The Misery Ring

The party crouched behind a line of bushes, keeping a prudent distance from the road.

Soldiers.

At least a hundred, maybe more, filling every visible path north and south. They were armored head to toe, long spears held upright like silver trees piercing the sky. Each carried a massive shield that covered half their body and a heavy sword sheathed at their waist. Their march was mechanical, the only sound the synchronized clatter of plated boots striking the earth.

In the middle, two golden carriages rolled forward, pulled by long-haired silver horses. Even beneath the dim starlight, the carriages blazed. Gems of every color glimmered from their frames, while the windows were veiled with silky red curtains that swayed with the motion.

“I knew we were close, but not this close,” Berig whispered.

“Close to where?” Duran asked.

“To the Avaria Kingdom,” Solphie replied softly, stroking Nano’s fur, who perched on her knees. “We must be on the limits or already inside their territory.”

“We certainly are,” Lathan replied. “Come on, let's follow them. Just be quiet and keep your distance.”

They could arrive faster, but following the marching steps of the soldiers took all night.

At dawn, the edifications and houses of a city appeared on the horizon. They waited until the caravan disappeared between the buildings.

“This… doesn’t match,” Duran muttered. His brow furrowed, his voice laced with confusion.

A tinge of sadness in his voice. And a justified one.

In contrast with the luxury of the carriages, the city they were entering was… austere. And it was a kind way of saying it. It looked brownish wherever you looked. It shouted poverty and pauperism at every corner.

“Damn!” Berig said with a concerned expression. “This is horrible. The worst I’ve seen it.”

“Yes,” Nano said from Berig’s shoulder. “Regrettable what the city has become.”

“What they’ve turned it into, you mean,” Solphie snapped, teeth gritted, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.

She crouched down next to an old woman who had two little children playing at her side. Solphie pulled a pair of golden coins from her shorts and placed them into a rusty, bent can at the woman’s feet.

“Thank you, dear,” the woman murmured, barely lifting her head.

The woman’s kind smile, among so many wrinkles in her face and the ragged cloth covering her head, made a lump form in Duran’s throat.

The poverty around them was outrageous.

“What is this place?” Duran asked as he looked around with a disheartened expression.

“The Misery Ring,” Lathan replied. A dark shadow over her eyes. “That’s what everyone calls it.”

“All because of that greedy king son of a—”

“Take it easy, Solphs,” Berig said, resting his hands on her shoulders to calm her down. “This isn’t our fight. Remember?”

But his expression said the contrary. Berig’s lips were pursed in anger, and his breathing was notably exalted even though he tried to control it.

“It should be.” Solphie didn’t look up, her fists clenched until her knuckles turned white.

Lathan sighed. “Come on.”

As they walked through the dusty streets, Duran could see for himself why they call it the Misery Ring.

Every house was falling apart—walls crumbling, some missing sections entirely, roofs patched with mismatched squares of fabric. For every door that still stood, five hung broken or were gone altogether.

Makeshift stalls were set up in porches: crooked tables with food barely worth the name—fruit rotting with black spots, bread turned stale and gray with mold, fish buzzing with flies, hunks of discolored meat, shriveled pelts curled like parchment.

The occasional abandoned store with broken windows and empty shelves. Each with an EVICTED sign at the front door.

And the people…

Dirty. Thinner than they should be. Shoeless, most of them, with torn clothes and a hopeless countenance. Men, women, children, the elderly—defeat in every face.

The scenery broke Duran’s heart.

What if he hadn’t had his sister? Could he have ended up like this? Could he have survived in a place like this?

I don’t think so.

“I’m next!” A man staggered from the next corner, shouting. “I’m next! I told you—and you, and you—that I was next!” His finger pointed around him with nobody to aim at. “I’m going into Golden City. I’m saved! The mighty mage of the purple hand saved me!”

The man got lost around the next corner, laughing maniacally.

“Golden City?” Duran asked.

“That gigantic wall that could be seen even from the forest?” Berig said, smirking.

“Yeah?” Duran answered slowly, his mouth twisting in annoyance as he glanced up at Berig.

“There’s Golden City behind it,” Berig said with a wide grin on his face.

“Wow, thanks.”

“You asked.”

“Stop it, children,” Lathan cut in. “More importantly, what did he mean by going into the city?”

“Apparently, a lot has changed since we were last here,” Solphie said, kicking aside a heap of garbage. “I hate that little avaricious king.”

