After the train's departure, Yousafer and Yuray—leading their horses and the extra mount left behind by Helmo and his father—approached the city. However, they were abruptly halted at the gates.
Two sentries, clad in grey tunics beneath shimmering silver breastplates embossed with the sigil of a horse, barred their path with long pikes. One guard scrutinized the insignias on the boys' chests, his eyebrows arching in a silent query as he glanced at his companion.
"You cannot bring the horses inside," he stated flatly. "Those are the regulations."
Yousafer exchanged a wordless look with Yuray. They withdrew, eventually spotting a stable in the distance and steering their mounts toward it.
As they approached with the three horses, the stable master hurried to meet them, a practiced smile plastered on his face. He, too, noticed the peculiar banners on their chests—the same mark that had caught the guard's eye.
"Welcome, friends," the man chirped. "You look like travelers. Are you here to stable your mounts?"
Yousafer nodded, noticing the man's lingering gaze on his chest.
"Stabling costs five metal Solars per horse, per day," the man informed them.
"We aren't here to stable them," Yousafer replied calmly. "We're here to sell."
The man's eyes widened. "We don't usually purchase horses here."
"Is there someone who does?" Yuray asked.
The man stroked his chin, circling the horses with a discerning eye. He turned toward two men sitting nearby. "Hey, Kramer! Get over here!"
One of the men looked up, his voice booming across the yard. "What is it?"
"Come and see for yourself!"
Kramer approached. Upon hearing that the boys intended to sell, he scrutinized them for a long moment, visibly taken aback when he saw the insignias on their tunics.
"How much are you asking for these beasts?" Kramer asked.
"How much are you offering?" Yousafer countered.
The man paced around the horses, calculating. "Five hundred metal Solars each."
Yousafer's eyebrow twitched as he stared at the man. "Are you jesting? Five hundred? It seems you aren't serious about buying."
"Then what is your price?" Kramer asked.
"A thousand metal Solars each," Yousafer declared. "Take them or leave them. We'll find someone else if we have to. You know their true value is far higher than a thousand."
Kramer hesitated, glancing at the horses again. "Eight hundred Solars."
"Last price: a thousand," Yousafer said coldly, turning to walk away.
"Wait, wait, my friend! Why the rush?" Kramer called out, huffing. "You're quite the haggler."
"A thousand. Yes or no?"
Kramer sighed, glancing at the other stableman before nodding. "Fine."
The horses were worth no less than fifteen hundred Solars each, but Yousafer knew a quick sale required a tempting price. They wouldn't need horses once they were done in Randur, and liquidity was more valuable than cargo.
The man produced three gold Solars and handed them over, but Yousafer pointed at the saddles. "You haven't paid for the leather. Are the saddles free?"
Kramer smiled but remained silent, eventually settling the full amount.
With three gold Solars, two silver ones, and a handful of metal coins, the two companions headed toward the capital. They were now shrouded in black cloaks that concealed their original attire.
The guards watched them intently as they passed through the monolithic portal, but they did not interfere.
Yousafer looked up as they passed under the massive wooden gates, reinforced with intricate iron circles. As they stepped inside, a towering iron pillar met their eyes. At its peak, a flag billowed in the wind. Beneath it sat a mounted soldier, his slender sword drawn and pointed forward—a sentinel of the Army in his drab grey uniform.
The flag fluttering above was that of the Church of the United Nations: a void-black field charged with an inverted red hexagram, flanked by infinity symbols in the same blood-red hue.
They began their trek through the city. Stone houses rose two stories high, adorned with ornate wooden balconies overlooking bustling, vibrant streets. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves echoed against the cobblestones as wooden wagons, laden with market goods, groaned toward the warehouses.
The sidewalks were a sea of pedestrians. Merchants hawked spices and fresh fruit, their cries blending with the rhythmic clanging of hammers from nearby workshops. Women leaned out of windows, and children darted between wagons, their laughter echoing in the narrow corners. The air was a thick tapestry of aromas: the scent of fresh-baked bread intertwined with the sharp fragrance of dried herbs hanging from shopfronts.
