Ioren shielded his breakfast from a gust of wind blowing in from the north, carrying on it small bits of sand from the northern dunes across the Forked River. When the wind subsided, he took a bite of his hardtack and swallowed it quickly with a swig from his canteen. His meals were the same every trip into Danet: hardtack wrapped in seaweed, a stick of dried meat, and water from his canteen. It kept well enough, filled his stomach, and required no utensils, all while taking up minimal space in his pack. Everything in Danet was eroded to its barest efficient method, like the windswept buildings of the ravine village behind them.

Ioren had barely slept during the break. Sleeping in Danet was always a hazard, and could only be done with one eye open. Something else had bothered though. His dreams were vivid and terrifying - Van, his mother, and even Rys were all enslaved by Cantimorelius, chained to the giant crab god with spectral chains. What do I give up for these powers, Ioren wondered. What are my chains? Despite the restless, paranoid sleep, he felt extremely energized. He walked at the front of the group with Linoor along the southern banks of the Forked River, headed west toward Riverstop Keep.

The keep had come into view immediately after they exited the ravine. A large castle with six spires sat perched atop a steep hill in the distance, where the Forked River met the much larger Barrier River. Circling the base of the hill was the crumbling walled town of Riverstop. Stone buildings of various heights and states of decay ran along streets that radiated outward from the central keep. Ardenel claimed his previous group had cleared the surrounding town of Greys, but no Yashan gate stood at its entrance, so Ioren took his claim with a grain of salt.

After he had finished his food, Ioren wiped his mouth with his sleeve and downed the remains with another swig of water. There were several food stains around his wrist at this point, so he made a mental note to buy a new shirt from Rys when he returned to the Step.

“I estimate two more hours until we reach the gates to Riverstop,” Linoor said to him casually. Ioren looked over to her at his side. She wore noble clothes, though all noblemen chose their bodyguard’s attire, so that was to be expected. Her backpack was a simple linen pack with two straps for the arms and a single tightening strap around the waist - nothing fancy. The blue gauntlet sword at her waist glimmered with brilliant blue light in the morning sun, like the stained windows of the White Birch when backlit in the night by torches.

“Why are you here?” Ioren asked. She raised an eyebrow at him curiously. “In Danet, I mean,” he added.

“‘The roads of fate are rarely paved, and never straight,’” Linoor quoted solemnly.

“Stupid answer,” Ioren replied.

“Excuse me?” She said, this time with both eyebrows raised. Her hair was a peculiar silver color that turned white when the sun hit it.

“You don’t trust your own thoughts, so you use the words of dead people as a crutch. That’s not what books are for, you know,” Ioren answered.

“Please, enlighten me on your theory of literature, kind sir,” Linoor pleaded in exaggerated tones.

“‘Whether it be from the mouth of a pauper or a prince, worthwhile criticism shall not be overlooked,’ isn’t that how it goes?” Ioren said matter-of-factly.

“You have read The Ethics of a Rolakk Ruler?” Linoor asked, incredulously. “How does a scav come upon such a classic? I scarcely believe a trader brought it with him from Havan in search of a buyer.”

“My mother was a junior lecturer at the Imperial College of War in Temul before the Reunification War. My father was a Temuli military officer - she was as well, before she turned to lecturing about tactics. She made me read all of those books as a child,” Ioren answered.

“She sounds amazing,” Linoor said sincerely. “I never knew my mother. She died shortly after giving birth. My father told me the classics contained the answers to a virtuous life.”

“That’s a load of dung,” Ioren said with a chuckle. “Half those old men were debauchees and reprobates.”

“A man’s written wisdom can be separated from his personal habits,” Linoor countered.

“Can they? If their words were so damn smart then why couldn’t they live up to them? The authors of Creeds of a Nobleman spent their days whoring and drinking, and all three died before the age of fifty!”

