Golden rays shone over the horizon. Massive forests changed again into rolling grass fields and we passed herds of cows and goats uncounted. Soon Florencia said that we would arrive in Scorro after midnight.

When the day neared its end and a faint sunset glimmered in the distance, I sat across a sleeping Jace. His head was crooked, resting on his folded coat. I could not shake feeling uncertain about the man who seemed so at ease with the world, and I needed to quench the doubt. We were alone there, in the middle of the countryside road, and Florencia beside me was lost in her own deep thoughts. Here, I could risk wielding more of the power I felt within myself. In Bessou, I dared not, but here the danger of discovery was limited.

With only a sharp thought, my sight vanished into a tiny point of black, and then suddenly erupted outward in a brilliant flash of light.

Suddenly I sat cross-legged atop a wet boulder, surrounded by rainbow-colored water of a river, shining brilliantly in the warmth of a high light. The flow was slow, almost slumbering, and I dipped my hand in it. The currents pushed against it, but it was lacking in strength. I sensed strongly that Jace commanded the energies of the world, but his power was held back by something. Why that was, I could not sense.

I also understood that his spirit was filled with a desire to understand who were the enemies the Lodge fought against for so many years. They still had no answers, but Jace needed to know. This was his secret, if it could be called such a thing. And as I rippled through his thoughts, I gained no deeper understanding of his motives. There was no bitterness there, or hint of an impending betrayal. Jace had a pure heart and honest intensions.

Something pressed into my arm.

“Jonas!” I heard a voice in my head. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just making sure,” I replied.

“Stop it, please. Play nice!”

“I am playing nice.”

“Jonas, get out of there!” said Florencia. “He's going to wake up any moment!"

“Sorry,” I said, abruptly stumbling out of Jace’s mind. Breaking the spell was uncomfortable, and I was irritated for a moment. It was similar to being suddenly awakened from a deep sleep and forced to jump into action.

“Why did you do that?” Florencia asked. “Your spell was so strong that I could've sensed you from miles away. I’ve only felt this much power from Philemon!”

“I just needed to know if Jace can be trusted,” I said, disregarding her other remark.

Flo squeezed my arm and said with words this time: “Please don’t do it again, it’s impolite. At least you should ask Jace for permission. And if you use so much energy, other people might notice if they’re sensitive to it. You’ll draw attention to us.”

“Alright, I’ll be careful,” I said. But I would not promise to never use that technique. I was going to be careful, and Florencia sighed in acceptance.

“We’ll be in Scorro soon,” she whispered after a while.

She was right. The empty land around us was now changed to large farmsteads.

“My whole body is so stiff from all this sitting that I need a deep massage before I can sleep,” she said and gave a soft sigh again and leaned against me.

“Only if you return the favor.”

We journeyed ahead in peaceful silence.

The sleepy countryside of wheat and dairy farms transformed into a densely built small town, with many wooden buildings, workshops, and a few small empty courtyards, but dark shapes were set all around the corners and sides of the street. While most buildings were built of wood, some were of stone and stood tall and proud amidst the others.

Despite it being past midnight, a few windows we passed still had a warm and inviting light that shone through. And even further ahead, I heard some voices and faint music.

Then I felt an overwhelming rush of dread.

It was as if a cold hand had reached into my stomach and squeezed hard. It passed quickly but left a trouble within me, and I was off balance. I tried to ignore it, and look out the window, but it lingered.

“What is it?” Florencia asked, having sensed the shift in my mood.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “Just an odd feeling.”

She frowned but shrugged and gently kicked Jace’s leg to wake him up.

“We’re here,” she told him.

“I’m awake,” Jace mumbled and yawned, scratching again his bearded chin. He stretched out and shivered. “Awfully cold night, isn’t it?” He took his coat, now with a single long crease running in the middle, and put it on, pulling his collar high up.

“Is it? It’s perfectly fine for me,” Florencia said and took her coat from Jace’s side.

