Book Five

I stand on the last grassy hill on the outskirts of Mahkaiaraon, a frown etched on my face. Below me, windswept plains stretch on as far as the eye can see. Barren and gray, the dusty flatlands seem to mock me. Scorching, arid, utterly inimical to life.

The way forward.

Melina catches my eye. “Everyone's hungry, Nuri. How about we head back to the inn to get lunch?”

“Yeah! I’m famished,” Lionel says.

My crew clusters around me, their shoulders slumped. I take stock of their long-suffering expressions, recall my vow to be a better leader, and nod. “You want me to call off the search for a [Guide]?”

“Not at all. But if the last four meetings are any indication, we’re not likely to find anyone soon. Food might help restore morale,” Melina replies smoothly.

“All right,” I agree, my voice halting. “But if we haven’t hired a guide by the weekend, then we’re moving out anyway. On our own. We can’t delay forever.”

“It’s only been three days since caravans were cleared to return to the region,” Rakesh points out. “Arbitrary deadlines won’t suddenly convince a reluctant guide to give us passage to the Menders. Let’s not be hasty.”

I tug at my beard, still staring out at the blighted flats below, and finally shake my head. “We're on a tight schedule. You know that. Ordinarily, I’d agree with you, but I don’t think we can afford to twiddle our thumbs.”

Lionel clears his throat. “Food first. After my stomach stops gurgling, let’s ask our new friends to put out the word that we're recruiting a [Guide].”

“Good idea,” I say, making sure I’m mixing in praise for each time I shut down anyone. “We’ve bled for them. Least they can do is help us get out of here. Hey, maybe we can skip the caravan and travel faster in a smaller group if the [Magistrate] pays for us.”

Mikko crosses his muscular arms. “Maybe, though spending is tight with the rebuilding, from what I hear. Think he'll keep his job? Whole lotta eyes on this city now.”

“Likely, since he’s the one who hired us to clear out the Old Keep. That’ll go a long way with Chief Xharrote. That guy is the most pragmatic person you’ll ever meet.” I snort at my memories of the strange head of the [Inquisitors].

“C’mon. Last one back to the inn pays for lunch!” Lionel calls, running back down the hill. He follows the winding path that leads back toward town, heading toward the thick cluster of trees. It’s remarkable how verdant the forest is, and how lifeless the flats are on the other side of the hill.

Must be a town-wide Skill in effect, I muse, although I’m not sure who’s powering it now that the [Lord] of the region is dead.

The team dashes after Lionel, not daring to let him out of our sight. We’re not going to lose him again, even if it means racing halfway across town. It’s a breakneck pace, dodging roots and upturned stones on the old path, and it reminds me of our desperate run just a few short weeks ago when Lionel was abducted by [Lord] Dimitri’s guards.

This time, I hold up a little better, thanks to constant running and training with Nala and Uchenna. Along with Cai, they’ve taken up the mantle of leadership from Devrim, who’s still teetering on the edge of death. Somehow, they’ve decided that improving our fitness is the most practical way that they can repay us. As I run beneath the leafy boughs and thick shade of tall trees, admiring the dappled sunlight falling across the forest floor, I’m glad for their continued insistence on physical training.

By the time our group returns, panting and slick with sweat from our run, the [Innkeeper] is rushing around in the kitchen, preparing a lunch of jerked chicken. The air is fragrant with the scent of the meal, laden with seasoning I don’t recognize. Even from the main room, a dozen paces from the kitchens, the smoke is making my eyes water. By the time the spicy dish arrives, drenched in creamy looking sauce, my mouth is watering, too.

“Lionel’s timing is impeccable as always,” Mikko says, laughing as he spins around a chair and plops himself down at the table.

Melina pats him on the shoulder and slides into a seat next to him, leaning over her plate to inhale deeply and smile. “More reliable than a clock, as long as there’s food involved.”

“Food, or trouble,” I tease.

“Hey! Learned from the best,” Lionel shoots back, gesturing with his chin in my direction. “Let the record show that I’ve only been captured when going along with your crazy schemes.”

“Ha. You’ve always had crazy schemes. You just didn’t get caught before,” Avelina says, a rare smile playing on her lips.

It’s surprising to hear her after a week of not interacting much, so I smile back and hope she’s encouraged to keep talking. Seeing her like this is disconcerting.

