Soon, the travelers found themselves climbing a gentle, well-maintained road.
A weathered signpost at the crossroads read Kertos, and the thought of resting at an inn appealed to every one of them.
The town had been built atop a hill, safely above the marshlands that surrounded the region. Dense woodland embraced it on all sides, protected by a wooden palisade nearly three meters high. Though small, Kertos was filled with sturdy stone houses clustered around a central square, where an ancient willow dominated the landscape.
Its people were somber.
Broad-shouldered hunters and trappers, they looked like men who rarely ventured beyond their homeland. They belonged to the wilderness as much as the trees themselves.
The company found an inn and settled around a table.
Arsik and Darma instinctively took the seats against the wall.
"Strange village," Arsik remarked.
"What's strange about it?" Darma asked, already sounding ready to argue.
"Nothing, really."
"The people."
"They're completely withdrawn."
"I like that, actually."
"But it's still strange."
Darma smothered a laugh.
"They're not gloomy, man."
"They're afraid."
"Everywhere I go, people see my wings—or what's left of them—and assume I'm some kind of demon."
Arsik took another swallow of rum.
"If only they knew what a sweetheart you really are."
Kalden couldn't help laughing.
So did Maynar, though he shot Darma an apologetic glance.
The Gargoyle seemed to enjoy the jab.
"You owe your peace and quiet to me, human."
"To you, Gargoyle."
Arsik raised his mug in a mock toast.
Kalden glanced around the common room.
Outside the window, he noticed a young man with black hair dressed in expensive crimson and violet garments. A whip hung from his belt, and several burly villagers followed behind him.
The moment he entered the inn, every eye turned toward him.
Darma immediately noticed the fear in the villagers' faces.
This man clearly held authority.
When he spotted the newcomers, he approached their table wearing the smile of a wolf.
"Dear travelers!"
"Welcome to my humble town."
"My name is Ulthar Alaos."
"And from this day forward, I am at your service."
No one seemed particularly impressed.
Kalden rose politely.
"Kalden Orans."
"Baronial knight of Forcry."
Ulthar briefly lost the color in his face.
"Orans?"
"Of that family?"
"Oh, gods..."
"What an honor for Kertos to receive such distinguished company."
"Sir, please forgive the unpleasant smell in this establishment."
"I'll see that punishments are handed out immediately."
"There's no need," Kalden replied awkwardly.
"It smells perfectly fine."
Ulthar's eyes drifted over the unusual assortment of companions surrounding the knight.
"Such... diversity is rare."
"What brings you here?"
"Hunting," Arsik answered before anyone else could speak.
The only thing he wanted was to punch the smile off Ulthar's face.
He simply wasn't sure why.
"Hunting?"
"Here?"
"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed."
"The marsh drives away anything interesting."
"Animals..."
"...and people alike."
Darma caught the hint beneath the words.
"You want us gone, boy?"
Kalden turned sharply.
"The man before you is a Magister, Darmakaya."
"He governs this town and serves the Baron of Lyria."
"You'll show him the respect he's due."
"You might," Darma replied dryly.
"I've seen men like him sink faster than stones."
"Forgive him, Lord Ulthar," Kalden said.
"He's uncivilized."
"A pirate."
"The only reason any of us tolerate him is because of the orders we've been given."
Ulthar seemed thoroughly entertained.
Meanwhile, Maynar leaned toward Pale.
"This fellow reeks of magic."
"He pretends to be harmless..."
"...but he isn't."
"Reeks?" Pale asked.
"Smells."
"I don't smell anything."
"I know."
"It doesn't matter."
"I'm just letting you know."
"If you'd share a little more about your journey," Ulthar continued pleasantly, "perhaps I could be of assistance."
"No one knows these lands better than I do."
He raised a hand, ordering food and drink for everyone.
He insisted on paying himself.
They were, after all, his honored guests.
Aside from Kalden, no one even pretended to object.
Things suddenly looked much brighter.
Hours slipped by as wine and rum flowed freely.