“They sound perfectly versed in vice and how to avoid it,” Linoor said, slightly embarrassed. “Though, I had imagined them until now to be immaculate lords,” she admitted.

“You nobles always say one thing and do another. Despising Finders but loving the artifacts we find, isn’t that convenient?” He said angrily. He regretted the accusation immediately after making it, but if she was offended by the truth then he was only proven more correct.

“I am not a noble,” Linoor said firmly, stopping in place. “Apologize.”

“Your sword tells a different tale,” Ioren said.

“I won this in a men’s dueling contest in the royal castle in Capira,” she answered indignantly. Ioren’s face flushed.

“Sorry,” he finally relented. “You’re not like them. These tourist nobles leave their comfortable lives in search of glory in Danet, while the rest of us wallow in squalor, gambling our lives to survive a few more days.”

“‘The noble has the world as a mere object of his action,’” Linoor quoted. “I understand well.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“If you understand then why travel with Ardenel? Is the pay really that good?” Ioren asked.

“My father owes his family a great debt. I must work to repay it,” she said with a sigh. “Ardenel is really not as bad as many. Behind his facade of barking orders, he too is here unwillingly.”

“Well he certainly doesn’t make that obvious.”

“He can be abrasive at times. His father banished him from Capira, demanding he make a name for himself in Danet,” Linoor said.

“He’s a noble. He has enough money to set up a new life anywhere he wants; he doesn’t need to listen to his father. That’s nobleman pride talking,” Ioren said.

“Do you not know of Duke Venit, Ardenel’s father?” Linoor asked.

“If he’s never been in Danet and he’s not in the classics then I’ve not a clue who he is,” Ioren replied hastily.

“He is the most powerful man in Rolakkhad, save for the Red King, of course. He controls the goings-on in Capira, where the king resides. If he declares Ardenel banished, not a soul in all of Havan would dare to take him in.”

Ioren grimaced. Ardenel’s situation was a difficult one, but he found it difficult to sympathize. These nobles loved to create problems for themselves like this. They could stay in their gilded castles until Yasha herself returned to the world of Vanodel and still never want for anything. Instead they search high and low for new problems with which to trouble themselves, only to place them on the shoulders of people like him and Linoor.

“That’s why you don’t leave, I guess,” Ioren said. “A family like that could find you anywhere.”

“I used to fantasize about escaping Capira and coming to Danet, actually. Feeling the freedom of self-sufficiency every time I woke up. Living by my own strength. Now that I am really here, I realize there is no place in all of Vanodel that I would be free.”

“‘Are you prepared for your shadows to follow you, everywhere that you go?’” Ioren quoted from Roses and other poems. He looked up to see Linoor wiping her eyes with a sleeve.

“I have never told anyone that before,” she said. Her eyes had become bloodshot.

From behind, the pitter patter of clumsy steps alerted them to another party approaching. They turned in unison to find the chubby boy, Dal, jogging up to meet them. Ioren had gotten too worked up during the conversation, and forgot entirely about their scouting task. For a moment, he wondered idly what Dal had brought for rations.

“One… second…” Dal huffed as he leaned on his knees for support. The jog from the trailing group had clearly taken a lot out of him.

Ioren took advantage of the momentary reprieve to scan the path ahead of them toward Riverstop. A collection of abandoned barges lay ahead of them some ways. He wondered if their earlier tail had already disembarked there, lying in wait within the walls of Riverstop. Beyond the barges was the town gate. Its rusted portcullis had long since collapsed, lying silently like an assassinated sentry, his eyes still open, watching powerlessly as intruders trespass.

From behind, Dal gulped a deep breath of air and continued. “Thorne needs a break. His wound reopened, or something. Ardenel argued that they should just send him back, but Violet and Ysmena and even Petra threatened to leave with him. I think Petra might just want to rob his corpse when he drops, though,” Dal said bluntly. “She has these crazy eyes, like a feral dog, or something. I thought she was going to eat me in my sleep.”

