Jiran sighed in contentment, luxuriating in the feeling of being free from pain for the first time in two seasons.

His feet rested on a crate while his head was nestled atop a sack of furs.

The wagon he was riding on bumped and jostled its way down a wide, well-used road.

A cushion of aura nestled under him. It created a soft layer of air pressure, which allowed him to relax on the choppy ride. The suns' gentle warmth filtered through the air and caressed his skin. A familiar kaleidoscope of purple and green colors played across the cloudless sky.

Jiran once again found himself in wonder at the strange seasons of Madra.

It seems like every time I have a moment to stop and think, my thoughts return to the seasons. This time of year sure is nice. Peaceful days one after another. No wonder they call it the Calm.

“Whatcha thinking about, sonny?” A dry, crackly voice with a thick accent called to him from just outside the wagon.

“How strange the seasons are.”

“Strange, you say? Whatcha mean by that? The seasons are the seasons, not sure how something that is what it is, can be strange to yah.”

Funny how even on another world, possibly galaxies away from earth, there are still people who talk with a southern accent.

Jiran smiled lightly while he considered if he wanted to respond to the man or not. They had met two days ago, conveniently traveling in the same direction. The man didn't look like he could afford a guard so Jiran had decided to tag along.

He had even paid the old farmer so he could ‘relax on his way to the capital’.

“Jebid, don't you ever wonder why Madra is the way it is? Summer makes sense, we are closer to the Mother and Fathers so their warmth is stronger. Winter, the opposite.”

“Alright,” came the drawn-out response. The old man made it clear from his tone that he was wondering where Jiran was going with all this.

“So how do you explain stormer? Spawning, shattering, or calm? Not to mention Densoon. No matter how often I think about them, those seasons just don’t make any sense.”

“You mustn't be a believer then, 'cause the scripture makes it plenty clear.”

“Sorry Jebid, just because the Church of the Voice said, ‘let it be known’ is not a good enough explanation for me.” Jiran’s voice made his disdain for their teachings clear.

“Right, right. Well, good luck figurin' it all out there, sonny.”

Jiran was thankful the man had dropped the conversation before it turned into an argument. He liked the old codger and a fight about the church would have been a perfect way to spoil the rest of his day.

As the hours dragged on, wagon after wagon passed them heading southeast. Very few were as empty as the one he rode in. Mostly they were overloaded, nearly spilling goods upon the ground as they bumped along the dusty road.

Far in the distance, he spotted a larger caravan with at least twenty loaded wagons and dozens of guards. They flew two flags that he didn’t recognize. Their procession was three wagons wide, leaving no spare room on the road.

Long before they arrived, the old man pulled his wagon off the road to let them pass. Jebid took off his sun hat and wrung it in his hands nervously as they approached. Jiran noticed his wariness but decided not to say anything. He laid back down in his comfy spot to pass the time, enjoying the break from the rugged road.

Several minutes later the wagons began to pass three at a time. As they filed past, Jiran started to get a bad feeling. The eyes of some of the guards were far from friendly.

Detaching from their sentry positions, four of the guards made their way toward Jiran and the old man. Jiran kept his aura tightly wrapped around his body, not wanting to threaten the men before hearing what they wanted.

The four guards all wore expensive armor. Full dark leather, likely Tier five, with sporadic metal plates that reflected the day’s light in a dazzling display. Only the lead man wore a helmet, a full-metal, gaudy thing, with two feathers sticking out the top.

Seeing them approach, Jebid’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Seeing the posture of clear surrender, two of the guards blossomed wicked smiles. No doubt anticipating an easy mark for whatever scheme they had planned.

“Name, origin, business, and cargo.” The helmeted man barked in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Uh, Umm, Jebid be my name, ser,” He took a step back as he responded, looking fearfully from man to man.

One of the smiling goons placed a hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword. The threat as he growled was clear. “Answer the questions yah daft puddle of piss!”

“Oh, my apologies, uh, I’m bringing my spare goods from last season to Cruex. From, uhm, uh, Feralax. It’s just a few beast skins and some crates of lax honey ser.”

“Fifty silver,” the helmeted man spoke again.

“I beg your pardon, ser?” Jebid spoke, uncertainty and fear stained his demeanor.

Jiran noted how the angry guard moved with well-trained motions as he stepped forward in a flash and punched Jebid in the face.

“Don’t make him tell you again! You should be overjoyed that constable Melediir is even willing to pay for your worthless goods.”