The brief glint of her former liveliness in her eyes dies out as abruptly as it appeared. She pulls her bowl of rice and chicken closer, hunching her shoulders as she eats in silence.

An air of awkwardness hangs over the table. Nothing has been quite the same with our group since we helped liberate the city. While my favorite pair of [Inquisitors] and the terrifying [Spear Commander] Nicanor have taken over rebuilding and restoring faith in the governance, my team is treated like visiting dignitaries. And no one has received more enthusiastic praise than Avelina. She’s earned a nickname from the townsfolk that she absolutely despises: the Fire-Kissed Savior of Mahkaiaraon. She can hardly go anywhere outside the inn without kids cheering her on, or eligible young bachelors making eyes at her.

A month ago, Avelina would have lifted her arms and danced with sparks flying around her, urging on her admirers. Now, they’re just one more reminder of the massive devastation she wrought—and the lives she reaped with her eye-catching inferno.

It’s hard to believe that my goofy childhood friends have grown up to fight alongside freedom fighters, clear a lesser Rift twisted by foul enchantments, and solve a mystery over a century old. All on our first foray as adventurers, too. If the last few months is any indication, then we have an incredibly exciting future in front of us.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I observe Avelina. I only hope that the cost isn’t higher than we’re willing to pay.

Best not to dwell on it.

After Melina coughs and gives us all a pointed glare, the rest of us dig in. Soon, we put the uncomfortable silence behind us, shoveling the sauteed vegetables, steaming rice, and savory jerked chicken into our mouths as quickly as we can.

“Rakesh, can I ask you a finance question?” I say when I finish chewing. “I know you’ve calculated our budget for the trip. Let’s say we use the money the [Magistrate] is offering us for our involvement in the fighting. If we use it to hire a caravan, then how likely are we to be able to coast on the remainder when we arrive in Gilead?”

The [Secretarial Researcher] frowns. He makes a show of tapping his chin with a long finger while pondering the request. Rakesh has become increasingly theatrical since his brief undercover stint spying on the late [Lord] Dimitri and his missing wife, which amuses me to no end. He clears his throat and stands, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Our funds will likely run dry within two to three weeks. Real estate near the Menders is exorbitant, due to the high demand for their services. Recommendation: defray our expenses by seeking gainful employment with all haste.”

“Glassmaking on the road seems wise,” Melina says. “The income isn’t steady, but it will help if we build a foundation prior to Gilead. We don’t know what kind of conditions we’ll find. It’s a bigger city than any of us have ever been to—except for Nuri—and we might discover that our Skills aren’t up to local standards.”

“I wasn’t exactly sight-seeing in the Capital,” I reply, chuckling darkly at my harrowing time with Scalpel. Vitrifying her from the inside out was the most satisfying thing I’ve ever done, but I wasn’t about to risk getting in trouble for it. I didn’t stick around long. “You make good sense, though, Mel. We’ll be itinerant tinkers!”

“Don’t sell us short,” Lionel says, leaning back from the table and burping in satisfaction. He pats his belly, staring at the empty platter of food with longing. “Even in a major metropolis like Gilead, imbuing isn’t likely common. Nuri’s crafting prowess took a big jump forward thanks to the other Mel.”

“Melidandri,” Melina supplies, a flicker of annoyance passing across her otherwise calm features. “You know his name, Lionel. You just like to vex me.”

Lionel cups his hand around his ear, as though straining to hear Melina. “What’s that? Is that jealousy I hear? Guess I better start calling him the better Mel.”

“Shut it, Lio,” I command, although it takes all my willpower not to snicker. It’s unusual to see Melina so competitive, especially since she’s never met Master Melidandri, but I’m glad that something inspires her to push on toward greatness.

“Aw, just having fun, Nuri.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. That’s hardly fitting for a leader. “Yeah. Can it, anyway. We’re all in this together, but upgrading your [Healer] Skills is a big part of why we agreed to this job in the first place. The least you can do is show some gratitude.”

Lionel takes a slow breath. He puffs out his cheeks and holds it for a few seconds before finally blowing the air back out. “Fine. I’ll behave. But seriously, you know where my loyalties are. You’re family. Not even the promise of learning imbuing will make me like him better than my dear old friend.”

I snort. “I can teach imbuing.”

