1

There was only one city worth mentioning in Dharva, and Izumi spent a good while wondering whether this was a figurative expression, before the answer was made clear. By logic, the Dharves should have raised numerous cities throughout the region during their thousand years of freedom, towns, and villages, and smaller settlements, filling the arctic land with organized life. But this was evidently not the case, and over the following days that the travelers spent riding across the vast plains of the strath of Dharva, Izumi began to see the story behind the quietude.

The riders did come across numerous dwellings, or ruins of such, and not so many dwellers. Many of the derelict houses by the road bore signs of fire, their wood parts all but stripped off the blackened foundations, masonry collapsed and in shambles. Mile after mile, these bleak visions repeated themselves, to the point that they nearly became an organic part of the scenery itself.

This land had been full of people once, as was to be expected, but not so much anymore. What could have brought about the present state of the region—the answer was too obvious for the question to be made.

“...Mementos of the war, huh?” Izumi remarked aloud, gazing at the snow-coated remains of yet another vacated village they passed through.

“Aye,” Waramoti nodded. “It is an ugly tale, and all too fresh in memory.”

“The decisive battle took place further in the south, didn’t it? So why...”

The bard closed his eyes and shook his head, and his expression made Izumi leave the sentence unfinished.

“Remember how I told you about the exceedingly hurried nature of Tratovia’s war preparations, yes?” he asked her instead. “To continue the earlier tale, it comes apparent that none on our side had spared much thought beforehand to what should be done in the event of victory either. Due to the heavy casualties the Empire had suffered, occupying Dharva and pouring supplies into holding it was a task beyond our capacity. A hefty part of our army consisted of no professional soldiers but of drafted laymen, and they wanted nothing more but to return to their homes, their duty done. At the same time, we could hardly trust in the Dharves’ commitment to the peace terms, and leave them to their devices. Witnessing our victory march, the locals had a hard time accepting the outcome. The desire for payback was obvious everywhere you would look. It began to feel less and less like the decisive triumph to us, and more like the prelude to a life-long feud. But where his generals hesitated, the Emperor had a solution. There could be no guarantee that the Dharves would never rise to war again, but we could ensure that it would take them a long, long time. So his majesty gave the armies orders to withdraw and burn all the land outside of Utenvik to the ground. Every town and village was torched, every storage, granary, shed, and stable. Wells were filled with rocks and dead animals, rivers blocked, cattle slaughtered. Anyone who dared to resist was hung by the road, along with every tenth man of his settlement. The Dharves could only stand and watch as their nation was reduced to ashes, a desolate wasteland, which would take decades of hard work to rebuild. Such manpower or wealth they had not left, after the loss of so many able men, as well as the heavy war reparations. The survivors had to abandon their family lands and start over elsewhere. If they could. Many took their own lives, unable to cope with the loss. That is the chief reason why there is no Dharva outside of Utenvik today, and why Faalan would have little reason to dwell elsewhere in the region.”

Izumi could only exhale a frustrated sigh at the grievous tale, rubbing her temples.

“I suppose these antics explain why the locals don’t love the Empire,” she said.

“It did wonders to our reputation across the whole continent,” Waramoti replied. “There was no keeping atrocities of such scale a secret for long. Though most of the northern realm had been on our side prior to the war, united against the common threat, the situation was turned upside down in a week. The desolation of Dharva became a symbol of the Empire’s heartless greed and ambition. The other lands began to view ours as an unpredictable, ruthless tyranny, set on to conquer the world—and I suppose they weren’t far off the mark. Many cut diplomatic ties with us altogether, Langoria, Luctretz, Melgier, Hanver…It may be history now, but I reckon our new sovereign will have her hands full patching the foreign relations.”

“I don’t even want to think about it!” Izumi shook her head with a shudder. “But what does it mean to us? What kind of a reception are we looking at? Are they going to start swinging axes as soon as we step in? Because if that’s the case, I’m out.”

