Ash, yawning, and stretching, carefully got out of the sleeping lady’s embrace that was lying next to him. He didn’t remember her name or where they had met, but, judging by the fact that she remained sleeping while he was jumping and cursing as he struggled to put on his pants, she was probably very drunk yesterday.

He got dressed quickly, took his staff and cloak, and went into the hallway.

Now, Ash was a pretty unlucky guy, but today clearly wasn’t his day. Opening the door, he was smacked right in the forehead. Mary, who came to pick him up, ended up knocking on his head instead of the wood.

“Sounds empty,” Lari grunted as he passed by them. “Birch, are you sure that we got the right guy?”

“Keep walking, big boy,” Mary snorted, trying to hide her laughter.

“That hurts,” Ash grumbled, rubbing his forehead. It was going to bruise, he was sure of it. “Why were you going to bang so hard on the poor door?”

“She hit your forehead,” Alice giggled and moved to that Mervyn could pass.

Mervyn Blackbeard, the shield-bearer of the squad, got his nickname because of his thick, black beard that he took great care of and often combed with a brush. The man was also famous for singlehandedly taking care of eighteen robbers in an alley with nothing more than his shield and coming out of the skirmish unscathed.

“That’s right!” Ash exclaimed and held up his index finger. He pushed Mary aside so that he could get out and closed the door of his room. Before he went out, he didn’t forget to part with his sleeping companion by giving her one last kiss. “She could’ve hurt the door, so I saved it with my forehead! I’m a hero!” The door would have hurt if I hadn’t put my forehead in front of it.

“You’re a hero,” Tul exclaimed, slapping Ash on his shoulder.

The tall, broad-shouldered archer, on whose handsome face one could see traces of his Nordic heritage, bore the proud nickname “Bullseye.” Not everyone could boast that their nickname fit them that well. Tul, as his friends called him, was one of the lucky few.

Once, as a bet, he shot six leaves falling from a tree with only one arrow, using one of the most beloved techniques of the Ternite archers: Scatter Shot. By using this technique, archers could make their arrow split into three or more, depending on their skill. Any other archer would use this skill to hit as many targets in their vicinity as possible, but not Tul. He used it to increase his accuracy even more.

“That’s the kind of people you’ll be working with,” Mary said with a smile as she rummaged through her bag in search of something.

Finally finding what she had been looking for, she tossed a small locket to Ash. Engraved in steel was a stump that had legs instead of roots.

“Don’t lose it,” she warned sternly. “That emblem is no joke.”

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” Ash said, clasping the chain around his neck.

Mary looked at him and nodded. Ever since he joined them, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that the guy was hiding his true face from them all. For a second, which was enough to send shivers down her spine, she could’ve sworn that there was malice in the young man’s eyes, akin to that of a wild, cornered animal. But the moment she blinked, it was gone. She convinced herself that it was nothing more than a play of light and shadows. After all, there were but two sconces in the hallway, the lights of which were paling with each moment.

“Let’s go,” she said. “We’ve been itching for an adventure for quite some time now.”

“Speaking of which, you haven’t told me what we’ll be doing,” Ash said.

“And how was I to tell you when you started partying the moment we turned our backs to you? You spent the entire night hanging out with shady people, drinking more than you weigh, and dancing on tables! And then you grabbed the nearest wench and dragged her to your room!”

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Ash frowned and scratched his chin. All he remembered was the taste of rum. Normally, his vice was tobacco, not strong spirits, but there was just something about rum that was irresistible to him. His eyes would fog up and he’d lose all sense of self the moment he smelled its sweet notes in the air.

“I hope this won’t happen again,” Mary warned strictly. The tone of her voice implied that she wouldn’t hesitate to teach him a lesson if he fucked up like this one more time.

“No, no, I’ll behave myself while we’re on the road.” Ash nodded immediately, casting an embarrassed glance at the far end of the hallway. “I can’t say the same for when we make a stop in some tavern or inn...”

