If his parents knew where he was, they'd never have let him go looking.

Erdor grimaced as he sidestepped another patrol – they weren't likely to recognize him, but it was better to be safe than rotting in a gilded prison, waiting for deportation and his parent’s agonized gazes as they realized he had sacrificed the tenuous relationship they had with the Kingdom of Argentum.

… But his parents were fooling themselves if they thought he’d let something like diplomacy come between him and his sister’s future. And if his sister’s future had an answer in Argentum? Well, there was a time for diplomacy, and there was a time for putting his family first. He was choosing the second one.

Unfortunately, that answer had yet to be found, and he was already nearing the three-month deadline his parents had afforded him.

Up front, he spotted another tavern, likely the tenth one today (and it was incredible how many of these this kingdom thrived on. He wondered whether his own home had such an excess of them, but he’d have to return to find out), steeled himself against the smell and the heat, and then made his way in, schooling his face into slight disinterest and that dreamy expression he saw on one out of two people lumbering out of the building every time.

The smell hit his nose like a sledgehammer despite bracing himself. He’d had nothing against alcohol before this trip, but now? Yeah, it would probably be years before he would touch it again, if ever. The intensity here was much greater than the subtle flavourings back home, but now, even the thought of that churned his stomach.

For Ilora, he told himself and stepped through the crowd, making a beeline for the counter. Not many people were sitting there, though most of the booths behind him were full, and there was laughter and boisterous conversation in the air that made it almost impossible for him to hear, especially above, the off-tone singing of the man atop the corner stage.

Still, Erdor ignored them all, his attention squarely on the bartender.

There was a chef working in the back and a girl tending the booths and tables, but the bartender was simply mixing drinks, pouring them, and chatting with a couple of patrons sitting there.

“New customer, huh? What can I get you?” The man asked as he finally decided to look at Erdor.

Erdor managed a smile, honed from days of getting through to surly tavern owners, sleazy merchants, and the occasional over-charging information trader. “Surprise me,” He said because he certainly wasn’t going to drink it. “You don’t get many new customers?”

The man huffed in amusement. “This corner o’ the city? No, sir,” He said. “You from outta town?”

Erdor shrugged. “Versaise,” He said, just to be safe. “Not much to do there.”

The man inclined his head. “Fair ‘nough,” He agreed. “Though not much to do here, either.” His expression twisted. “What’s the real story?” He prompted, still getting Erdor’s drink ready.

Erdor wondered, suspiciously, what he was even making, then decided not caring was probably best for his sanity. “My sister,” He said, and it didn’t even hurt as much as it had the first time around. “She’s sick. I’m looking for a cure.”

“And you came to Argentum?” The man asked. “Never knew we were famous for our cures.”

Edor grimaced. “Well, something’s better than nothing.”

“’E’s ’ere fer the caves,” The younger man on his right slurred, raising a mug half-filled. “Ain’t cha?”

Erdor perked up. “Caves?” He asked.

The bartender pursed his lips. “They were sealed, Gavin,” He told the other man. “And they’ve never had any power in the last hundred times anyone found them. Why would they now?”

The drunkard, Gavin, only laughed, slumping down in his seat and losing interest.

Erdor immediately turned to the bartender, not even noticing as he put the drink in front of him – and a rather… colourful one at that. “What caves?”

The man sighed. “’Tis nothing,” He promised. “Just a legend.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Only the desperate really go lookin’ for ’em, and they come back disappointed.”

“I’m desperate,” Erdor admitted.

“And ready to be disappointed?”

He chuckled drily. “What hasn’t disappointed me the last couple of months?” He asked rhetorically.

The bartender stared at him for a few seconds, contemplating. Then he spared a look around, seemed to consider his options, and then spared Erdor a small, amused smile, pulling up a stool that seemed to be tucked under the counter. Up close, Erdor could see the grey streaks in his hair and the wrinkles on his face, but there was no softness in him. In different circumstances, Erdor might even have been curious about this man’s past.

Right now, all he cared about was Ilora.

“Good enough for me,” He said. “I could use a break. Cors!” He yelled over his shoulder, and the chef, a balding guy swathed in clothes, poked his head out the door. “Hija’s going to take orders directly! Handle it for me, will ya?”

Cors just grunted and disappeared back into the kitchen while the waitress, Hija, scowled in their direction. “It’s your second break, Jole!” She hollered back, but there was no force in her voice, and she switched back to a smile, turning around to whichever table she had been servicing.

Jole snorted and returned his attention to Erdor, his eyes glinting. “The Caves of Belawain, huh?” He hummed. “First things first – the story starts with a legend.”

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

Erdor’s heart sank. Right. A story.

Jole seemed to realize the second Erdor lost interest. “You’re the one who wanted to hear it,” He pointed out. “’Sides, all these legends have some bits of truth in ’em, right?”

Erdor frowned. “Do they, though?” He asked doubtfully.

“What, you don’t believe in magic?”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course I do,” He said. “There are witches in every corner of Turanveil.”

Jole’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you were from Versaise.”

“Like you said, Argentum’s not known for its cures. I figured I’d try Turanveil first.”

Jole grunted. “Right. Well, if you believe in magic, then legends shouldn’t be so far off, yeah?”