“Is that a promise?” Lionel asks.

Before I lose my cool and throw my spoon at my irascible best friend, the inn’s front door slams open. Nala bursts inside, nimbly twirling around a young couple, and bounds over to our table with a huge grin. Her cheeks are glowing with excitement—or perhaps from the exertion of sprinting all the way over from the guard house—as she takes the last empty seat next to her favorite member of the team, Lionel.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Nala waves. “Hope I’m not interrupting lunch! Ah, who am I kidding? I love interrupting lunch. Got any extra for a hungry gal?”

“We’re all out,” Mikko rumbles apologetically, holding up his empty trencher.

“Then where’d the sweet rolls come from?” Nala asks, her nose wrinkled up in confusion as she waves her hand toward Lionel’s plate, which magically features dessert that none of the rest of us saw on the menu.

Cawing triumphantly, Nala snatches a roll from underneath Lionel’s nose. He lifts his hands up and stares, open-mouthed and outraged.

“I will overlook that since I’m so magnanimous,” Lionel finally says, desperately trying to hold on to the tattered shreds of his dignity.

“What’s the word?” I ask, tensing up as I consider all the possibilities for her sudden visit and heightened excitement. What does the [Magistrate] need us to do this time?

“Heard you’re looking for a [Guide] to Gilead,” Nala says around a mouthful of sweet roll. “How’s that going?”

I nod. “Pretty terrible.”

“It’s a long way away.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the problem,” I say, pushing away my empty plate. “Not a single caravan will take us directly to Gilead. Most of the captains are regional traders. I get it. They don’t wanna travel across the entire country. That’s not profitable. But all of the [Caravaners] and [Merchants] we’ve asked cite the difficulty, not the distance. The longer they give us the runaround, the more I’m running out of patience.”

Of all the obstacles I envisioned between my team and the Menders, simply finding passage across an inhospitable wilderness never occurred to me. I figured we’d simply join a wagon train and ride the entire way, or find a barge. If only Captain Ash traded in this area. Then we could ride the river with him.

Nala swipes Lionel’s tea and washes down her sweet roll, winking at him and making him blush. “Well, you’re in luck. Trade caravans are cautious by nature, but they’re not the best for long trips. After five years of exile, [Pathfinder] Azariah is back in town!”

“Ooh, a [Pathfinder] sounds awesome,” Lionel says. “Thanks for the tip, Nala.”

I’m about to agree when her words sink in. “Wait. Did you say exile?”

=+=

The next morning, just after breakfast, we head to the stockyards. According to Nala, this is the best place to catch Azariah; apparently, he likes to scope out the best cows to get a headstart on smoking meat for his journey. I still can’t get a straight answer out of the [Guard] about why Azariah was exiled, but we’ll have to take Nala’s word that he’s worth the trouble.

I hope she’s right.

We smell the place long before we see it. The sickly sweet, overripe manure makes me gag. I quickly wrap a scented cloth around my mouth and nose to block out the scent. Past the last barn, row upon row of wooden pens connected by corridors of fencing seem to stretch on without end. The dust the animals kick up into the air threatens to choke me, but a pulse of my [Arcane Domain] flattens the particulates in the air, forcing them to the ground and clearing a path for us. Surrounded by the lowing of cattle and the stench of their excrement, even through the cloth, I’m suddenly glad that I don’t have more acute senses.

Despite the assault on our nostrils, the bustle of activity in the stockyards is invigorating. Not a single person stands still; the entire place fairly vibrates with excitement and energy as [Herders] bring in fresh droves, and [Auctioneers] profit off them as quickly as they’re sold and registered with the yards. It’s not the strangest place I’ve ever ended up, but it’s certainly a memorable location.

“Keep an eye out for a blue banner with an ox skull and horns emblazoned in white,” I remind the team. “We should find Azariah bartering for meat there.”

“Already scouted it out,” Rakesh replies smugly, tapping on a map of the yards. I don’t even remember when he managed to procure a copy, but it’s great to see him taking initiative. “Ahead to the left, on the other side of the auction platform.”

We trot after Rakesh, following the path on the map he traces with his finger, and soon reach our destination. Based on what Nala told us at lunch yesterday, Azariah is the best guide west of Modilaraon, a hunter of no small renown, who’s led expeditions and always brought his patrons through to the other side. She warned us thrice that his services don’t come cheaply, and that he’s about as personable as razor blades, but that we won’t find a better option. He sounds perfect to me. How bad can his attitude actually be?