“I doubt it’s quite that bad,” the bard replied. “The Dharves have no love for the imperials, that’s for sure, but they must also recognize their dependency on foreign trade. Shunning the largest economy on the continent would mean their end, so they have no choice but to swallow their resentment and play nice. Like the commander of Ingelbek told us, Dharva exports various goods they mine in the mountains and what they can make of such; fuel, steel, gold, silver, armor, weapons, jewelry, you name it. In exchange, they get what they can’t produce themselves. Namely, food. As you can see, the weather is not particularly hospitable up here. The season is too short for harvest, so they need to import virtually everything that can’t be grown indoors. Which is why harassing random travelers and potential merchants is not on top of their minds. The desire to live yet overpowers the desire for vengeance, as we can surmise by Count Mervinna’s successful trade efforts.”

“Right.”

“Though that doesn’t mean there is no risk whatsoever,” the bard added, lowering his tone. “The more patriotic souls left are sure not to treat us to a beer, should they learn where we hail from. No, they will want to shank us in a dark alley and bury our corpses in snow. We should exercise due caution on the way. If anyone asks, tell them we are from Oss. That is the name of my old homeland, and I will be able to answer any questions they can come up in regards to it.”

“Aren’t we glad you drank the magic potion?” Izumi said. “Now no one here can recognize you, though you must be quite notorious in these parts. You might’ve met some of these people in battle, right?”

“By the Divines! I am more than glad!” Waramoti exclaimed. “On that note, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me by name in here. Just to be on the safe side.”

“I never call you by name, anyway,” she replied.

“Now that you mentioned, you don’t,” he noted, slightly taken aback. “Why is that, anyway? My name can’t be that hard to say.”

“Because it’s embarrassing…” Izumi mumbled.

She wouldn’t tell anyone, but in her own homeland, calling another by their given name was a display of intimacy generally reserved only for close friends or spouses. Though she had become magically fluent in the local language and forgot her own, this minor difference in culture continued to bother Izumi. She would reflexively come up with roundabout ways and pet names to refer to people, yet couldn’t think of a good nickname for the bard, and a family name he didn’t have. Thereby, she avoided directly referring to him at all.

“What was that?” Waramoti asked, leaning forward in his saddle to hear better.

“No, it’s nothing,” she denied. “I already forgot your name, that’s why.”

“As if anyone could have memory that bad!” he retorted.

“I have a handy brain that deletes unnecessary information after a while. Sorry.”

“Is that what the name of your savior is to you!?”

“I need to save space for any cute girls we might come across, please understand.”

“I don’t! Have you no heart!?”

In this laid-back fashion, the travelers made their way deeper and deeper into the Dharvic territory, across the barren fields. Neither had any tangible idea on what manner of a quest awaited them at the destination, or where fate would lead them thence.

Did even the Divines?

2

Close in the care of the circling mountains, dug partially into the side of the precipitous Mt Engregor was a city of impressive scale, in every respect a match for the purported greatness of the past.

Utenvik, the capital of Dharva.

Two voluminous perimeter walls divided the city into its major zones. There was an inner wall, tightly enclosing the elevated heart of the capital right at the base of the mountain, with the City Hall, other administrative buildings, and the mansions of high-ranking lords, with a singular main gate facing south. A much larger, circular outer wall went around the rest of the city, making it resemble a giant cauldron crammed full of upright brick houses, each barely an arms’ span from the other. Sharply slanted roofs prevented frequently adding snow from burdening the houses, and black smoke arose from the myriads of pipes and chimneys without a moment’s rest, drawing vague lines across the ashen sky.

Not all of the city fit within the walls, spilling partially over to the frozen slopes around, in the fashion of overboiling porridge. The houses outside the wall were not as stout as the ones within, mostly made of rough-cut logs or boards instead of brick, their paint faded and flaking. But it was there that Izumi could get her first look at the inhabitants of this remote land. Having heard of the Dharves’ questionable reputation and past murderous feats, she had awaited this day with certain restlessness. Yet, reality played out against her expectations once again. The accumulated tension in her shoulders soon relaxed as they rode uphill, along the muddy road between the cabins.

“...Aren’t they just people?” Izumi commented aloud, gazing left and right.

