In the meantime, our young, heartbroken hero Blödu encountered the first difficulties on his so far pleasant journey.

Blödu had spent his whole life in the mountains, where the cows' milk was as white as snow, the men were as gnarly as oaks, and the women were as obedient as they should be. Most of the time, anyway. The living was harsh up there, but the people were true, law-abiding, and honest.

He had never ventured forth into the lowlands and their unhealthy cities.

He had never even contemplated doing so.

Yet here he was, in lands flatter than the top of a loaf of cheese under a sky shrouded by a gray lid. Before him, like a festering wound at the foot of a little bump called Larktrodden Hill, sprawled The Capital. Its mottled walls soared high, and the Visitors' Gate yawned at him.

As he approached in a slow queue of awed peddlers, craftsmen, and peasants, he observed the guards checking those who sought entrance. They wore shiny metal armor and weapons crafted to cut, smash, and maim.

When it was Blödu's turn, one of the guards approached him. A face protector of midnight steel hid most of the man's face, but his cold stare was on full display.

"State your name, origin, and business."

"My name is Blödu Siech. I am from the mountains, and I am looking for..."

He hesitated. What should he tell the guard? That he was about to get his bride back, the one that the bloody king had ordered to be abducted? That would hardly be helpful.

"Yes?" The guard fingered the hilt of his club. Small, white gemstones were embedded in its wood. No, not gemstones, they looked more like teeth—human teeth; molars and incisors.

"I need a tavern for the night, a glass of milk, and..." Blödu searched for a word that he had heard from a world-weary traveler, in the Edelweiss Tavern, years ago. "...and wenches."

He didn't know what that word meant, but it sounded city-ish. Probably some local specialty, hopefully a dessert. Blödu loved anything sweet.

The guard snorted at him. "You mountain yokels are all the same. Don't know if you'll find milk and cheese, but there are plenty of taverns here and even more wenches." He motioned him to enter.

So Blödu set foot into the teeming heart of the empire looking forward to a healthy serving of wenches.

He stumbled in bright-eyed wonder down the cobblestoned alleys of the capital. Unfortunately, wizard Sürmu's spell hadn't extended further than the castle walls, and the city remained as grey and filthy as ever.

So, Blödu's colorful traditional garments stuck out like a sore thumb, especially his crimson felt cap. But he had no attention to spare for the contemptuous glances the snooty city dwellers directed at him.

There were far too many new things to explore. Exotic fruit presented on market stands, precious textiles from faraway coasts offered beside fragile glassware, smelly spices, and mysterious potions. Gutter children fought over food that looked too disgusting to be fed to pigs, and dogs barked at him at every corner.

A dirty hand grabbed Blödu's sleeve and pulled him into a side alley.

"Looking for wenches, are you, young mountain lion?"

Blödu, overwhelmed by all the new impressions, just nodded. The stranger led him into a narrow passageway.

Our hero was in for the time of his life.

~ ~ ~

Unaware of the relative proximity of her betrothed-to-be, Tussinelda stood in king Löu's huge kitchen, peeled potatoes, and pouted. This was not at all how she had imagined her visit to famous Larktrodden castle.

Neither the king nor Lord Glünggi had spared her more than a cursory glance. The only one genuinely interested in her so far had been the cook, who had handed her a peeling knife and a bucket of unwashed potatoes, mumbling something about the best use for uneducated mountain goats.

It didn't help that her fellow maidens didn't fare better. Wasn't Tussinelda the recognized beauty of Upper Blackbirdhamlet? Wasn't the hand of the village's most aspiring young peasant promised to her in marriage? Weren't her golden tresses the longest, most lustrous in the whole valley, her freckles the cutest?

She had to take action if she didn't want to waste this unique opportunity. While her hands busily peeled potatoes, a plan took form in her head.

Hours passed, and a zillion potatoes got peeled before the cook dismissed the maidens for the evening. Before they turned to their assigned quarters, Tussinelda and her companions assembled in a narrow, walled courtyard. One of them pulled a reefer from a pocket and immediately became the focus of attention.

Tussinelda, though, sidled away from them.* She reached a doorway and flitted inside while her companions giggled happily, enjoying their smoke.

She wasn't interested in drugs.** This was Larktrodden castle, the place where King Löu and Lord Glünggi lived. And she knew she'd hate herself for the rest of her life if she didn't try to get hold of at least one of them.

She ascended a flight of stairs and found herself in a hallway lined by statues of white marble. As she passed them, she felt their stony, reproachful gazes on her.

She didn't belong here; she had no business in these halls.

As she reached another stairway, she climbed further, attempting to put some distance between herself and the stony witnesses of her trespassing.

Tussinelda emerged onto a balcony with a breathtaking view of the kingdom settling for the night in the last light of the evening.

A figure wearing a black coat and hood stood silent at the carved-stone banister, its back to her.

She cleared her throat.

The figure turned, face shrouded in hooded darkness.
_____

* Tussinelda was an expert sidler. The paths and tracks of the Bernian mountains were so narrow that walking sideways was the safest manner of locomotion.

** Well, she was. But she had other priorities at this point.