As we approach the trading desk, a scuffle breaks out ahead of us. A bulky man with a blood-stained apron shoves an even thicker man who’s only two-thirds his height. Yet, despite his arms straining with muscle, he doesn’t budge the shorter man at all. “Gold or get out, you halfbreed scum! No credit.”

“Not till you give me the promised ribeye!” the barrel-chested fellow growls in a low, lilting voice. “I’ve bought from Abel’s Meats for decades before you were even a twinkle in yer pa’s eye, ya little pipsqueak. My word’s better than bullion.”

“Not since you skipped—”

The short, stocky man blurs into motion, launching off the ground and headbutting the [Butcher] right under the chin with the gleaming crown of his bald head. The taller man stumbles back and drops to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust with a dull thud. His apron flutters up from the sudden movement, draping over half his face.

My Domain tells me that he’s still breathing, but he looks like he’s out cold. I glance back at the attacker, notice the smoking pipe in his mouth, the bald head, and the thick tangle of his nearly waist-length beard, and groan as I realize this is our target.

“I still expect those ribeye, ya hear?” Azariah shouts at no one in particular. “Make sure I get what’s mine, Abel, or I’ll burn down yer entire storehouse.” With a final disdainful glower, he spits to the side and stalks off, shouldering grown men out of his way like a surly old bull knocking aside newborn calves.

I step into his path, ignoring the death glare on his face, and clear my throat. “You must be Azariah. Take us to Gilead, and I’ll buy the ribeye for you in addition to the fee for our passage.”

Azariah’s face wrinkles up as he surveys the team. “Nah. You’re the sorriest lot I’ve ever seen. Go waste someone else’s time.”

I cross my arms, glaring back at the thick-set man in front of me, and refuse to get out of his way when he steps straight toward me. He comes up to my chest, but he’s wider than Mikko, and he scowls worse than Ember, but I’m done with playing around. I pull out the trick I played earlier with the dust and flare my [Arcane Domain], grounding myself just in time to prevent him from bowling me over.

A wicked grin splits my face. I fall back on the grueling Domain training Mbukhe has put me through the last few weeks, and stand my ground. My mana drops precipitously, but Azariah stops dead in his tracks.

His eyes narrow, but he grunts, steps back, and drags on his pipe. “All right. Ya got a spine. I’ll give ya that. You’re still wasting my time.”

“I don’t think I am. You see, I’m talking to you precisely because I’m tired of wasting time. That’s why we’re going to work together. Heard you’re the best.”

The sheer arrogance of Azariah’s sneer takes me aback. “I am the best. Doesn’t mean you can sweet talk me into a fool’s errand. No chance I’ll take ya on for less than two hundred gold. Each. You’re liable to die halfway there—that’s bad business! And Azariah doesn’t do bad business, catch my drift?”

I make a show of frowning at Azariah’s insult, although I school my face so I don’t laugh at the over the top bluster from the squat smokestack in front of me. Negotiations require that I keep up appearances, after all. It’s hard to take him seriously as he puffs furiously on his pipe, but if Nala and Devrim agree that Azariah is the best once we get past his crusty demeanor, then I’m determined to stay the course.

“We can handle ourselves. Fifty gold, since you won’t have to hire guards for the trip,” I counter, just to see how much steam will vent from his ears at the lowball offer.

“Theft! Robbery! Larceny!” Azariah howls. He pulls his pipe out of his mouth and glances around wildly. “Where’s the city watch when you actually want ‘em? Peh! Trying to rob me blind. Can’t do it for less than one-fifty—assuming you’re good for guard duty. I’ll need references. Good people, ya hear? Not that paper crap you’re waving around.”

I match his condescending sneer from a moment earlier. “A writ from the Royal Army isn’t worth your time? Huh. I’ll make sure to tell ‘em.”

“Forgery, I’ll bet,” Azariah scoffs.

“Devrim will vouch for us,” I say, crossing my arms. I smirk at the glimmer of shock on Azariah’s face at hearing the veteran [Soldier]’s name. “Good enough for you?”