She saw ordinary men, women, children, elderly, carrying on about their daily lives, the same as in any other corner of the earth. Most were dressed in thick coats of fur, while the less prosperous had opted for quantity over quality, donning multiple layers of lighter garments. Hats they all had to cover their heads and ears, simple beanies, furred caps, and bombastic cassocks. Around their necks and faces they had wrapped hand-knit mufflers of various warm colors. To guard their hands, they wore thick mitts, or fur-lined gloves. But underneath all the clothes were unquestionably human figures and faces, most of them creamy pale by complexion, some tanned by outdoors labor. The streaks of hair visible were typically dark, either black as soot, or else deep gray-brown, though some women had added color to their curls by means of floral dye. Most men sported impressive beards or at least mustache. They also had very dark eyes, similar to the Asians of Earth, without any peculiar fantasy variations.

All in all, the Dharves were hardly any bigger, brawnier, or stranger in general, than other people Izumi had seen so far, in the Empire or elsewhere. Certainly, nothing about them implied superhuman strength or endurance bestowed upon them by a foreign species, or adamant power of will.

“Why, yes, they are human,” the youthful bard replied with an innocent shrug. “I believe I never claimed otherwise.”

“Don’t get smart with me!” Izumi exclaimed. “By the earlier story, I already pictured something like giant vikings on steroids! What have I been fretting for, all these days? You fooled me! Your story was the very fantasy world equivalent of clickbait articles! What the heck!? What a letdown!”

“How is your over-zealous imagination any of my fault?” Waramoti defended his presentation. “Obviously, not all Dharves are hard-boiled warriors. There are different castes and jobs, the same as any place else. Not to mention that inner strength very rarely shows itself on the outside.”

“Whatever!” Izumi turned her face away with a huff. “I won’t believe a word you say anymore!”

“Come now, don’t be childish. It was clearly your mistake.”

“I’m not talking to you either.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Well, would you like to talk to those gentlemen instead?”

The curving road delivered them to a gate in the outer wall.

Seeing it up close, Izumi estimated the wall to be as high as forty-five feet. It looked like it was shaped straight out of bedrock, without any distinct seams or separate elements, but the impression was most likely achieved with a simple plaster coating.

The gate consisted of two enormous door halves of cast iron, left open for the day, with a heavy portcullis beyond. Four guardsmen in thick black furs, bright chain mail vests, and round pot helmets stood on watch, gripping tall steel spears, crystal-shaped shields on their backs. As the travelers neared, one of the watchers stepped forward to block the way, raising his hand.

The travelers stopped their horses.

“Good day to you, brave defenders of Utenvik!” Waramoti greeted the guardsmen.

“Good day,” the guard replied, less energetically. “What business has brought you so far from home, young man?”

“I am most glad you asked, sir!” Waramoti said, taking up his lute. “I am Wa—Walton! A wandering bard and an author of wonders! And this here is my assistant, Izala. We have come to delight your people with extraordinary tales and the newest songs from faraway lands. For that, we’d appreciate your permission to enter the city.”

To add to his credibility, Waramoti played a brief tune with his instrument.

The guard didn’t look too impressed. Rather, Izumi thought he appeared plain fed up.

“That would be ten silver,” the watchman announced. “Five for the both of you.”

Waramoti’s smile faded at once.

“T-that is quite the toll,” he stammered, his smile growing strained. “I was not aware such a custom was in place.”

“Well, you’re better informed now, son. Ten silver to enter the city. You pay up or leave.”

“Ahaha...” The bard let out a forced little laugh as he grimaced. “These are troubled times, good sir. And though I freely admit it to be an honor worth some money, ten silver for the sheer privilege of viewing your splendid city up close is quite steep. I would doubtless need coin for a warm bed and a loaf of bread also—which should inflict a telling blow on my modest personal economy, on top of your harsh demand. Would there be no chance of lowering this necessary fee just a wee bit?”

“Ten silver,” the guard slowly repeated, not looking amenable.

“Not one for haggling, are we? You could choose to view it as a tribute to arts, if you will. Bards’ role is to bring joy in people's lives, and this we do for a great many, yet not close to as many find it in themselves to reward us for our efforts. Ever are we in need, tightening our belts! Your sponsorship could make one minstrel’s work a good deal easier for days to come—Don’t you find the idea heart-warming at all?”

