Three years later…

“We have a deal, yes?” Talon asked. He spat on his hand and extended it across the table. “It will be as agreed. You and your company will guard my…” Talon visibly struggled for the right word in Common, frowning. “My… caravan to Velaire. You will be paid half before we depart from Javen, and you will be paid the other half when we reach your magical city.”

Marek looked the caravan owner up and down. For a tiny man, he had a commanding presence. His nose, broken and never properly reset, was hooked to the point it looked more beak than nose, and his eyes were beady and dark.

He placed a hand on his pendant through his shirt. It had once been white but was now stained with sweat after long years of travel and usage. The pendant was already warm, and when Marek’s hand touched it he saw images of places that he had never visited. None of them seemed dangerous, and from what Marek could see it was just another caravan trip. No more, no less. It was perfect for his last job before settling back in Velaire, where he intended to accept Marast’s standing offer of employment within the Citadel.

“We have a deal,” Marek said. He hid his distaste of having to spit into his hand by doing so quickly and jutting it across the table to take Talon’s. He shook the other man’s hand, his white skin meeting Talon’s darker skin. “It’ll be good working with you.”

“I do not care if it is good,” Talon said. He yanked his hand back like touching Marek’s hand mortally offended him. Considering the color of Marek’s skin and his status as a Mage, it probably did. “I care about the final result.”

“Good,” Marek said, not sure of what else to say. He rose from his chair and glanced back at his group. They were studiously ignoring him in a way that meant they were listening to every word that was being said.

Given that you’re in an empty common room, that’s a given anyways.

“Visit my stall in the Market in the morning,” Talon said before he hurried out of the inn, his brown cloak fluttering behind him. Marek stood, watching as the man left.

As the door closed behind the caravan master, Marek reached out his magic. Grabbing hold of it, he sent tendrils of it throughout the immediate area, looking for signs of life. There was his table of three in the corner booth, and the innkeeper stood at the bar. The man looked just as bored as he had been when Marek and his group had checked in a few days ago. They had been the only patrons of this inn, which wasn’t too surprising as while Javen was a big town, it was positively small compared to Ghada and other cities closer to the coast.

No one else, Marek thought as he let himself relax. Just myself and my company here. Good. The Kulok, the peoples who controlled the Huzha—as they called the vast desert that stretched for thousands of miles—were notoriously private and despised magicals. That was probably due to the Divinity War, but given they had sided with Noam, the Goddess of Light, and not Azmar, the God of Death, he had no idea why they hated him. He wanted to discuss the results of his pact with Talon in privacy, and while he could magically ensure that it was so, he didn’t want to strain himself unless it was necessary.

Marek shrugged, dismissing the thought as he walked over to the booth that housed his group. They were all talking quietly but fell silent as he neared the booth. The only sound in the room was his boots thump thumping against the wooden floor. The group all turned to him when Marek pulled out his empty chair, sat down, and pushed himself into his spot.

“Well?” Anton asked rudely, leaning forward so that both of his elbows were on the table. As the youngest member of Marek’s company at the age of 17, he was always the most impatient and eager. To Marek’s amusement, when Anton had put his elbows on the table, he had pushed his tankard away from him, nearly toppling it over. It was steadied by a scowling Wyatt, who reached over and placed it beside the youth. Anton hadn’t noticed. “How’d it go?”

“It went good,” Marek said, ignoring Anton’s glare as he reached for his drink that he had left on the table. His mouth was already dry, and he figured he would be talking for the next while. He took a gulp, choking down the terrible Kulok beer before he set the tankard back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “He said yes.”

“He didn’t seem happy,” Ako said from her seat at the far end of the table. She raised an eyebrow. As she did, the scar over her right eye glinted in the sunlight streaming in from the inn’s windows. It did little to detract from her beauty. This was despite how conservatively she was dressed, with long robes and a scarf that she wore over her long brown hair. “Are you sure you settled terms?”

“Well, he spat on his hand and made me shake it,” Marek said dryly. “I hope that means he accepted my offer.”

“Your offer?” Wyatt asked. He was by far the oldest man in his group, but perhaps the most dangerous. He had met him only three years ago, but since then the sword master had become his Second and the company’s undisputed master of sarcasm. His hair was mostly grey, with some tufts of blonde hair still showing. He was easily over six feet tall, and his arms were almost bigger than Marek’s legs.

Wyatt’s face was expressionless as always, but there was a wryness to his voice that made Marek want to cringe. “How… interesting.”