“Very well,” Linoor said. “Let us return to the group. We should formulate a plan for entering the town anyways.”

“Hey, you got hay fever?” Dal asked Linoor. “Or you drinking wine, or something?”

“Another word and we will leave you behind,” Linoor said tersely.

“Okay, well that still doesn’t rule out the drink,” Dal added. Linoor groaned and began walking back the way they came.

“She’s a bit grumpy, don’t you think?” Dal turned and said to Ioren. He really wasn’t in the mood for engaging in idle talk with a noble, so he just smiled and started back after Linoor.

“Okay, two grumpy peas in a pod, or something,” Dal continued on despite Ioren’s silence. He followed a step behind Ioren and kept talking. “I mean, it’s not exactly the happiest place. I’ll give you that. But it’s like you want to feel worse, or something. Hey, your name’s Ioren, right?”

“Yes,” Ioren relented.

“I like your name. Ioren, do you know what you call a fish with no eyes?” Dal asked.

“A fish with no eyes would very quickly die. It can’t see food, or predators, or even its own pod. So, dead, I guess?”

“Way to ruin the joke,” Dal said, deflating a little. “It’s a fsh.”

Ioren stopped abruptly and stared at Dal. Then he broke into a laugh.

“Hey, that was a pretty good one,” he said with a smile. “Do you know any more?” He heard Linoor tut at them a few strides ahead, but he ignored it.

“Tons! Okay, a lord is celebrating his birthday, and his son comes in with a box wrapped in a twine bow. The child says, ‘Father, I’ve brought your fortieth birthday gift!’ The lord is ecstatic and says, ‘Thank you, son, but one would have been enough.’”

Ioren tried to stifle it, but another laugh escaped. Ahead he heard a snort and noticed Linoor had covered her mouth with her hands.

“Later that day, the same lord is at his birthday celebration party. All the lords from the city have come to congratulate him and his family. One man, looking to get in the lord’s good graces, tells him, ‘Wow, your wife looks so young! She and your teenage daughter could be twins!’ To which the lord replies, ‘Well, they were separated at birth.’” Even Dal snickered at this one as he finished the punchline.

Both Ioren and Linoor laughed happily this time. She stole a look backwards and smiled as she wiped her eyes once more.

“What’s a jester like you doing in Danet?” Ioren finally asked.

“Oh, you want to be sad again, or something?” Dal asked. “I’m the youngest of a herd of siblings, so by the time my parents got to me they had given up on giving their children attention, I guess. My father’s court jester, Gesteel, was kind of like a father to me. That’s where I learned all my jokes,” he explained. He was extremely animated as he spoke, waving his hands hither and thither as he narrated.

“One day, Gesteel gets really sick. Bed-ridden. But my father has an important guest from Capira visiting. I didn’t want Gesteel to get in trouble or something for missing the dinner, you know? So I took his outfit and came into the dining room for entertainment. This, in hindsight, was perhaps the worst idea I’ve ever had. My father was so thoroughly embarrassed that he vowed to kill me on sight if I ever returned. On the bright side, if things ever get real bad, I have that option available to me, or something.”

Ioren sighed as Dal finished his story. He was surprisingly upbeat about his past, despite having been abandoned. The boy’s dark eyes contained a familiar melancholy that he had seen countless times in Danet.

“I guess you came to the right place after all,” Ioren replied. Dal turned to him and smiled. As they crested one last hill they came upon the rest of the group seated next to the Forked River in a circle. Ysmena was standing watch.

Linoor slowed to match Ioren’s place and walked back to the group alongside him, revealing to him a page of parchment containing a poorly drawn map of Riverstop.

“I would appreciate your help in crafting an infiltration plan,” Linoor said to Ioren. Her eyes had returned to the normal blue. She must have noticed the shock on his face, as she added: “If you mock my drawing skills, I will cut you down where you stand.”

Ioren laughed again from deep within, and she joined him with a smile.