten separated from the group but was pushing his way toward Alden.

Unsettling laughter erupted from the frantic man’s chapped lips. The sound sent a chill down Alden’s spine. “Just take the gift, sir. It’s yours now. I insist!”

Alden hesitated. “I can’t take a gift from someone I don’t know.”

“I’ll sell it to you,” the man shrieked. “Name your price!”

Confusion knitted Alden’s brow, but then he remembered Grath’s lesson about the seashells. He reached into his belt pouch and drew out one of the sparkling shells. “You mean these?”

“Sold,” cried the man. His deft fingers snatched the shell and shoved the blanketed object into Alden’s arms before he backed away with his hands raised. When he’d retreated a few paces, the blond man lifted his face to the sky and danced. “Free! I’m free!” he crowed. Then he turned and vanished into the city.

Alden lost track of the man as the red robes and blond hair disappeared into the crowds. The young hunter was more confused than he had ever been in his entire life.

He looked down to inspect the object in his arms. Warmth, and the smell of incense, rose from the purple blanket. Alden unfolded the scratchy cloth.

Gleaming metal greeted his eyes. Alden realized he held a sheathed metal greatsword about six feet long. Plush red suede leather wrapped around the thick hilt with a beautiful uncut purple gem the size of Alden’s fist on the pommel. A crossguard made from two entwined roses cast in polished gray metal reflected the bright sunlight.

Alden pulled the blanket further aside and drew the sword partly from its red leather sheath, which was capped with metal on both ends. The polished metal blade was six inches from side to side and sharpened on both sides. Strange runes were etched into the metal down the center of the blade, and the arcane markings shimmered with aquamarine light.

As soon as he drew the blade, a familiar chime sounded in his ears. Alden quickly waved his menu open.

A new skill tree had been unlocked. Several skill bubbles spiraled off from the first circle. Some of the text refused to translate, which Alden had never encountered before.

XXXXX

XXXXX 1 – Level Boost (Locked)

XXXXX 2 – Additional Weapon Damage (Locked)

XXXXX 3 – Increased Spirit Reservoir (Locked)

XXXXX 4 – Simultaneous Attack (Locked)

“Hey, come look at what that guy gave me!” Alden grinned as he looked up, but his grin faded when he saw his friends.

Lalaine, Braden, Jincra, and Grath had their hands up and were slowly backing away from the wrapped bundle as if they’d seen a snake in the grass.

The surrounding crowds gave all five hunters a wide berth.

“Uh, guys? What is it?” Alden asked.

“Alden,” Jincra said slowly, “that man appeared deranged. He was quite glad to be rid of that sword. And you most definitely know how metal attracts a beast’s rancor.”

“Yeah, but I bought it,” Alden said. “And it unlocked a whole talent tree just by drawing it. There’s also some ability here called Level Boost. The abilities are locked right now, but if I get access to them, our band’s capabilities could explode.”

Grath sighed. “I guess not all the reckless ambition was beat out of him.”

“You’re keeping it?” Braden asked, alarmed. The Trickster hid behind his sister, who eyed the wrapped sword with both eyebrows arched in serious concern.

“Of course,” Alden said as he drew the blanket back over the weapon. “What kind of madman would get rid of a beautiful sword like this?”