The white shining arches of Aressea came into view.

Tristan walked beneath giant arches that were clearly made to make new visitors feel tiny and powerless. He passed a queue of wagons waiting to be inspected. He passed a group of men and women wearing bright orange and blue festival clothes. Flags waved in the wind above the city gates. The City Watch, dressed in silver and gold plate armor glared out at the swelling crowds.

Tristan had arrived on Samhain. The first day of winter.

***

The city celebrated the harvest festival and the beginning of winter with bonfires, dressing up in guising and feasting.

Vendors crowed the streets clamoring for Tristan’s attention. The smells of food and smoke assaulted his nose. And merchants shouted out the names of their wares. They clanged pots and tossed foods into the air in an acrobatic display.

Bonfires burned, children ran in the streets and women smiled at Tristan as he passed them by.

The crowds swelled as Tristan got further into the city. It was chaotic. People ate and drank too much and laughed merrily.

A woman bumped into him, her drink fell from her hand and crashed to the ground. Before Tristan could say anything her husband swiped a hand at Tristan’s face. He dodged too late and the man clipped him on the cheek.

“Sorry,” Tristan mumbled. He didn't want a fight breaking out on his first day in a new city.

“Watch yourself boy,” said the man.

Anger flared up in Tristan and he pushed down the impulse to punch the man in the face.

The couple turned their backs on him and while they were looking away a boy dressed as a pirate slipped in behind them. The boy’s hand shot out towards the man. A blade appeared up his sleeve and with a well practiced motion the boy sliced through the man’s coat pocket and his left hand caught the coin purse that fell from it.

Tristan slipped back into the crowd and waded through it until he reached a side alley. Broken glass littered the alley floor and the air was heavy with the smell of sweat and excrement. Tristan made his way down the alley and as he walked the crowd thinned and soon he walked alone.

Clothes rustled and the odd glimpses of terrified faces peeking out of deep shadows were the only indication of people hiding away in the shadows.

Something crunched underfoot and Tristan looked down to see a copper penny lying on the ground.

Before he could react a dirty hand shot out of the shadow and grabbed the penny then disappeared again.

A young girl stumbled out in front of Tristan seemingly oblivious to him. She clutched a bottle of ale and swayed slowly as she looked around. She took a drink from the bottle and then her eyes widened when she realized Tristan was in front of her.

“Are you lost?” she asked in a slurred voice.

She tilted her head as if she were hearing voices no one else could hear.

“I'm looking for the academy,” he said.

“There is no academy here,” said the girl. “Only the damned stay in this place.”

Great, he thought. First day in town and he'd already found the crazy people.

The girl took another sip from the bottle then held it tight to her chest and eyed Tristan suspiciously as if she thought he planned to take the bottle from her.

“Tempest academy,” he said. “Do you know where it is?”

The girl held a finger over her lips.

“Shhh,” she said. She tilted her head again and her eyes went wide.

“What?”

“You should leave,” she breathed. “They’re coming.”

Tristan loosened the sword in his scabbard and kept walking.

A man with wild matted hair passed behind Tristan and muttered something under his breath.

The sound of whistling echoed along the alley walls. The tune sounded like a lullaby parents sang to their children before bed.

A pair of hands reached out towards him as he drew near to the whistler. The hands quickly withdrew as Tristan drew his sword.

The whistling stopped and he saw an old woman sitting in a wooden shack, deep within the shadows.

“Come closer young man,” said the old woman. “I sense greatness in you son.”

Tristan stepped closer, he clutched his sword tighter. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw the old woman.

She wore a crown of rat bones atop her head and her eyes were as black as a stormcrows wings. Tristan looked up at the sky and wondered if Buzzbeak was still following him.

“Don't fear Mother Bones,” said the hag. “I mean you no harm.”

Tristan slid the sword back into the scabbard but his hand lingered on the pommel.

The woman's lips split into a grin, revealing a set of yellow teeth and a face crisscrossed with scars.

“There’s a great destiny inside of you,” she said. “Great and terrible. You will change much.”

“How?” asked Tristan. “What will I do?”

The woman coughed into a rag. She wiped her mouth and put the rag back into her pocket.

“For a silver coin I could get a better read,” she said.

“I don't have any,” Tristan said.

The woman’s eyes hardened. “A few coppers then.”

“Sorry,” said Tristan. “I'm broke.”

The woman’s smile disappeared. Her eyes looked wild. “You come to take from Mother Bones and give nothing in return.”

“What about my destiny?” asked Tristan. “It sounds important. What must I do?”

The woman laughed. The sound echoing off the narrow walls. “You arrogant scrum,” she cursed. “You're nothing special, just another deadman walking.”

Tristan stumbled out of the shadowy alleyway and into the light. He stood inside a courtyard. An ancient tree with red ribbons tied to its branches sat squarely in the middle of the courtyard.

A few benches with couples sitting on them were scattered beneath the tree and a few food vendors dressed in red and white uniforms served the people.

“That the Great Tree,” said a vendor standing nearby. “Majestic isn't it.”

The vendor roasted skewers of exotic meats over hot coals. The smell reminded Tristan of how long it had been since his last meal.

“What meat is this?” Tristan asked.

“Speckled quail,” said the vendor. “Mountain goat and fresh crocodilia. Two coppers a skewer, served piping hot.”

Tristan hadn't realized how hungry he was until he had taken his first bite. The meat was juicy and tender and lightly spiced with a smokiness that didn't overpower the meat’s natural flavor.

Tristan didn't speak a word until he'd licked the last skewer clean.

“No better compliment than a silent eater,” said the vendor.

Tristan wiped the grease off his face with the corner of his cloak.

“Could you give me directions to Tempest academy?” he asked.

The vendor snorted. “You mean the Useless academy.”

“Is that what the locals call it?”

The vendor shrugged. “All that power and not a drop of it is spent helping those in need, what else would you call that.”

He wasn't wrong, thought Tristan. His short journey through Aressea had shown him extreme poverty, sickness and crime all of which could have easily been solved by magic.

“Do you plan on becoming a magi?” asked the vendor.

“No,” Tristan replied quickly. “Of course not. I’m meant to meet a friend there. I got turned in the crowd and somehow got lost.”

“In town for the festival I take it?” asked the man.

Tristan nodded.

“It's left at Morain’s Crossing,” said the vendor. He gestured over his shoulder. “Then left over the bridge. You can't miss it. Big ugly building. Looks like a castle built by a five year old.”

As Tristan turned to leave the man grabbed his cloak.

The vendor's eyes narrowed. “A word of warning boy. You don't want to be poking your nose in magi’s business. They might not use their powers to help us common folk but they sure as hell don’t mind using them to hurt us.”