Duran almost asked, but he didn’t need to. It wasn’t hard to imagine: the greedy king hoarding wealth behind Golden City’s shining walls while his people starved in the Misery Ring.

He bet taxes. Whether coin or grain, they meant nothing if they weren’t used to keep society afloat. Misused, they drowned it.

Duran already hated that king, too.

“You’re not from around here,” a man said, stepping toward them. “Want to buy some jewelry?”

The man extended his arms, from his hands a variety of necklaces hung. Made from what looked like ordinary pebbles and glinting tiny colored pieces of… glass? Yes, it was nothing more than polished glass, trying and failing to mimic gemstones.

Jewelry? It was ridiculous. And depressing.

Solphie plucked one of the necklaces and slipped two coins into the man’s palm.

“Oh, miss, this… this is too much,” the man said, bowing and offering one coin back.

“It’s not. One coin for the necklace, one coin for information.”

She turned and faced Duran, grabbed his hand, and tied the necklace around his wrist.

“For good luck,” Solphie said and kissed his cheek.

“Information?” the man said.

Duran had no chance to reply, much less complain. He just stood in place, his face red as a ruby, ears nearly steaming. He clutched the beaded trinket against his chest with his free hand.

That girl was going to kill him with a heart attack.

“Thanks,” he muttered under his breath. Nobody noticed.

“Yes, we heard a man shouting about entering Golden City,” Lathan said. “What did he mean? From what I remember, only guards and the royal family were permitted inside.”

“Oh, you must be talking about crazy Carlile. Don’t mind him.” The man waved his hand dismissively. “He lost a screw last year, but he’s harmless. He lived with his grandson, and the kid was selected to enter the city. But Carlile? That poor bastard will never meet the requirements.”

“So, they are allowing people from the Ring into the city?” Lathan said, frowning.

“Nobody here understands it either.” The man shrugged. “The king is the same asshole he’s always been. Worse these last two years. That’s when he started taking everything from us, as you can see. But that’s also when he began selecting people to enter Golden City.”

“And what are the requirements?” Nano asked.

“A talking cat!” The man raised his brows and took a quick, close look at Nano. “Don’t let the king hear you, Mr. Cat. He’d lock you in his vault. Your kind is rare.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks. Requirements?”

“Ah, yes.” The man stepped back. “Nobody knows for sure. There are some theories, but nothing more. A group of guards comes into the Ring once a month and selects four to seven people who’ve ‘earned the right’ to live inside. They’re taken into Golden City, and we lose all contact with them. I suppose that’s the price for a better life in there—cutting ties with the trash outside.” The man shrugged again. “That’s all I can tell you. That’s all anyone here can tell you.”

“That’s weird,” Berig said.

“It certainly is.”

“And suspicious,” Duran added.

“Very,” Solphie agreed, her eyes flashing with fury. “We must talk to that… that… king and demand answers. The right to live inside, my ass!”

She stormed off, staff clutched tight, her whole body tense with righteous anger.

“Thank you,” Lathan said, handing the man another coin before hurrying after her. The rest followed.

Duran couldn’t be the only one thinking there was something rotten in Golden City. Where did they accommodate all those people? And why would a society so wealthy and envious of its own lifestyle suddenly fling open its gates to the poor?

It stank of deception.

Slavery for the castle chores? No—too many people. Cannon fodder for some hidden war? The man didn’t mention any conflict. Perhaps forced recruiting precisely to form an army? It could be, but then, the selected ones had to meet certain conditions.

Solphie was right, they had to talk to the king.

Darker possibilities were lurking in Duran’s mind, but he didn’t want to think about them. They were horrendous.

The wooden doors towered several meters high, reinforced with thick metal slats. Two guards flanked them—armored head to toe, shields braced, spears and swords like those that had protected the carriages.

The giant white wall stretched higher still, and for kilometers to either side.

It was imposing.

Lathan stood firm before the gates. Neither she, nor Solphie, Nano, or Berig seemed intimidated.

“We’re here to speak to the King of Avaria,” Lathan called, her voice loud and steady, echoing off the ramparts. “We request an audience.”

The doors groaned as they slowly opened.

Behind them waited more guards, spears leveled at the group. On each side, two mages conjured elemental spells, letting fire and crackling energy hover above their hands in a menacing stance.

“The king knows who you are and what you seek,” the central soldier shouted, drawing his sword. “You’re not welcome into the Avaria Kingdom. You’re not welcome in the Golden City. Hand over your weapons and surrender. You are under arrest!”