“Is this a good idea?”

“No,” Wyatt answered. He didn’t turn to answer Anton, instead keeping his gaze on his surroundings. It had been three days since Wyatt had slaughtered Gerald’s forces, and Anton had killed his uncle. They had ridden like mad ever since, barely stopping to rest. They had arrived in the city and immediately looked for a place to hole up, at least temporarily as they recovered from their grueling trip.

Mesaa wasn’t like many other cities. The sister city of Mesaai, they both claimed to be the ‘Jewel’ of the world, stating that it was their city that was the trading mecca and where all trade went through. Wyatt had never really cared about the spat. Both cities had quarreled for hundreds of years and would quarrel for hundreds more. Still, he appreciated the enmity between the two cities because outsiders like themselves were only vaguely inspected at best, allowing them to enter the city quickly and uneventfully.

Like Velaire, the city was busy even in the late evening, but not to this extent. Usually, arriving in a city in a hurry in the dead of night was suspicious at best and downright hostile at worst. For the Sister Cities, it was almost expected. As one of the busiest ports in the world, everyone always had something to do and were late in doing it. The streets weren’t packed, but they had been crowded, even in the early morning.

Unlike Velaire, there were no cobblestone roads here. Mesaa was far from the desert, but they took definite inspiration from those who lived within the Huzha desert. Mesaa’s wide dirt roads and sandstone walls were normally not found outside of the Huzha.

Wyatt had wanted to find a place to rest, but that plan had changed quickly. They passed a barker’s board, where those looking for work would pay for a barker to bark at crowds and advertise. Wyatt stopped when he heard about a man named Marek advertising the creation of his mercenary company. Wyatt had stopped and chuckled despite himself as Anton had perused the board. They both ignored the cajoling shouts of the barker.

Wyatt hadn’t said anything at first when Anton had suggested looking for Marek. Instead, he had been doing all he could not to break down in tears. Perhaps if he had left, then his family would have survived…

Such thinking was useless. Wyatt and Anton decided to speak to Marek and ask to join Marek’s mercenary company. Anton had been interested from the beginning, as while he acted older than he looked, he was still a boy on the cusp of manhood. Joining a mercenary company and doing heroic deeds was not an unfamiliar dream to boys. The excitement in Anton’s eyes—the first glimmer of anything resembling a positive emotion since Anton had killed his uncle—did much to help Wyatt push his own worries aside.

“Door number two-eighty-nine,” Anton muttered, looking at each door closely as he passed them quickly. Wyatt glanced at a door that they passed. Two-forty-seven. Wyatt forced himself to breathe evenly, ignoring the sweat on his forehead that was not from the hot weather that Mesaa usually sported.

“Two-eighty-seven…” Anton murmured, and then he walked by a two-eighty-nine and went straight to two-ninety-one. “Two-ninety-one—wait, where is it?”

“It’s right here,” Wyatt said, turning to where two-eighty-nine was or had been.

It was gone.

Or is it? Wyatt thought, peering at the space in between the two doors. Two-eighty-nine should be here, and yet it wasn’t. He had seen it before, but it had vanished as if a door had suddenly decided to engage in a game of hide and seek.

Wyatt felt his magic stir as he stared at the blank space in between the two doors.

“What are you looking at, Wyatt?”

“Our way in,” Wyatt said. He scrunched his eyebrows as he stared at the gap, peering at the dark wood of the wall. “The door is here, but it’s blocked by… something.”

“Magic?” Anton asked, and Wyatt turned to see that the lad was smiling placatingly. It wasn’t mocking—Wyatt was sure that Anton didn’t have a mean bone in his body—but it was the closest thing to it. “We must have made a mistake, Wyatt. Let’s go downstairs and get a room, and we’ll look for Marek tomorrow. He should be in this building, right? He won’t be far.”

“He’s right here,” Wyatt said. “Anton, you must trust me in this.”

“OK, Wyatt,” Anton said soothingly, leaning back against the wall opposite where two-eight-nine should be. Wyatt gritted his teeth and wanted to shake the teenager, but it wasn’t his fault. Marek’s probably done something in order not to be disturbed, which is strange considering he spent a decent amount of gold to get on a barker’s board.

Wyatt frowned at the space, tentatively grasping his magic, which was active. It usually was in the presence of active magic, and his years in Velaire had honed his instincts. He didn’t use his magic—he didn’t know what he would do with it other than setting the hallway on fire or blowing through the door, but he grabbed it anyway and focused on where door two-eighty-nine should’ve been.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing exactly, but the moment Wyatt held his magic and concentrated on where the door should be, it appeared. Wyatt blinked as a pounding headache made its appearance but steadied himself and looked over at Anton.

Anton looked from the door to Wyatt, and then back to the door. “Did I miss something?” he asked, looking puzzled and a little concerned. “You’re acting like something has happened.”

Wyatt reached over and grabbed Anton’s shoulder and almost dragged him in front of the door. Wyatt’s headache only grew as both he and Anton stood facing the door.

“Do you see it now?” Wyatt demanded testily.

“I-I do,” Anton stuttered.

Wyatt then let go of Anton, who started. “Where did it go? It was just here!”

“Marek is a mage,” Wyatt said shortly. Anton took a step back in surprise as Wyatt reached for the doorhandle, hesitated, and then tentatively knocked on the door. I’d rather not get a fireball in my face if I tried to open the door without announcing myself.

