The streets of the capital were packed.

There were massive, boisterous crowds careening chaotically around us, and mounted riders rushing past in frenzied haste. It was a formidable task to even navigate our way through the expansive avenues of Estalarch without trouble. The noise was so loud that I could hardly think, let alone talk with the others.

For me, it was even worse because of my heightened powers of perception, and the tumultuous energies around me took massive efforts to keep under control. It felt like being at the mercy of a wild river, barely staying afloat. It was not until almost three when things calmed down when we reached the outskirts of the capital. Here the buildings were lower and built more generously apart, and the crowds thinned and quieted down.

From then onward, we indulged in some banter between the four of us, while Jaxine stayed silent. Florencia again went over the route she had planned to take us on. Jace then suggested taking the western road that would stop in Bessou, to visit his parents and tell them he was fine, but Iskander immediately and angrily protested.

As we went on, Jaxine fell even further behind as she fought with the will of her horse.

“Stupid thing,” Jaxine whined, as she attempted to pacify the beast by petting his mane, but that did little to calm him down.

“He can sense when you’re annoyed,” said Iskander gently, as he guided his horse beside hers. “Let him know where you want to go, and he’ll handle the rest. Try to be calm.”

Jaxine heaved an annoyed sigh and attempted to forget her irritation. Soon after, the horse followed her lead, quieted down, and followed the road calmly.

Further ahead, as we neared the border of the capital, and the empty brown fields stretched before us, Jace rode next to me.

“During the meditations, did you find what you were looking for?”

“No…” I replied quietly. “I found so much more.”

Soon we stood outside the outer gates of Estalarch, where two diverging roads stretched out before us. Both led south, but one of them ran rather straight to Bessou, skirting the Leden mountains for the entire journey.

Florencia said that she and Jace had just come back from Rasker Keep in Szell and had taken that very route not more than a month ago. That road from Bessou then turned sharply east, arriving in Caffria through Darnel and later Veneiea after many days of travel.

The other road was one of the main highways in Lienor, and the one Florencia planned for us to take. For most of its length, it ran beside the massive Varba river that itself flowed through the very heart of the northern countryside. It passed Scorro and Veneiea closely and ended in the bay where the largest port city of the country was built—Caffria. There, it is said, one could walk through the massive harbor for an entire day and still not see all of it.

The road stretching ahead was wide and paved with sturdy stones that had been well-trodden over many years. Each day, a bustling stream of people and caravans and couriers flowed along its length. Merchants and traders mingled with pilgrims and soldiers marched in long columns, all making their destinations along the southern coast of the country. It was a safe and dependable route, with many taverns built at intervals along the way, as well as many other places where horses could rest, eat, and regain their strength.

We all stood, and I felt their expectant gazes on me. I merely nodded and took the first step. The others followed.

*

The first day was spent riding amidst the endless fields and workshops that were built around the Estalarch, and the day turned into night before we noticed.

After a demanding day’s ride, we stumbled into a dingy tavern along the road, in the heart of the Lienor countryside. So close was the Varda, that we could still hear its fast flow far off in the distance. The tavern was built next to three tall linden trees, and a small stream flowed close to it. We ate a simple meal of roasted chicken and stale bread, that we consumed in silence, lost in our thoughts. Our bodies aching, exhausted, and stiff from riding, we retired for the night.

The following day was much like the first, except for the ever-changing landscape.

We were truly in the Lienor heartlands, and there were small forests all around us, and wide meadows stretched before our eyes as far as we could see. And close by flowed the Vardar, our guide and companion, for much of the journey. It widened slowly and deepened with every league that we went on.

That night, we spent sleeping under a large, dried-out oak tree that had its thick roots above the ground. Iskander took upon himself to make a shelter around it, in case of rain and wind that did not come. Meanwhile, Jace and Jaxine worked together to prepare a simple gruel made of bread, chopped salted pork, and water.

Florencia and I set out to look for firewood that would last throughout the night, and when we both had collected a few armfuls, Florencia sparked it alight with a snap of her fingers. To that, Iskander smirked, saying that her skill would’ve been useful in many of his travels.

The night passed calmly, with a distinct chill that came from the north. But we were covered under the oilcloth tarp, warmed by the low flame that we kept alight in shifts, and we were as comfortable as ever. We saw no travelers on the road, and nobody bothered us in the deep of the night. And above us was a brilliant starry night, with a silver crescent moon shining barely above the horizon.

Before we fell asleep, Florencia showed me all the different constellations she knew.

There was Hadrus, iron and fire, Iscia’s husband; and right beside it was the flower-shaped constellation of Iscia herself, representing love, fertility, and growth, the sun and the moon, gold and silver. South of them was Hanuos, the giver and builder, the rock and the earth, in the shape of an elongated sickle.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Florencia fell asleep while showing the many smaller ones, and I couldn’t remember any of them by morning.

For the rest of our journey south, we preferred to spend the nights in taverns, deciding against sleeping rough on the ground. Iskander didn’t mind going as far as saying he preferred it, but Jaxine passionately protested and demanded a soft bed and warm meal.

I couldn’t blame her, and I saw Jace silently agreeing with her, nodding along as she made her point clear during many long miles of travel.

The quality of food that was offered to us varied wildly. In the next place that we spend the night, they had barely more than salted bread and apple pies. The following one had a wide selection of salted or smoked meats, pieces of bread, cheeses, and milk available. We spent more cuenos there than I thought was reasonable, but in the tiny village of Hierros, the food tasted fantastic.

Initially, there was an awkward atmosphere between us, as Iskander and Jaxine were wary of talking too much. And Florencia and I were unsure how to bridge that divide.