“We’ll not be stopping.” There was malice in her tone now. Her chestnut eyes flashed dangerously. “We’re an independent combat unit. We have food, tents, horses, and all the necessary supplies to live on the road for quite some time. As for you... You’ll have to rent a horse. We’ll subtract the cost from your share.”

Ash nodded, still scratching his chin. He had always wanted a beard, but he had never been able to successfully grow one. From his previous, and quite unsuccessful attempts, he had learned that facial hair of any sort looked ugly on his handsome face, so he preferred to always be clean-shaven. It did make for a good disguise, however.

Mounts, in his opinion, were an unnecessary luxury. Especially quality horses; not the kind farmers used to aid them in the fields, but horses that were bred and trained for long travels and speed. Such mounts cost anywhere from seven to eight silver coins on the black market. That was a considerable amount, taking into account that one gold coin equaled thirteen silver ones.

“No need,” Ash said and shook his head.

“Say what now?” Mary looked at him in surprise. She doubted that he could afford a mount on his own. Judging by his clothes, he probably had no coin on him and had to beg for food on the road.

“No need,” Ash repeated.

They both approached the stairs at the same time. Ash moved to the side to let Mary pass. She shot him a glare, thinking that he was pretending to be courteous so that he could stare at her ass. Smiling to herself, she decided to pay him back during training.

Ash, however, had no such intentions. With a careless smile on his face and hand in his traveling bag, he thought about other, more important things. Absentmindedly, he twirled another locket between his fingers. It differed from the one just given to him in that it was golden and had an emblem on the back, and not on the front. Etched into the cold steel was a mask depicting a laughing demon devouring a screaming child. Underneath it was an inscription: “We do not pardon, we do not punish, we kill. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. As it should be.”

This was the banner under which the Foul Legion had fought, the commander of which was once Ash himself. As to why he kept this rusty trinket... Well, it was good to know one’s root; to know who you once were and what you had become.

“Men!” Mervyn waved his hand, attracting both Mary and Ash’s attention.

Pushing her way through the crowd of early birds, she joined him at the table and took a good sniff of the steaming porridge that had been placed in front of her. She was about to reach for the jug of water when she remembered that she ought to let Ash know which route they’d take. He ought to know what was in store for them.

She was just about to fill him in when she noticed that he was nowhere to be found.

“Where...?”

Tul sighed and pointed somewhere behind his back. She followed his finger and wished that she had minded her own business. Ash was sitting at the table with a group of merchants, cracking jokes, and hitting on the baron’s girlfriend. The title bought with quite a large sum of money no doubt, had no other use other than to make its bearer seem more important than they actually were.

“I’ll kill him,” Mary hissed.

Having had enough of Ash’s arrogance, she got up and marched through the crowd, parting it as easily as a hot knife would butter. The mage seemed oblivious of the presence behind him, as he continued cracking jokes.

“...and then I realized that I put salt instead of sugar into that nobleman’s tea! I thought I was done for, but, fortunately, there was this guy who spoke the Eastern dialect. I gave him two coppers and asked to tell the nobleman that kings overseas drink salted tea as it’s considered a delicacy worthy only of the highest nobility. Luck must’ve been on my side that day as the man drank the tea and even thanked me for teaching him something new!”

The merchants burst out laughing. Ash smiled smugly as he took a bite of a piece of pie and a sip of wine from someone’s mug. Sitting next to him was a girl of modest appearance. From where Mary was standing she could see that the wench was stroking his knee under the table. Ash pretended not to notice, but he’d occasionally put his hand on hers.

Mary cleared her throat rather loudly.

Ash, swallowing a whole bite of a pie that he hadn’t properly chewed, turned around and was met with a menacing glare. Messy hair, tied in a loose bun, only added to Mary’s demonic appearance.

“I was... Tasting local delicacies... The pies here are delicious! Do you want a bite?” Ash asked with a dumb smile, having realized that there was no way out of this situation.

The next moment, Ash was waving goodbye to the merchants as Mary, cursing, and mumbling, dragged him by the ear. Having seated Ash at their table, she vowed to herself that she’d beat the living daylights out of him the moment their mission was over.