“No, it would be ten silver, or you take your joy to someone else’s life.”

“I see now.” Waramoti wouldn’t give up. “You are uncertain whether my ability truly warrants the mantle of an artist. Perfectly understandable. Then, perhaps if I give you a presentation of my merchandise, your mind will be changed? I happen to have a song in mind that is most suited for the occasion.”

“That will not be necessary,” the guard quickly denied. “The only melody I like is the clinking of coin against coin, and it’s all I’ve the mind to hear today. If you’ve not the instruments to play that, then I recommend that you leave, with your art and all.”

They continued to argue for a while longer, until Waramoti finally gave up and turned his horse around, huffing and puffing in frustration.

“Come!” he told Izumi. “It’s been made clear there are no friends of culture around these parts!”

“But...” Izumi watched him go, hesitating.

“Hurry on, Izala! We shall find our audience elsewhere.”

Unsure of what went through the bard’s mind, Izumi turned her horse around and followed after him. Reaching a safe distance away from the gate, she urged her mount closer and spoke to her companion again.

“Why didn’t you just pay the man?” she asked. “We have the silver.”

“It’s a trap,” Waramoti answered her in a low tone. “No matter how you look at it, that price is unreasonable! Had I, a wandering musician, been able to produce ten silver on demand, they would have arrested us on the spot as spies.”

“Ah, right,” she nodded. “Good thinking, I suppose.”

“It’s common sense!” he retorted. “By the mercy of the Lords, you’re going to have to learn to discern these things, if you mean to get by in this world. I may not always be there to hold your hand, you know? Sooner or later, our paths must diverge. Then you’ll be on your own, and heavens only know where you’ll end up!”

“Whatever,” Izumi replied with little remorse. “Had they arrested us, we would’ve made it past the wall. Then we could’ve broken out of jail and carried on. Big deal.”

“Or died, tortured and forgotten,” he sighed. “Honestly, I thought you were reckless before, but you’ve been twice as bad as of late. Like that time with the manticore! Try and get your act together, will you!”

Making no response, Izumi fell into self-reflection.

Had there truly been such a shift in her behavior? She couldn’t well deny it. The sense of alertness, that certain keenness and cunning she had exhibited on her arrival in Ortho, she appeared to have lost somewhere along the way, without even realizing. It was unlikely that her wit had grown any slower, or her senses duller. By all means, the trials she had lived through and the experience gained should have only served to sharpen her skills further. No, there was another, more apparent cause to Izumi’s present laxity, not explainable by logic, but only by emotion. Or more accurately, the lack of it.

She had simply ceased to care.

Whatever should happen to her, even whether she lived or died—Izumi failed to put any importance to her own fate. She did her best to act like she always had and face forward, hoping the mood would pass in time, but the inexplicable ennui clung to her with persistence, day after day.

It hadn’t started today or yesterday. She had felt it for a long while now, ever since that day. Ever since the day she had left the marshland of Henglog behind together with her companions a the time. There, at the wake of the senseless tragedy in the village of Branola, Izumi’s heart had become replaced by a cold, numb void, leaving her detached and drifting.

No amount of vigor, or willpower, new discoveries, or exciting adventures could fill the hole in her chest, and through that unnatural cavity, her hope, vitality, and motivation were steadily drained.

But what could she do?

Time never stopped flowing. Finding neither remedy nor an end to her pain, Izumi could only ride on. And it was while in motion, when she had something to do with her hands, something else to think about, that she could momentarily forget the emptiness in her heart. Still, Waramoti was right. If things continued like this, she would sooner or later make a careless mistake that might cost them both their lives in this dangerous world, and it really would have been too pathetic.

“Come,” Waramoti’s voice brought Izumi back to her senses. “The sun sets soon! Let’s see if anyone out here would be willing to accommodate us for the night. Don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen on pitching a tent in this filthy slush!”

“Eh, sure,” Izumi nodded. “But, do you think anyone here will have us?”

“Thankfully, I have a method to test the ground,” the bard replied with a playful wink.