Erdor made a non-committal sound.

“Your loss,” The older man said. “I could’ve even told you where they were.”

Erdor stilled. “Wait, what?”

Jole smirked. “Didn’t I mention? I was a soldier, part of the old King’s army marching to Belawain. Of course, none of us believed it then, either, but…” He shrugged again. “Well, the place was certainly real, never mind the stories.”

Suddenly, Erdor was interested again. “Okay, tell me from the beginning. What are the caves of Belawain?”

The man’s smile was almost vicious. “You going to drink that?” He asked abruptly.

Erdor blinked. “What?”

He pointed at the pint in front of him.

Erdor rolled his eyes. “When I want to,” He said.

“You’ve got to pay for it,” Jole continued.

Erdor grunted, shuffling through his pocket to find his purse so they could actually start talking about the stupid caves.

Jole didn’t seem any less amused. “It’s one silver coin.”

Erdor choked, his hand faltering. “What in Ru–” He broke off.

Jole just laughed lightly, eyeing him like he knew something about Erdor that Erdor hadn’t told him. The unreasonable part of Erdor worried whether he knew where he was really from, but, more likely, it was about him being unable to hide that he was from the upper echelon of whichever society he came from. ‘Rich’ was likely written on his forehead, just never when he looked in the mirror. “I only used my best,” Jole told him. His eyes screamed at him to protest.

Erdor really didn’t have much energy left in him, and besides, what was another silver? He’d already gotten fleeced out of two back when he’d been trying to get out of Turanveil in the first place. At least this time, he was doing it knowingly. “Fine,” He grumbled, sliding it over, albeit after sparing a look around to make sure no one was paying attention. The last time he hadn’t… well, at least the multitudes of taverns he’d visited had been pretty much an experience in and of themselves. “Now tell me the story.”

Jole turned serious. “It starts a couple of decades ago,” He said simply, without any dithering, even as he tucked the coin away somewhere. “I was conscripted inta the army when the old king made it all mandatory – you’d’ve not even been born, then, I reckon, but those days, everyone was on edge. Turanveil hated Argentum ’cause they were blamin’ the King for a stolen heirloom–”

Erdor frowned. Wait, what? He’d never heard about any heirloom. He knew about the bad relationship, obviously, but his parents had mentioned trying to work it out. They’d never said they’d had a reason to hate this place.

But then, if they had a reason, why woul they be trying to fix up the relationship? Had Argentum finally returned whatever it was they’d stolen… or had the last Royals been wrong?

“–so, with tensions on every border, the ol’ King Jarvis decided that marching against the Belawains was the best way to get back the power he was losing–”

Erdor jerked back into the middle of the story, feeling like he’d missed quite the exposition. “The Belawains are people?” He asked. “I thought it was caves.”

Jole sighed loudly and pointedly. “Ain’t the Kingdom and the Royals named the same?” He pointed out.

Erdor flushed. “I was asking about the relation, okay?”

Jole tilted his head. “I probably shoulda asked,” He said, his voice entirely sarcastic. “Marched right up in the middle of the war and asked ta see the deed to the caves. Right good idea, that.”

Erdor groaned but, this time, didn’t speak, refusing to put his foot in his mouth or anywhere that the old man could twist it.

Jole huffed in slight disappointment at that, probably because he was a sadistic old man and took pleasure in Erdor’s suffering. But what else was new? “The Belawains have a long history of magic,” He continued. “The caves hold the source of it, but, the legend says it also holds the power to make a wish.”

Erdor straightened, eyes widening. “The king wanted the wish.”

“Exactly,” Jole said. “He didn’t get it, in the end, but that’s ’cause he never managed to do everything the legend says. He got to the caves and found the source, but the key – now, the key’s the most important thing, you see? There’s gotta be a key out there, somewhere. The legend says there is a guardian, and without their help, you’ll never get to the source, let alone be able to release its power.” He smiled mysteriously. “We all saw the source, y’know? Everyone in the battalion. It’s what started the damn battle – Jarvis tryin’ ta pluck it up in front of the caves' guardians.” He tilted his head. “They pushed us all back, just a couple of ’em, and then we laid siege to the caves for a few weeks ’fore Jarvis had ta give up and try an’ make a deal.” He snorted. “’Course, it was a trick. That’s how the king was in those days. The guardians’ offer woulda worked, but it was a little too slow for ol’ Jarvis, and he forced his way back a couple of months later with a stronger force. I wasn’t in that one – only the first guard was. They came with the blood of the guardians of the caves on their hands and no power to show for it.” He hummed. “Since then, kids’ve been tryin’ ta find the damn thing every year.

Erdor threw a quick curse at the dead man, even as his usual manners rebelled. “He killed the guardians? Doesn’t that make the whole thing moot?”

“Nah,” Jole said, waving a dismissive hand. “The cave’s guardians and the source’s guardian? Two different things.” He nodded as if that made any sense.

Erdor opened his mouth, closed it, then gave it up as bad timing all around.

Still, despite rather frustrating old men and unfortunate story-telling, if there was even a little about the story that was true… he was going to have to find the key, and to find the key, he needed to figure out the real story behind the Belawains.

But first things first.

“Guess I’m going off to find the caves,” He said. “You said you knew where they were?”