Darma had climbed to the top of a tall rock.
The wind blew against him, and he could feel the currents passing through the holes in his broken wings. Even so, the sensation was pleasant. Once, he would have spread those wings wide and soared high above the land, above the southern seas, with endless blue stretching in every direction until exhaustion forced him to land at some tavern or aboard a passing ship.
That had been life.
The whole world had lain at his feet.
Now, standing on foot atop the ridge, he gazed across at the manor perched against the mountainside and the small settlement nestled beneath it.
They were close.
Below, the others waited.
"I've never seen this castle before," Kalden said.
"It isn't really a castle," Maynar replied. "It has no fortifications. That tower standing above the rest serves no defensive purpose. There isn't even a wall. Unless we're counting those tall stakes surrounding it."
"You're right," Kalden admitted. "I don't understand how anyone can live this close to the mountains of Armoria without proper defenses. There's no way Dyran—or anyone living there—could be safe from the beasts of the region or the raids of the Brutgors. Something doesn't add up."
Arsik rose with visible irritation.
"Have you understood nothing, Kalden? Nothing at all? None of this is normal. Dyran isn't here by accident. He's powerful—not only as a mage, but as a Lothenian... or whatever the hell he is. He's connected, as you people say here. Protected. Someone important is backing him. Some noble. It isn't just that little rat we met in Kertos. There's an entire network behind this. I'm willing to bet gold, influence, and a dozen other things are involved. I grew up on an island ruled by bandit lords. None of this is new to me. You've simply taken too long to understand how the world works."
Kalden felt his ears burning.
He stared at Arsik, but no answer came to him.
"What are you staring at? Did I say something strange? You think Lothen isn't as corrupt as every other kingdom? You'll be disappointed. They're all the same. Whatever we accomplish here won't change a thing for people like them. They don't see liches, demons, or monsters. They only see gold and power. They'll throw us into the darkest dungeon they have, toss away the key, and keep working with men like Dyran instead of us."
All of them looked toward the manor.
Kalden thought of Ilandro's words.
Was Arsik right?
Was he himself part of that same unjust system?
What honor was there in hunting those who hunted demons and monsters?
At last, Darma climbed down from the rocky overlook.
"Strange place," he muttered. "There's no way to approach without the guards spotting us. There's only a single path leading up there, and it's so steep they'll see us long before we arrive. This isn't good."
"We don't need to sneak in," Kalden replied. "We'll walk straight to the gates and demand to see the mage. Once he appears, we'll demand answers and put an end to this."
Darma stopped beside him.
His face loomed a full head above the knight's.
"Have you completely lost your mind, knight? Where do you think you are? That mage is expecting us. Not to welcome us—to kill us. He's already tried once. Maybe not with his own hands, but what difference does that make? We're all half-crippled because of him. If you want to trade words with him, go alone. I only want his head."
"He will answer to the justice of Lothen!" Kalden shouted. "Just as you will!"
Every head turned toward him.
The knight regretted the words the instant they left his mouth.
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Darma asked quietly.
"We'll do things the proper way," Kalden said at last, trying to repair the damage.
"What is it you're really after, Darma?" Maynar asked.
Darma struggled to ignore the question.
The poet knew him now.
They had traveled together long enough.
"My questions are my own concern."
"I don't think they are," Arsik cut in.
Darma slowly tilted his head.
"If you're looking for the demoness," Arsik said, "you're fooling yourself. The moment I see her, I'll gut her."
"You're not in any condition to gut anyone, one-eye," Darma replied. "You stink of rum and piss, and your arms are thin as sticks."
Without the slightest hint of fear, Arsik stepped closer.
"Don't worry about me or my arms, Gargoyle. Worry about yourself. Statues are rare around here."
"Enough!" Kalden snapped once again.
"The manor is just ahead. You'll have to wait until we arrive before settling your differences. Perhaps the answers waiting there will satisfy every one of us."
He looked from one face to the next.
"What we're doing here isn't simple. But this isn't only about us anymore—that much is certain. We don't know one another. We don't even like one another. Yet the gods brought us here for a reason. We are not going to slaughter each other on these mountain slopes, only a few steps away from completing our mission."
He tightened his grip on his sword.
"Forward."
Together, they continued up the steep mountain path.