But by the fourth day, and after a few glasses of wine, we grew more comfortable around Iskander and Jaxine, even though she kept herself away from all conversations. She sat, either leaning away from us or against Iskander’s arm, silent and aloof, her face set in a mask of indifference. That was unless we theorized about Vranik. Never she mentioned, though, what caused that fierce hatred.

Much to Florencia’s pride, we found out that Iskander became much more talkative after heavy drinking. He told some fantastical, but grim, stories about his adventures up north, near Fonszell or Lusouthi or Worthorp. He and Florencia found much common ground, and they shared many tales between them, to the great annoyance of Jaxine, who went to sleep before the sun had set.

*

As the five of us rode on, the Varda had grown wider and wider.

Its once-tranquil waters were now busy with fishing boats and wide and flat merchant ships passing by every few hours. The villages that lined its banks bustled with life. We passed fishermen who set their nets to dry on the fields of grass and later filled their catch on smoking racks or sold them to merchants who had erected booths right next to the great Southern Road.

Despite the busyness of the road, there was still a deep calm upon the lands, and every so often, a warm and salty wind would sweep through. Iskander would tell us that this was a sign that we were getting closer to the ocean, and his black eyes would light up with excitement as he spoke.

Iskander was born and raised by the seaside, near the border of Szell and Fonszell, by the Emerald Sea—Bennen, as it’s called in the old Szell tongue. And with how Iskander would tell the many stories of the tiny fishing huts and the waves crashing against the rocky shores, I understood he had a deep connection to the sea.

“I have to say,” said Iskander, petting the neck of his dark horse, and breathing in deeply. “I heard many say that your country is pretty, and I agree with them. It’s warm and you don’t have the constant wind that we have back home.”

“I like the wind,” said Jaxine from the back of our group. “It reminds me of home.”

“Odel always was windy—” said Iskander.

“Please, don’t talk about Odel!” said Jaxine and fell silent.

It was then that I had the thought of trying to warm up my relations with Jaxine. We never talked more than a sentence or two, and I saw this as an opportunity to strike up a prolonged conversation with her. I asked my horse, Velluta, to slow down and stopped beside her.

Jaxine shot me a suspicious look.

“We haven’t really talked. How do you—” I said.

“Look, Jonas,” said Jaxine rather casually and looking at the orange-shimmering Varda flowing a few hundred paces away from us. “We don’t really have to be friends or anything. We are here just to find Vranik, take him down, and go our separate ways. It’s not like we need to bond over this. And… again don’t take this the wrong way, but I just don’t understand what Florencia sees in you. You are kind of boring and unexciting, you know? Thinking so much and being silent. No offense, though. We just don’t have to talk or be buddy-buddy with each other. Let’s just stick to finding Vranik, alright?”

“Oh, well, alright then,” I said as Iskander let out a deep belly laugh and almost fell off his horse.

I went ahead and rode next to Florencia, who had a wicked smirk on her lips.

“Maybe another time,” I whispered to her.

“That won’t do any good,” she said. “You have to gain her respect. Probably through violence or just plain ruthlessness. Her types respond well to that.”

“I’d rather become her friend by talking to her,” I said.

“I don’t think that will happen,” said Florencia with confidence.

*

We traveled onward, and the rolling grasslands stretched ever out for miles before us.

It was our fifth day of travel now, and we had passed through most of the Lienor heartlands by then. And above the sun beat down upon us an unfamiliar warmth, despite it being late autumn.

“It’s warmer in the southern provinces,” Jace would say, and he was definitely right.

The Varda flowed steadily, its waters cold and clear. Wide, it was even more now, at least a hundred paces across.

And here and there we saw some late flowers blooming—white as snow and with spiky leaves, romossas was it called, or autumn-flower in modern Lienor language. Jace said excitedly that we were now definitely in the South, as the romossas only grew here, and that it would bloom throughout the winter into late spring.

That night, the last one before we were supposed to reach Veneiea, we spent in another unremarkable inn, much like the ones before. It was mostly empty, save for a few other weary travelers heading north. We had our simple meal of smoked fish, much to Iskander’s delight, and washed it down with sweet wine, before retiring to our rooms for the night.

The next day was clear and still, but with heavy and dark clouds looming on the horizon, approaching quickly from the south.

And beside us were more villages now, with farms, pastures, and workshops of all kinds again. This meant we were approaching Caffria, and the main road split into many smaller ones.

As we went on, the air grew even more humid and refreshing, with a definite hint of saltiness that grew by the hour. And from very far away, we saw a thin line of black smoke rise into the sky, where it faded into the clouds.

But this was no ordinary smoke, as Florencia and Jace stiffened quickly and reined in their horses.

“What is that?” they whispered between themselves and quickened their ride ahead.

Iskander, Jaxine, and I followed behind, commanding our horses with less skill than them, and I had a muscle cramp in my calf from riding for this long.

It took us some time to reach a fork in the road.

One path led straight ahead to Caffria, while the other turned sharply right toward the source of the smoke. But our view was hidden by a low hill. We went ahead, and as we approached the hill, I began to feel a cold pit in my stomach, and the unmistakable chill and stink of corruption that I had felt in Veneiea those weeks before.

The clouds above were thick now, and there was a deathly weight upon the air that I could almost touch with my bare hands. Our high spirits from the beautiful landscape and peaceful life evaporated. We rode on by the narrow and muddy path, and as we got over the low hill that had hidden our view, we finally saw what was left of Veneiea.

In front of us lay the smoldering and burning ruins of what had once been Veneiea.

Thick plumes of black smoke rose into the sky, blotting out the sky and casting dark shadows around it. And amongst the ashes were dozens of armed men, their faces streaked with soot, sweat, and dirt. They moved about the ruins like ghosts, tossing fuel into the flames with grim seriousness.

The entire town had been burned down.