Part - 1
The duststorm of Zahakar had vanished behind them, and in its place, fire.
A burst of heat swept across Orren Zahad's broad shoulders as he and his companions stepped out of the Stonearch Gate's magic. The arch of weathered basalt behind them glowed faintly, embers curling through its veins as if molten rock still flowed within. This was the Drusviel Gate in Cinderlith, deep in the southern marches of the Kingdom of Cindralith.
Rahim stumbled out last, his dark hair messy, his face pale and drawn with the aftertaste of wine.
"By the sands, that was worse than a hangover," he muttered, brushing ash from his tunic.
Orren gave him a hard look. "That's because you are weak, boy. If you spent less time rolling in beds and more with a blade, you'd walk straighter."
Rahim straightened at once, puffing his chest. "I walked out just fine. You just didn't notice."
"Both of you, enough." Nadir stepped between them, his hands raised in weary familiarity. "If you quarrel here, we'll look like fools in front of Cindralith's men."
As if on cue, two guards in dark bronze mail approached the gate. One of them extended a gauntleted hand.
"Travelers, five silvers for passage."
Orren reached into his belt pouch without complaint. The coins clinked against the guard's palm, but instead of stepping aside immediately, the man looked up. His eyes widened, and then he bent his head respectfully.
"Chief Zahad. I did not recognize you at first. His Majesty, King Falkar Marranor, would welcome your presence at his hall if you would grant him the honor."
Rahim raised an eyebrow at that, but Orren waved a thick, calloused hand.
"Not today. Tell Falkar this old man is in a hurry. I'll pay my respects when I pass back through your city."
"As you say, Warden of Dust." The guard struck a fist to his chest in salute and stepped aside.
Rahim smirked as they walked into the forest road beyond the gate.
"You know, father, maybe if you actually showed up to these kings when they call, we'd be eating off golden plates instead of iron."
Orren shot him a look that could have split stone. "And maybe if you listened more, I wouldn't have to drag you across kingdoms like a spoiled calf."
The forest greeted them soon after tall trees rising like pillars of shadow, canopies stretching far enough to swallow the sky. It was cooler than Zahakar, damp earth rich with the smell of leaves and moss. The calls of unseen animals carried on the wind.
Hours later, they made camp near a clearing. A fire crackled as fat dripped from a boar they had caught on the road, its flesh searing and sending up waves of savory smoke.
Rahim tore a strip of meat with exaggerated relish. "Now this," he said, his mouth full, "this almost makes up for the cold. Almost. Still too many trees, though. How do people breathe here without sand to clear the lungs?"
Nadir ignored him, setting a pot near the fire. Orren chewed slowly, eyes on the flames.
"Well, Nadir. Tell me again about this contractor. What sort of man pays so much for an escort mission?"
Nadir shook his head. "Mira only said it was an easy mission. An escort job. The contractor is from the Great Library of Mnemonrae."
At that, Orren fell silent, his brows furrowing. The firelight carved lines of thought across his weathered face.
Rahim leaned back with a laugh. "A bookkeeper? All this noise, for a librarian? We should've stayed in Zahakar. At least mercenary work there doesn't smell of ink and dust."
"Quiet," Orren said flatly.
Nadir spoke carefully. "The mission pays thirty silvers. Food, travel, all covered."
Rahim nearly choked on his meat. "Thirty silvers? For walking around with some scholar? What kind of fool pays coin like that for babysitting?"
Orren didn't answer, though the fire reflected in his dark eyes. He only muttered, as if to himself, "We'll see if it's as easy as Mira claims."
Part - 2
The walk to Brackenwell went faster than expected. What should have taken two days was chewed up in one; Orren set a pace like a warhorse, steady and merciless. By the time the crooked gate of the village creaked into view, dusk had already swallowed the treetops. Lanterns burned low in windows, and dogs barked at the strangers on the road.
The Zahad men drew stares as they entered. Tall, broad-shouldered, skin darkened by the desert sun, they looked like iron statues walking through a world of clay. The villagers muttered. Orren ignored them, Rahim smirked at them, and Nadir kept count of their stares with silent irritation.