There was no answer. Wyatt knocked on the door again, this time loud enough that there was no way his knock wouldn’t be heard.

“It’s weird watching you knock on a wall,” Anton said.

“Just watch my back,” Wyatt replied. He was about to knock on the door again with enough noise to wake up the dead and then calmed himself. He was surprised at how irritated he was but considering he had been riding hard for the past four days with little eating or sleeping, it would wear on any man.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Announce yourself,” a familiar voice said through the door. Marek’s voice was tired, but there was no sleep in his voice. He must’ve been channeling to keep the door hidden.

“You may not remember me, but it’s Wyatt,” Wyatt said, feeling a little foolish as Anton huffed disbelievingly. Wyatt bit back a laugh at the idea of watching someone talk to a wall. “I have come to join your company.”

“Interesting,” Marek’s voice said. “What did you tell me when you initially denied my offer to join my company?”

Anton stirred behind Wyatt. He didn’t have to look back to know that the youth was suddenly extremely interested in the conversation that may or may not be happening. Nosy brat.

“I had a young family that needed me,” Wyatt said, swallowing back his emotions.

There was no response, and for a moment, Wyatt wondered if he would have to actually blow through the door with his magic until the door opened.

It had been around six months since he had seen Marek, and he looked different. He was still tall, thin, and had messy brown hair, but there was an aura of command around him that wasn’t there before. Unlike most mages that seemed to think their gifts meant they were automatically superior and looked down to anyone who didn’t have magic, Marek seemed to exude it naturally, even as he looked at Wyatt with a pitying expression on his face.

“I wish I could say it was good to see you, Wyatt,” Marek said quietly. He looked as tired as Wyatt felt.

Wyatt nodded, unable to say anything as he stared blankly over Marek’s shoulder.

“Come in,” Marek finally said, standing aside. He let Wyatt pass, blocking Anton, who also tried to step in. “Who is this?”

“A friend of Wyatt’s,” Anton said, swallowing but matching Marek’s stare unblinkingly.

“Let him in,” Wyatt said tiredly, looking around the room and cataloguing it despite his exhaustion. It was a regular inn room with a bed, table, and four chairs, with the bed occupied by a sleeping girl no older than Marek. He fell into one of the chairs loudly, not caring if he woke her up at this point, but the girl didn’t even stir.

Marek stepped aside, allowing Anton in. Anton walked in and turned on the spot, looking around before he spotted the girl, opened his mouth to doubtlessly ask a question, and then subsided at Marek’s glare.

“Let me close the door first and renew the protections,” Marek said, closing the door and waving his hand in front of it. While there were tiny markings scratched upon it in a language that Wyatt didn’t understand, there was no glow or anything to signify that magic was being performed. Instead, after a few moments, Marek stiffened and nearly stumbled. He shook his head as he laboriously turned and collapsed in a chair that Wyatt nudged forward with his foot.

“First, Wyatt,” Marek began, now sounding even more exhausted than he had earlier. The words sounded like they were dragged out of unwilling lips, and his eyes were slits as if they were trying to close on their own. “I’m sorry about your loss.”

“Loss?” Anton asked. “What loss, Wyatt?”

“That’s unimportant,” Wyatt said. He sat up in his chair and bit back a groan, glaring at Anton for being so awake despite the number of hours they had spent riding the last four days. “But thank you, Marek. Your condolences—are appreciated.”

“Condolences?” Anton asked. He leaned back in his chair as both Wyatt and Marek glared at him, looking younger than his age as he held up his hands placatingly. “Sorry.”

Wyatt turned back to Marek. “I assume there’s a reason why you are hiding your door?” Wyatt asked.

Marek nodded, yawning into a closed fist. “I’m hiding from the King,” Marek said after he had finished yawning. “I found Ako—the woman on the bed—about to be… assaulted in an alleyway a few hours ago. I… dealt with her aggressors.”

“I assume by “dealt” you mean dealt with magically?” Wyatt asked, not even waiting for Marek’s nod before he ran a hand over his eyes. “Fuck,” Wyatt muttered into his hand.

“As the former Captain of the Citadel Guard, you understand my position,” Marek said. “Magic is hard to track, but it can be done. I would’ve left the city ordinarily, but I can’t leave Ako. Not until she’s awake and ready.”

“They’ll have a mage stationed at every exit,” Wyatt muttered, forcing himself to think. “You’re trying to wait them out.”

“For now,” Marek agreed.

Anton stood. Wyatt watched Marek tense until Anton started to pace. Wyatt watched, amused as Anton stared at the dark wooden floor, frowning. Both men watched Anton pace until he stopped and looked up.

“I think we should tell Marek about what happened to us first, Wyatt,” Anton said. He looked reluctant but also determined. “So he knows what he’s dealing with.”

“Dealing with?” Marek asked, looking from Wyatt to Anton with some alarm. “What happened?”

Wyatt wanted to snap at Marek and tell him to mind his own business. Instead, he sighed and leaned back his chair, rolling his aching shoulders. He wasn’t an old man that couldn’t stay up past sundown, but late nights like this wore a lot more on him than they had done a few years ago. Still, Anton was right: Marek needed to know what he was up against if they were working together now.

I’ll have to tell him everything, Wyatt thought grimly. He hadn’t told anyone the whole story since Jor, but since then, he hadn’t met anyone worth telling his story to other than Anton, but they hadn’t had time.

“It started when Captain Nathaniel, the next Captain of the Citadel Guard after me, arrived at my inn,” Wyatt began.