The carriage then came to a sudden halt in front of a lively tavern.

It was a wide building made of old wood, dark and brown, and covered by red clay roof tiles, the color of which I could not tell in the darkness. I heard sounds of merriment and shouting come from inside, with the occasional burst of laughter and even distant strains of song.

The coachman, who had been stoically silent throughout our journey, finally knocked on the front wall to alert us and announced: “We’re here! Off you get. I’ll be staying in the stables. Come for me when you’re done with your assignment!”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

My legs felt heavy and stiff as I got out of the carriage. Sitting in that cramped little thing for two days straight was not the most comfortable endeavor. Jace and I struggled to gather our bags and gear, sliding them over our shoulders with effort. The wain then rolled away slowly, the sound of the horses’ hooves striking the cobblestone street fading into the night.

We stood in front of a wide but low tavern that was built on the edge of a large, empty square. Laughter, shouting, and faint singing came from inside the inn, and I hoped to find something enjoyable to drink there. I would keep away from strong alcohol, though. I was still not well-versed in that world. Just the week before, Florencia had introduced me to a whiskey from the northern province, which had a sharply earthy and smoky flavor. My attempt at indulging at that resulted in me blacking out after the third glass, much to her amusement.

After that debacle, I grew to enjoy the wide selection of wines that were on offer in Bessou. Most were locally made and had a strong, and heavy taste to them, but Florencia said that wines from the midlands had more light and berry-infused notes, less dry and more sweet.

I hoped to try some of them.

Then a chill wind blew, and I noticed something I missed before.

The streets, I saw, had many decorations set up. Hung from the lampposts were garlands made of dried twigs and wheat stalks, each bound with rusty chains with a spike on the tip, daubed with dark red paint. And from the walls and window sills, and above doors were draped banners and flags, large and small, with festive announcements written on them. But drawn all around the letters were curious symbols, circular and crudely drawn in maroon-colored hues. The moon cast little light from behind the thick clouds, and I couldn’t exactly see what the symbols looked like.

But even in the darkness, I felt a chill run across my back and into my arms, and the same dread crept into my stomach again.

“Something on your mind, Jonas?” Florencia asked suddenly and held my shoulder.

“What?” I mumbled, confused.

“Something is lying in wait here,” Jace said, having picked up on my mental state. “I sense it as well.”

“Me too,” Florencia said. “We should go inside before we draw too much attention to ourselves. We won’t start the investigation in the middle of the night.”

I decided to put aside the dread and took a deep breath. After relaxing my breathing, I calmed down and was more centered. I turned toward the entrance of the tavern.

Florencia was already standing there and holding the front entrance open. From between the two wide and low doors, I felt a psychic warmth radiating from inside, like walking against a river with a strong current. It wasn’t a deliberate show of power, but more like a presence that was simply there, like a slow-burning fire.

Two drunk men stood beside her, dressed in heavy overcoats and ragged beards and their skin had this slick sheen on them. They were swaying back and forward, holding onto the railing and mumbling something to each other with slurred words.

When Jace and I passed them, they were polite and stepped back, but the moment they noticed Jace’s sword handle sticking out of his backpack, they fell silent. Both straightened, stopped swaying and slurring their words, and stared at us, standing unmoving as we entered the tavern. I could feel their eyes burning into my back, and when we were inside, they whispered urgently and left.

The tavern was lively, but less so than it appeared from the outside.

Most of the laughter and shouting was made by a large table close to the door. It was, by the looks of it, a few families that got together and celebrated a plentiful harvest.

The long room was filled with small round tables and three or four chairs set around them. Along the walls were wooden barrels, old and weathered with copper hoops, bearing the marks of decades of use and wear. Inside was warm, a few tables were occupied, and the entire place had a cozy atmosphere to it.

Thick, squared beams held aloft the roof that had many scratches, each one having their own drunken story. The room was dimly lit by faint lanterns here and there, and a few orange-hued light-beads hung behind the bar counter.