They pushed on until the sign of the Drunken Boar swung into view, creaking in the wind. Before Orren set hand to the door, he muttered under his breath, "Hells. This brings back memories."
Rahim cocked his head. "What was that, old man?"
"Nothing, you brat. Just shut your mouth and mind your manners when we step in. Be respectful to Mira, if you plan on living past twenty."
Rahim snorted. "Please. Like some tavern wench could kill me. I'd..." He cut himself off as soon as the door swung open.
There, behind the counter, stood a woman with hair black as ink and eyes sharp enough to cut glass. She moved with ease, laughter spilling from her lips as she shoved away some drunk's wandering hand. Even in the haze of ale and smoke, she shone like a blade polished clean.
Rahim's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Mother of gods… who the hell is that?"
Orren strode past him without slowing. "That's Mira, brat. And if you open your mouth the wrong way, I'll break your teeth myself."
"Mira? That's Mira?" Rahim whispered, still staring like a fool.
Orren's voice boomed over the noise of the bar. "Mira! You old fox, still cheating drunks out of coin?"
Her head snapped up. For a heartbeat her eyes widened then she laughed, loud and bright, and came around the counter. "Orren, you dusty bastard! You still alive?"
They embraced like family, clapping each other's backs hard enough to bruise. The tavern fell quiet for a moment, patrons watching with curiosity.
When they pulled apart, Mira shook her head. "You haven't changed. Still ugly. Still walking around like you own every room."
"Ugly maybe, but stronger than most of the sorry bastards in here," Orren grinned.
"Oh, sit down before your ego smothers us." She waved them to a table. "Drinks? Food? Or do I need to fetch a bloody camel to make you feel at home?"
They sat. Nadir ordered wine, Orren took strong ale, Rahim tried to flirt badly.
"So Mira," Rahim leaned forward with his most charming grin, "ever considered younger company? A man with stamina, not broken knees?"
The table went silent.
Orren slammed a meaty hand on his son's head, shoving him down into his cup. "Forgive the brat, Mira. His brain's still soft. Too much wine, too little sense."
Mira only laughed. "Please, Orren. I've had worse thrown at me in a single night. I'll forget it by the time he grows a beard."
Rahim, cheeks red, muttered, "I can grow a beard."
"Not today you can't." Orren drained half his mug.
The night dragged on with stories, half-truths, and reminiscences of battles long past the kind sung by no bard but remembered by scars. Slowly, the tavern emptied until only a few stragglers remained.
At last Orren leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Enough memories. Where's this contractor of yours, Mira? We need to hear the details."
"Right, right." She waved toward the stairs. "Stay put. I'll fetch him."
Moments later, Lethan descended, his steps hesitant. He carried himself with the nervous stiffness of a man trying to appear braver than he was. When he reached the table, he bowed awkwardly.
"Sir Orren Zahad… it's an honor."
"Sit," Orren grunted, shoving a stool out with his boot. "Name?"
"Lethan Aric. Scholar. Scribe. And, ah… your contractor."
Introductions were made. Nadir nodded politely, Rahim smirked, still half-drunk, and Mira busied herself pouring another round.
"So," Orren said at last, "what's this job that dragged me across kingdoms? Mira tells me it's easy coin. Escort, she said. Sounds like babysitting."
Lethan laughed nervously, his eyes wet. "Escort, yes. I… I have to deliver information. Very important information. And, ah, I'll need a few signatures."
"That's it?" Orren's brow furrowed. "Gods damn it, boy, you need a party for that?"
"Yes," Lethan admitted with a shaky laugh. "Yes, I do."
"Well. Easier for us then. Good money, light work." Orren leaned back. "Where to?"
Lethan hesitated, then spoke softly. "Our first stop… is the border of Velmora. To meet the Weaponmaster."
The table went dead silent. Mira froze mid-pour. Nadir's eyes widened. Rahim blinked.
Orren leaned forward, his face like stone. "Say that again, boy."
"The Weaponmaster," Lethan repeated. "Drossvain Marr."
The silence broke in a thunderclap of voices.
"What the fuck did you just say?" Orren bellowed, his mug slamming to the table hard enough to splash ale.
End of Chapter.