As they navigated the labyrinth of grand avenues and quiet alleys, Yousafer and Yuray listened to the murmurs of the populace. The city was abuzz with news of the "Autumn Festival," an annual event held at the start of the next month.
Rumors suggested this year would be different; the King was expected to announce his heir. The festival promised to be a grand affair, drawing ambassadors from neighboring kingdoms and figures of great importance. Consequently, Union soldiers were everywhere, maintaining a taut order.
Yousafer stopped and turned to Yuray. "I'm starving. Let's find a place to eat."
"I am too," Yuray agreed, looking back. "We passed a place a moment ago. The aroma was incredible. Shall we head back?"
Yousafer nodded. "Lead the way."
They retraced their steps until they stood before the restaurant. It was a raucous establishment, the sound of laughter spilling out into the street. Yousafer looked up at the red sign above the door and smirked.
"'Pay Before You Eat,'" he read aloud.
Yuray pushed the door open, followed by Yousafer. They were immediately greeted by the mouth-watering scent of roasting meat and the fresh tang of juices. The restaurant featured heavy wooden tables and windows draped in gold curtains. The tiled floor was worn thin, a silent testament to the countless patrons who had trodden upon it.
Heads turned as they entered, but the two ignored the attention, scanning the crowded room. Every table was occupied except for one, where a lone man sat.
They approached and seated themselves without a word. The man appeared to be in his fifties, draped in a loose, pale purple robe. His grey hair was pulled back, secured by a purple headband. Before him sat an earthen jar emitting a heavenly aroma, surrounded by a spread of pottery bowls overflowing with food.
A waiter, dressed in a sharp black suit with a white shirt and black tie, approached them with a wooden tray. He offered a professional smile. "What can I get for you, young masters?"
"What's on the menu?" Yousafer asked.
"We have many specialties," the waiter began. "Charcoal-grilled meats, vegetable tagines, chicken and herb soup, smoked or grilled fish, and slow-cooked grain stews seasoned with warm spices. We also offer flatbread brushed with olive oil and aromatic herbs, fresh cheeses, and pickled olives."
Yousafer looked at Yuray. "What do you want?"
"Smoked fish, the vegetable tagine, and flatbread," Yuray replied.
The waiter scribbled in a small notebook. Yousafer looked up. "I'll take the charcoal-grilled meat, the chicken soup with sweetened cheese, and the pickled olives."
"And to drink?"
"Herb juice," Yuray murmured.
"The same for me," Yousafer added.
"It will be ready shortly."
The waiter vanished into the kitchen. Minutes later, he returned with steaming pottery dishes. A white mist of steam rose from the hot food.
He set the tray down. "I assume you saw the sign out front?"
"How much?" Yousafer asked with a smile.
The waiter tallied it up. "Forty-seven metal Solars for the both of you."
Yousafer nodded, reaching into his cloak. He bypassed the gold and silver, placing four copper pieces and seven metal Solars on the tray.
"Enjoy your meal," the waiter said with a wide grin before departing.
"In the name of God," they said in unison.
Yuray took a bite of the smoked fish; the flavor of light smoke and natural salt exploded in his mouth, the delicate texture melting away. The warm tagine, rich with the scent of herbs, provided a deep sense of comfort. He washed it down with the herb juice, which felt like a burst of pure refreshment.
Yousafer opted for the grilled meat. It was tender, the smoky aroma filling his senses. As he chewed, the rich spices mingled perfectly with the hot chicken soup. The contrast between the sweetened cheese and the sharp, pickled olives created a perfect balance of sweet and savory—a story of fresh ingredients told in every bite.
As he sipped his juice, Yousafer caught the eye of the man sitting across from them. He quickly looked away, glancing at Yuray, who was utterly absorbed in his meal.
You
safer smiled and continued to eat, the cacophony of the restaurant fading into the background of their new journey.
End of Chapter.