Everyone except Pale took full advantage of Ulthar's generosity.
Slowly, patiently, the Magister encouraged them to reveal more and more about themselves.
Kalden proved especially easy to flatter.
"Your hospitality will become legendary, my lord," the knight admitted, embarrassed by just how much he had eaten.
"You jest, Sir Kalden."
"It is the very least I can do for a knight who keeps our lands safe from bandits and monsters."
"But you still haven't told me where you're headed."
"Well..."
Kalden smiled sheepishly.
"It's a bit complicated."
"Let's just say we're traveling toward Lyria."
"We're looking for a manor."
"A manor?"
"In these parts?"
Ulthar chuckled softly.
"I daresay the wine is stronger than usual tonight."
"Not exactly here."
"Farther west."
"In the mountains near Lyria."
"There's... a mage."
"At least, I believe he is."
"He has a private army."
"Or perhaps just guards."
"I'm not entirely sure."
Kalden was visibly drunk now.
His words came slowly and clumsily.
Ulthar's eyes narrowed.
"There's only one place fitting that description anywhere near Lyria."
"You're speaking of Dyran's manor."
Every head at the table lifted.
"That's the one," Darma said.
"You know where it is?"
"Of course."
"It's easy enough to find if you follow the Swamp Road."
He smiled.
"The real question..."
"...is whether you'll survive long enough to reach it."
"What do you mean by that?" Arsik asked, his ears flushed red from drink.
"It's a dangerous road, my friend."
"The farther west you travel, the closer you come to the Armorian Mountains."
"You all know what's happening around Lyria."
"Brutgor raiders continue to hammer the city."
"Unfortunately, their shamans have taught them ways of slipping through Lothen's borders."
"They leave chaos behind them."
"In villages."
"On lonely roads."
"And among innocent travelers."
"We're hardly innocent," Darma replied bluntly.
"If those barbarians truly threaten the road," Kalden declared with genuine anger, "then that's all the more reason for us to take it."
"If we cross paths with them, we'll rid Lothen of a few more murderers."
"My friends, you've misunderstood me."
"Or perhaps the wine has clouded my thoughts as well."
"But you haven't been drinking," Pale observed.
Ulthar's expression hardened for the briefest instant.
"I only meant the road is full of dangers."
"Besides..."
"It circles the mountain."
"I know another route."
"A trail through the mountains."
"It leads almost directly to Lord Dyran's manor."
"A trail?" Kalden asked.
"What trail?"
"You see, Lord Dyran and I have spoken on several occasions."
"He often seeks alchemical ingredients and herbs that are difficult to obtain in western Lothen."
"And..."
"...he is extraordinarily wealthy."
"Any dealings with him tend to be very rewarding."
"Several times I've hired riders to deliver supplies."
"They've always managed the journey safely in roughly half the usual travel time."
"Naturally, all with the approval of the Baron of Lyria."
He laughed lightly.
"I should mention that because I wouldn't want anyone to think Lord Dyran and I share anything more than... a very superficial acquaintance."
"So you do know him," Arsik said.
"What can you tell us?"
"Where does he live?"
"How many men does he have?"
"My..."
Ulthar smiled.
"What unusual questions."
"He's a mage of some reputation."
"A man with considerable resources."
"His household guard is exactly what one would expect."
"And his manor stands precisely where one might imagine, considering the nature of its owner."
"I've never heard anyone use so many words to say absolutely nothing," Arsik muttered.
Ulthar's eyes gleamed.
Only then did Arsik truly realize how dangerous the young Magister was.
"Show us this trail, Magister," Maynar said diplomatically.
"I'm no cartographer, but I've always loved history... and geography..."
His words faded into the background.
Darma had heard that speech countless times before.
"Certainly."
Ulthar sketched a simple map upon a piece of parchment and handed it to Maynar.
Afterward, he wished them a pleasant evening, paid for their meals and lodgings, and departed.
"What an extraordinarily gracious man," Kalden said sincerely.
Arsik merely shook his head.