Just as Grand Master Wizard John Gyles promised, the Krey and A’uri arrived at Cape Gythmel unmolested. The Black Tide emerged from the portal and walked right into a dilapidated village. Thick chunks of mud and manure served as the main road, pot holes filled with vile, stagnant water filled the air with the scent of mold and decay. Half-collapsed structures remained standing—or rather leaning—in their current state of disrepair. Loose farm animals milled about, defecating in the road, on the sidewalks of stores, or wherever else they felt like releasing their bowels. The outer wall of the crumbling, abandoned castle stopped at chest height, a poor excuse for defense or scenery. The farmers tilling the fields and planting crops stopped to watch the procession.

“This place is even shittier than I imagined!” Bitcher interrupted the silence.

“Shut it,” Xeno muttered.

“I hope they have food,” Drumstick complained. “I’m hungry.”

Keg grumbled, “They better have ale or wine or rum, whatever passes for alcohol in these parts!”

“We’re not here to eat and drink, but to work,” Raven reprimanded. He glanced around, taking in the few scant buildings that seemed operational and assessed the land. To the west was a densely wooded area and to the north and east was farm land. Towards the southeast lay a rock quarry. “We’ll make camp to the west, but not directly in front of the woods, we need that clear for when we fell them.” Raven called to the largest member of the squad, “Tiny, take charge of setting up camp while I am gone to see about the supplies. Mark out our area for tents. Make sure it is well away from the village, but not too far to where we can’t respond if something arises. Patch, help him. Mind,” he said to the A’uri, “you’re coming with me, as is Xeno.”

Tiny trudged away, and the rest of the squad fell into step. Raven, Xeno, and the Mind turned towards the town, entering the perimeter of buildings. A tumbleweed blew across the street and the Mind laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Xenomene inquired, missing the humor.

“I always thought tumbleweeds were a jape. I never knew they were real,” he explained.

“Yeah,” Xenomene replied drily, “it was a first for me, too.”

“Quiet,” Raven chided them.

They reached the general goods store without incident except a stray gust of wind. When they breached the threshold, the hiss of a sword clearing its scabbard greeted them. The hands of the Krey went for their steel, but the Mind was already in control, cooling their bloodlust. Raven let go of his hilt first and let it hang at his waist while Xeno’s knuckles grew white before she, too, released her sword.

“I know who you are!” barked the man holding the naked steel. “You’re that cursed Black Tide! It’s illegal for you to be here!”

“Indeed, sire, you are correct; however, we are on orders from Ralloc,” the Mind spoke calmly. “If you will allow me, I shall reach into my pack and pull out our Royal Edict with adorning seals. You shall find everything in order, I assure you.” He smiled.

“Nothing crafty, now,” said the owner. With care, he slid around the counter and into the light. He was an old man. His back stooped by Ages of hard work. Dirty spectacles rested on his nose and sweat poured freely from his sallow skin. His head was devoid of hair, and a bushy mustache rested on his upper lip. As he approached, Xenomene and Raven held their hands away from their swords and backed away. Even with a slight hunch, the man was startlingly tall.

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The Mind produced the Royal Edict for the elder. Once in his hands, he retreated behind his counter. Laying the sword on the counter top, he cracked the seal and unrolled the scroll, taking a few moments to inspect it. Xeno caught the Mind’s eye, giving him a silent prod. He nodded and leisurely walked forward. The man, transfixed by the seals inside the vellum with ribbons accompanied by the offices of their executive order, looked up.

“Would you like for me to read it to you?” the Mind offered. The old man scowled at him, and the Mind stopped his forward progress before sighing. He laid the scroll down.

“No,” he said. “I may not be able to read well, but I do know the consul’s seal. What does it say, exactly?”

“Paraphrased, it states that you are to help us with all materials that we require. In compensation for your assistance, you will be substantially rewarded with monetary gain.” The old man moved his lips as the Mind spoke, sounding out his cultured words.

“What he means,” Xeno spoke softly without sarcasm, “you give us supplies, and you can determine a fair and honest price, and Ralloc will pay it.”

Recognition dawned in his eyes. “Aye, I can do that. What do you need?” The Mind handed him a list and the old man looked it over, grunting every once in a while. “I can fill this, but I will have to put in a requisition for resupply—it will be a while before it gets here. It comes from Dlad City.”

“That will not be an issue, good sire,” the Mind spoke smoothly. “We will be here for some time and will routinely place orders with you. Perhaps we could start a tab with you keeping a tally of all the goods we procure, and the Royal Treasury will reimburse you.”

“A tab, eh? I will need a down payment.”

The Mind laid an ingot on the counter, the royal seal pressed into the gold, promising authenticity. All ingots were stamped from the bank they originated from, but an ingot from the Treasury retained the Kothlere sigil.

The owner’s eyes widened, and a smile crept across his face. “I think we can do business.”

“Good,” Raven spoke up for the first time, “I am Raven, the Do-don of my squad. This lovely lady is my second in command, Xenomene. This mage is called Mind. I assure you, sire, that we will be the only three to place orders or come into your shop. I have a request to make of you, sire, if you will permit me.”

“Sure, speak.”

“When we come, please do not draw a weapon. To do so would cause … a dire situation.”

The old man nodded his understanding. “I think I can do that. I shall inform my other two workers as well.”

Raven stepped forward and shook the man’s hand. “A pleasure doing business with you …?”

“Lem,” he supplied. “Lem of House Yeates.”

Shock rolled over the mage and the Krey.

“Arysto?” Xenomene’s eyes went wide.

“Lord,” Raven corrected.

“Lord Yeates,” the Mind breathed. “The Lord Yeates? A veteran of the Wizard’s War?”

“All are correct, but please, Lem will do.”

“But …” Xenomene stuttered. “ … if you are a Lord, then you know how to read,” she concluded.

“Oh, aye, I can read,” Lem nodded, smiling. “My calligraphy reading skills are a bit rusty, but I can read fine just the same.”

“It was a test,” the Mind said, approving. Lem’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Don’t tell the others of your squad,” he chuckled.

Lem promised to fill their order in a few hours with the help of his grandsons and indicated that he deliver it to their camp instead of the Krey making several trips. As they left, Xeno was the first to speak.

“Who is Lord Yeates?” she asked.

“Xeno,” the Mind sighed, “you just met a living legend. One of the last. I will tell you the tale some time.”