“Wipe that smarmy grin off yer face. Ain’t a stroll in the park, even if that old codger went soft in his dotage. Thinks ya might scrape by, does he? Peh! Half the folk who set out for remote parts don’t make it,” Azariah bellows, popping his pipe back into place.

He draws in another long breath from his pipe, filling his cheeks with smoke. Puff! Up it goes in a lazy cloud of glittering gray. Pipe smoke swirls around his head. He winks at me, and the smoke twitches, taking on the form of a caravan traversing a mountain pass to illustrate his point. An avalanche soon crashes over the hazy forms of wagons and mules, washing away every hint of its passage in a grim reminder of the danger.

“So, can you do it or not?” I demand, unfazed by the intricate illusion magic. “Hearing a lot of big talk. Bit light on details, unfortunately.”

“Aye. I can take you to Gilead.”

I stare down at the guide, drawing on the oppressive presence of my [Arcane Domain] to loom over him more than just physically, and go for a big bluff. “Been there before? How do we know you can deliver on your claims? Other [Caravaners] are asking forty apiece. And we get to ride instead of hiking. Starting to think we can get a better deal elsewhere.”

“Pfft. That’s for passage to Lutengo’s Peak. Roundabout, stupid path. Takes twice the time. You’ll still have to walk the last two hundred seventy miles on foot! Sides, I’ll get you there alive. That’s why you’re talkin to me, not them.” Azariah pauses to spit to the side. “Bunch of smooth-hands. Ne’er did an honest day’s work in their lives.”

“Guaranteed safe passage, no detours, no other clients or side trips?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep. Gonna cost ya, though.”

I run my fingers through my beard. “No discount for the infamous mercenaries who cleared out Mahkaiaraon? We’re not your average travelers. Eighty gold, including breakfast and dinner, since we’re buying your steaks.”

Azariah smacks his gut. “Lookin to get fat like me?” He lets out a hearty laugh. “Food’s the least of yer worries on the trek to Gilead. Hmm. You look mighty young. Sure you got that much gold?”

“We’re good for it. Lead on,” Mikko says, offering a toothy smile as he stalks forward to loom over Azariah. His big shoulders are all drawn up, and his jaw is clenched, which I know from long experience is a dead giveaway that my brother’s angry at our prospective guide’s dismissive treatment.

“Welp. Gold is gold. Let me reintroduce myself. Azariah. [Smokeborn Pathfinder]. One hundred a head. That’s the lowest I’ll go. Mighty fine deal. Let’s hope you live to regret it!”

“Wait, don’t you mean you hope that we don’t regret our choice?” Melina interjects, her unnaturally pale forehead furrowing as she regards the stump-like [Pathfinder] in front of her.

Azariah snorts through his nose, blasting away the dancing smoke in long, twin trails. “Don’t care how ya feel.” He taps his temple and winks. “But regret requires bein’ alive. Get it?”

Avelina snaps, summoning blue-white sparks and burning away the thick smoke before it reaches her face. “Keep that smoke to yourself. Mikko already smells like a forge. Don’t need two of you stinking things up.”

“What bee crawled up your—”

“That’s enough!” I interrupt sternly.

Azariah glares at Avelina, but thankfully he seems to catch the seriousness in my tone, and he backs off, settling for a dirty look and incomprehensible oaths under his breath.

“Well? Do we have a deal?”

“Aye, hundred apiece. Final offer.”

I grin, sticking out my right hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Azariah. I can’t wait for a month on the road together.”

“Hmph. You’re lucky I’m down on my luck,” Azariah mutters. “All right, I’ll send you a list of supplies. Get packin! We leave at nightfall.”

“Don’t you mean dawn?” Melina asks.

“What, and bake in the hot sun? Abyss take me! I’ve signed up for a suicide march. Yer skin will be the first to burst into flames. Ya look like a bucket of milk in human form. Nah, we’re keeping to a night march until we reach the inland sea. Peh. Bunch of daft youngins. Don’t even know when to leave town!”

Azariah throws his hands up and stomps away, parting the crowd around him with sheer force of will it seems. He’s mumbling to himself viciously. While I can barely make out the words, a few comments about my grandmother’s impure bloodlines reach my ears, carried by tendrils of smoke that don’t dissipate in the wind.

I can’t help but grin at his impudence. Something tells me that this adventure will be our best yet.