I felt more eyes on us, and the loud table to my left quieted down and sneaked glances toward Jace and Florencia. Although they both stood so their sword handles were against their thighs, and hidden by the folds of their coats, we all stuck out like a sore thumb. Jace was especially noticeable with his light-blue coat amidst the bland browns and earth tones of the Scorro locals.

“Happy harvest and good evening. You’ve come at just the right time,” the barkeep said—a sweaty elderly man with an aged face. He wore a wrinkled shirt that had once been white, but was now damp from spilled drinks and framed by a ragged but well-trimmed beard. “The celebrations begin at midday tomorrow. Until then, you’re welcome here. The kitchen is closed for tonight, I’m afraid, but we still offer beer, wine, and a few stronger liquors, if that’s your fancy. What’ll it be?”

Florencia talked with the barkeep for a bit, asked some simple questions, and then got us two rooms for the night.

We went up a narrow staircase, which was old and worn like most in the tavern, and came into the tiniest room I’ve seen since the Cappesand prison. It was, maybe, only five long paces across, and had a sagged mattress on a dark wood frame in the middle that would be barely enough for me and Florencia to sleep in. The walls were thin and cracked, and only a single light-bead hung by a rope from the ceiling.

“This is…” Florencia began.

“Comfortable?”

“I found more comfort in Rasker,” Florencia said bitterly.

“And that’s a keep five hundred years old! I’d rather sleep on the ground,” she sighed. “But it’ll do for tonight.”

Florencia put our bags on the floor behind the bed, set the blanket over it, and we left to go downstairs.

As we walked down the creaky staircase, the sounds of merriment grew louder. The families around the loud table had found their good mood again, and were boisterous. They ordered many more bottles of wine and whiskey and began humming a song.

To my right, Jace was already waiting for us.

He had occupied a small table next to the bar counter and sipped carefully some wine. But by the looks of it, it was not pleasant. And after Florencia and I tried it, I had to agree. It was bland and almost undrinkable.

“Terrible,” he said with a sour expression. “It has no taste but still manages to be horrid. I think it might be watered down with urine.”

“Might very well be,” Florencia replied, but her eyes were distant and unfocused.

“There’s a disturbance here,” she said quietly. “Stay sharp and don’t make any obvious moves.Keep drinking, and Jonas, do not use any powers.”

I rolled my eyes at the comment. I sensed no immediate danger, but I obeyed her and did not psychically reach out to find the source of the disturbance.

After a while, Florencia said: “This is odd. With the trade routes going through here, the folk here should be used to strangers passing through. But people are staring and I feel a tension here.”

“I sense it too,” Jace said. “What’s the move?”

Florencia remained silent as her gaze slowly, but deliberately, roamed from one table to the next. She leaned back against the wall, positioning herself so that her face was cast in shadow, and none could see where she was looking at.

“Jonas, let’s continue the conversation as if nothing is wrong,” Jace whispered, but I heard his voice loud and clear in my head. He took the watered-down wine and filled our glasses full.

“This is quite a disappointment,” I replied.

“Have you had the opportunity to try many wines during your week of freedom?” Jace asked in a well-intentioned tone.

“Not too many, but this one is the worst.”

Then a man interjected.

“Allow me to offer a better one.”

A dark and somber man had walked to us from a table we did not notice before.

He held a dusty bottle in his hand, and a polite look about him, but the half-smile he had on was forced and strained.

The man was of average height and with a thin face and long nose. His dark brown eyes were piercing and seemed almost black in the dim lighting. A rosy scar ran from his neck up to his unshaven chin. He had shaggy black hair that dropped unevenly on his grim face. The dark green vest he wore had many deep red metallic buttons, but the middle one was missing, and I noticed a worn shield engraved on them.

“My friend and I sensed your arrival and I thought it would be polite to introduce myself. How strange is that both of us would arrive here on the same day…”