3

Near the mid-part of the town was a larger clearing between the houses, where a bonfire had been lit, for outdoor workers and passers-by to take a break and warm up at. Izumi took a seat on a wood block close to the fire, watching their horses, while Waramoti strode a short distance away, his lute in hand, like a warrior facing his battlefield. After briefly checking his instrument’s tuning, he nodded with approval and began to play.

Workers forgot their errands and halted, turning to follow the ex tempore performance; women on their way home from the city set down their baskets at the roadside and listened; faces appeared in the windows of the nearby houses, and children from near and far ran closer to listen.

Soon, quite a crowd had formed around the musician.

Izumi warmed her hands against the flames, thinking nothing of the view. She had grown well used to such scenes over the preceding months.

More than his appearance had changed on the elven island. Izumi didn’t know what the old elven musician had taught Waramoti in those two brief days, but the bard’s presentation had gone from a tube of brass to a fountain of gold, bright, clear, and full of life. His voice had always been impressive, in its own way, but together with youthful delicateness, it had also gained an uncanny dimension of subtlety. Like a doorway slightly parted to reveal visions of realms beyond the bounds of time, his singing made the listener’s imagination take wings.

Yet, as usual, Izumi tried not to hear it and thought about other things instead.

“What a miserable pile of rubble!” A bright voice near the woman abruptly spoke. “And so algid!”

A tiny girl the size of a sparrow appeared floating in the air close to Izumi’s head, making a cute sneeze for emphasis. The bright-colored dress she wore looked much too thin, short, and revealing for such climate. Not that the girl could actually feel cold, being a mere phantasm. Maybe it was the scenery itself that made her shiver?

“How dreadfully chilling!” Yubilea cried, clutching her bare shoulders. “Why did you ever come to such a dire place? Are you an idiot? You’re an idiot, aren’t you? No civilized life was meant to thrive in these conditions! Yet, of all the possible lands you could have gone to, you had to pick this one? As always, the processes inside that dumb head of yours escape reason, human!”

Izumi made no reaction but continued to stare into the flames.

“What?” the spirit hovered closer. “Are you ignoring me again? You’re ignoring me, aren’t you? Don’t act like you can’t hear me! How dare you, a mere mortal! I grace you with my precious attention, the least you could do is answer me!”

“I don’t want people to think I’m mental,” Izumi muttered. “No one else can see you. They’ll just see me talking to myself. If it were my old world, I could pretend I have handsfree on, but this place doesn’t even have phones.”

“So? What’s the big deal?” Yubilea retorted. “As far as I can tell, you’re already as mad as it gets. Nothing you do could make you look any zanier. Rather than these mortals’ worthless opinions, you should be concerned with how I feel! Can’t you tell I’m bored! Play with me! Being ignored by the one person in the world who can see you is the worst! The worst, the worst, the worst!”

“Yeah, sorry. Why don’t you go take a nap or something? I don’t feel like talking right now.”

“You want to get into that cold, ugly city?” Yubilea turned to gaze at the formidable walls of Utenvik. “Why? I can’t sense any spiritual presence in there. These people don’t know of Divines. Or care. Aah, these people are the worst! Not only have they abandoned all faith in us, they see no value in our existence to start with. Even though without us, the world would cease to exist, and their wretched lot along with it! Can you believe that? These are surely the most ungrateful dimwits in the world!”

“Did you miss all the exposition?” Izumi said. “Nobody wants to be here. But we have to get behind those walls, to find Faalan.”

“Hmm?” Yubilea turned and floated before Izumi’s face, a scrutinizing look in her fiery eyes. “What’s this?”

“What...?” Izumi frowned and leaned back, uneasy.

“’Faalan’—she says!” The spirit leered at her. “I thought you couldn’t call anyone by name? How come you remember that one so well, but nobody else?”

“Eh?” Izumi was taken aback by the question. “...Well, it’s easy to say, isn’t it? It’s probably the simplest name I’ve heard in all my time here. And he’s no acquaintance of mine, so I don’t need to watch how I speak of him.”

“Oh, is that right?” Yubilea didn’t look convinced. “What is so hard about my name, anyway, that you have to make such crooked mockery of it? And why are you looking for this great Sir Faalan then?”

“For how long have you been asleep? Because I got asked to. It’s my first major quest in a month. I’ve got to clear it, for money, if nothing else.”