Jebid had fallen on his ass. He looked up at the guard with wide shocked eyes.

“F-f-fifty silver? You want all my goods for o— fifty silver?” Jiran noted that Jebid was in complete shock at the despicably low price. Meanwhile, the guard looked back and forth, from his fist to Jebid’s face, with a confused expression.

Disgusting, there’s likely twenty jars of honey between these three crates. They should go for fifty silver each. Not to mention the furs.

Should I consider them clever for offering to pay at all? Outright robbery would just lead to their heads rolling in short order.

I’ll even the playing field then follow Jebid’s lead, his goods, his life. I won’t be around to protect him tomorrow if someone comes for retribution. Attacking these bandits would be the same as slitting his throat myself.

Jiran floated out of the wagon, held aloft in a protective cushion of aura. The display of power which should be impossible for anyone below Tier five did not go unnoticed. All four of the bandits took a step back and the angry guard even drew his sword.

Jiran looked down at them with contempt as he moved through the air. He landed near Jebid and helped the man to his feet, even dusting off his back and holding his shoulder to make sure he didn't fall again.

“Your choice Jebid, I’ll not interfere unless you wish it of me. Just know that if I did, these bandits would die before they could raise a hand to plead for their worthless lives.”

The smell of fear entered Jiran’s nose as his words elicited a visceral response from the guards.

“There’s no need for threats!” The constable wailed while waving his arms in front of himself like he wanted to ward off an evil spirit.

“I believe my offer of fifty gold was more than adequate for this good citizen's cargo. I'm saving him the time of finding a buyer in Cruex. Why, he would be a fool to turn down my offer.”

Nice recovery, sleazeball.

Jiran was impressed by the man’s one-eighty in demeanor, considering how stressful the encounter must be for him.

“Fifty gold!? That’s far too much, ser. Please, my goods be worth no more’n eight. Since you be saving me so much time and effort I couldn't possibly accept more’n six.”

“No, no I insist you take no less than twenty-five.” The constable’s eyes flicked to Jiran, hoping for some sign that he wouldn't be killed for stating so much less than his first offer.

Jiran grew bored of the back-and-forth boot-licking. He zoned out of the conversation and leaned back into the comfortable folds of air pressure he produced from his aura. He gazed at the sky once more, contemplating the strange weather patterns that lasted for hundreds of days.

How big must this planet be to have seasons that last four hundred days? I have no idea how to do that math, maybe someone figured it out at some point and wrote a book about it.

He nearly had to wipe drool from his lips at the thought of reading such a book. The excitement of what he would find in the academy library perked him awake.

By this point, the two men were practically shouting at each other and the caravan was nearly out of sight.

“Twelve, I insist! I shan’t go a single silver less!”

“Ser, please! Ten already be far too much, how could I possibly accept twelve!”

“Jebid, just take the twelve gold. You can pay me two for guarding you the rest of the way to Cruex.” Jiran made it clear he was done listening to their bickering.

“The rest of the— Oh right, yes o’course Master Jiran, I understand.”

With a Sigh of relief, the constable thrust a bag of coins into Jebid’s hands. He motioned for his lackey’s to grab the contents of the wagon. With arms full they turned back toward their now out-of-sight convoy.

I wonder how normal this sort of behavior is. Sure, they help keep the road free of beasts and likely feel they are due extra compensation. There's no way they would get away with this without someone higher up the food chain condoning it.

No such thing as a government without a little corruption.

Jiran deposited himself in the wagon bed and tried to get comfortable without the sack of furs to rest his head on.

“Did ya really want me ta take ya all the way to Cruex still?”

“Yup, probably best if you’re not on the same road at the same time as those thieves. Also, I’m not taking that two gold from you, use it to hire an actual guard on your way home. Okay?”

“Yes, o'course ser. I’ll hire a guard, as surely as a fish in the net saves three at sea.”

“Now, please, let’s be on our way. There’s an entire library with my name on it at the end of this road.”

“You own a whole library! My lord I had no idea, please excuse this ignorant old Jebid.”

The man practically threw himself onto the ground. He tried to touch his head to the ground but found an invisible force that prevented him from doing so. The same invisible force that had prevented his nose from being broken earlier by the Constable’s zealous lapdog.

“It’s just an expression! I don’t own a library!”

Jiran’s palm impacted his forehead with a resounding smack.