“Talon certainly thought so,” Marek said. I’m not taking your bait, even if this proposal was mostly yours. Every time he did, Marek found himself led to a conclusion that seemed like the natural conclusion from the start. All Wyatt seemingly did was keep speaking sense with that damnable reasonable tone of his. I’ve fallen for that enough times.

“Why’s his name Talon?” Anton blurted out. “It’s a strange name, isn’t it?”

“We usually shorten our names for those who speak the Common tongue,” Ako said with more than a hint of exasperation. “You’ve already asked me this many times, Anton.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“So, what’s your name?” Anton insisted. “We call you Ako, but what’s your real name? Is it long?”

“Ako,” Ako said. Her voice was flat and could cool the Huzha. “My name is Ako.”

“I don’t believe you!” Anton said. He leaned back in his chair with a triumphant expression. “You just have a name that you’re embarrassed of, so you changed it to Ako.”

“Calm down, children,” Marek said mildly. He was rewarded with a glare from Anton and an exasperated look from Ako. “We need to decide what we’re doing tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?” Anton asked, his brow furrowing. “The deal’s done, right?”

“No,” Wyatt said. He was fiddling with his tankard, twisting the empty cup on the table as he spoke. “The Kulok love to negotiate and renegotiate. If there’s nothing else left to discuss tomorrow, I will eat this table.”

“Watch out for splinters,” Ako said. She then took a saltshaker and poured a bit of it onto the wooden table. Marek stared at her, mystified. “What?” he asked.

“That should help it go down easier,” Ako said, causing the whole table to laugh. Wyatt joined them, although his laugh was more like his lips curving slightly upward.

“Anyways,” Wyatt said when the mirth had died down. “I will accompany you, Marek, to Talon’s stall.”

Can’t give me a day where I’m in charge of my own company, couldn’t you?

“I could order you not to come,” Marek said instead, but stopped when Wyatt just looked at him.

“Fine,” Marek said, forcing down a scowl. Instead, he finished off his drink which, by now, was warm and nearly empty. It tasted awful. “You may come with me to Talon’s stall. Ako, Anton, and the rest of the company will shadow us in the marketplace.”

“The rest of the company?” Anton asked, looking around the empty room. “Where are they hiding?”

“They’ll be hired when we leave tomorrow, idiot,” Ako said, which made Anton squawk.

Marek settled back in his chair, watching his group interact. He felt a sort of wistfulness at their easy comradery. Over the last three years, members of his company had come and went. The entire time Marek had keenly felt a distance from even the core of his group.

They were all different, but Marek’s background and magical training distanced himself from almost everyone. Even Wyatt, who hid his distaste of Marek better than most, avoided him if he could. Anton followed Wyatt around like a lost puppy, and Ako did her own thing. He counted them all as friends, but none were close. The path of the magical, Marek thought, sighing. It’s little wonder that most of us stay in Velaire and don’t travel unless we must.

“You’re all dismissed for today,” Marek said, interrupting the argument that was beginning to boil over again between Anton and Ako. “I’ll see you all down here right after daybreak. Good day to you all.”

Nodding to his group, Marek left. There was an awkward pause, but after a few moments the conversation started up again, this time less stilted and freer. Marek ignored it, pushing the door open and heading outside. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he wanted to go for a walk.

There wasn’t too much to see in Javen. The marketplace was big in proportion to the city, but that was just about the only notable thing about it. With nothing else to do, Marek headed down the dirt road toward it. His trudging feet upended bits of sand that flew every which way as he walked.

Marek idly put a hand on the pendant, but it was cool. Marek wasn’t exactly surprised. He had been shocked that it had been warm earlier. He could count on two hands the number of times he had used it, but each time it had been a pivotal decision in his life.

We’ll have to see how the meeting goes tomorrow, Marek thought. It should be easy, just a confirmation on what had already been agreed upon. He reminded himself that nothing had been easy since he had decided to start a mercenary company and journeyed to the Huzha Desert. One more job, and then I’ll be back in Velaire, where I belong.

It would only take a few months, but it felt like it would take years. I’ll make sure Wyatt knows who’s in charge, Marek thought, turning down one road and going down another. He tapped the holster hidden up his arm’s sleeve, where he kept his wand. With a flick of his wrist, his Dominion Wand would be in his hand in a heartbeat, and even in a safer city such as Javen one could not be too careful.

Marek scoffed. He had been careful the entire time he had been leading the company. They liked him just as much as they had originally, which was they barely tolerated him. Well, we’ll see how they like having an actual leader in charge rather than a pushover, Marek thought snidely. We’ll see.