“Because you were asked to? For money?” the Divine parroted. “Were you always this puerile?”

“She who calls others stupid is the real stupido, stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!” the spirit flared, before resuming on a more serious note. “You seek this human because it’s your job? I don’t think so! Not at all! You won’t trick me so easily! Oh no!”

“Hm?” Izumi’s annoyed frown deepened. “What are you on about?”

“I’m watching you reeeal closely, you know?” Yubilea floated even closer in front of Izumi’s nose, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Not just the outside of you, but the inside too. You can’t hide anything from me, my dear enemy. I know your true heart! This isn’t just work for you, not really. And it’s not Faalan you want to save, but yourself! Ahahaha!”

Derisively giggling, Yubilea flew around Izumi’s head like a horsefly.

“Myself…?” the woman repeated.

“That’s right! ‘I can’t help anyone, I can’t save anyone’—you so nearly convinced yourself of that. But then they went and gave you another chance. If you save this great Sir Faalan, then you can prove to yourself that you’re not only a hopeless, irredeemable monster. Ha! Isn’t that stupid? You really are a doofus! Turning this around, if you fail yet again, then you’ll know you never had any hope in the first place! All gone! Truly, you are the epitome of mortal stupidity, pinning your whole value on things that have nothing to do with you! Ahahaha! How ridiculous! Foolish human!”

The spirit rolled around in the air, laughing hard.

“...I think you’re getting just a little too nosy for your own good, Yui-chan.” Izumi murmured, sullen.

“Oh really? Am I?” the spirit retorted with a scornful smile. “And what are you going to do, human? How will you shut me up? I have no body you can touch, being just a figment of your imagination! A daydream of Divine! Ahahaha!”

“You know what I’ll do,” Izumi replied. “I’m gonna call Ai-chan. Do you think I can’t?”

“——!”

Yubilea’s laughter stopped and she froze in place, looking as if she had altogether forgotten her own predicament. Then, standing upright, she started to nervously wring her little hands. “...Um, eh, maybe don’t do that? I—I’m sorry. I went too far. Though I love to make fun of you, I only do it out of affection! Indeed, it is uncanny how fond I have become of you, human, in our short time together!”

“Oh, fond of me, are you?” Izumi asked. “It seems to me you’ve forgotten all about our agreement. After that one trick you taught me, you’ve yet to find anything new to pay for your unwanted sponger life. I suggest you get to it, Yui-chan. My patience isn’t altogether limitless, you know?”

“What are you, a daemon!? A monster!?” the spirit cried. “Why do I have to be pressed so, by a mere mortal! This isn’t fair!”

“Yeah, yeah. The clock’s ticking, pixie.”

“Hmph!”

Yubilea disappeared in a puff of smoke and flames, vanishing from Izumi’s consciousness.

Taking out her frustration on the helpless spirit wasn’t nice, but Izumi wanted to be left alone. Staring blankly into the bonfire, she listened to Waramoti’s song in the background. Listened—or couldn’t avoid hearing, whether she wanted to or not. After some catchier pieces and instrumentals, he ended his show with a serene ballad, his youthful voice flowing clear and solemn as moonlight.

Eyes so clear as a mountain lake

Her hair as wheat and gold

Only warmth did she leave in her passing wake

Reaching hearts of young and old

A mind fully bared and devoid of lies

In her hand the blade of a knight

A temper to melt even hearts of ice

That took her to elvish night

Love she found in the isle down yonder

And horrors strange to man

But lost too soon was that fleeting wonder

Her darling took and ran!

Will mercy meet and pardon either

At the end of that lonely trail

Could a maiden have lived her life with a fighter

Or was only their lot to fail?

Shortly, Waramoti concluded his performance. He bowed several times to the applauding audience, answering some of their questions, before they scattered each their own way, and he returned to Izumi, a triumphant, somewhat smug look on his face.

“What do you know, sixteen marks of copper in total,” Waramoti counted the coins on his palm. “And also, a place to stay the night. Not half bad for such a hurried performance, wouldn’t you say?”

Izumi stood up, stepped past the bard while taking the horses, and replied,

“Don’t ever sing that song again.”