The fields around the city of cutthroats were devoid of life. The grasslands and sparse forests that Ehrir encountered before suddenly turned into a chaotic, rocky landscape stretching towards the horizon. From afar it seemed like a wound in the earth, a rotten piece of flesh next to a healthy one. The transition between the two was too sudden, too unnatural. Ehrir was fascinated with it and soon learned how that weird piece of land had come to be.
“It’s quite the story”, said Mor-Ael (the Undone One had finally managed to learn his name) when asked about it. He wasn’t very willing to continue, by the looks of it, but did so regardless. “The legends mention of a war that the goliaths waged here in ancient times. They were still growing in power as a race and there were many types of non-humans opposing their steadily expanding empire. People believe that one of their more powerful rivals, whoever it may be, was located where my birthplace stands today. The mighty goliath bastards just annihilated them with an attack methods so powerful that they created the pit where Tarha-Nan lies today. They also prevented any kind of plant life from growing around, as you can see. Now go and annoy someone else… I know only this, and it’s probably a pile of crap and lies.”
It wasn’t. Ehrir checked it with the old man. He didn’t mention it to the assassin – the man looked displeased enough with the half-forgotten legend to not care about it.
Whatever the goliaths used to devastate the place worked well. Too well. The Undone One couldn’t notice even a single strand of grass amongst the stony wasteland. The animal life was almost as sparse – birds rarely crossed the sky and no living being could be seen on the ground. Ehrir’s group was an exception, along with the small flow of travelers that they met on the path to Tarha-Nan.
“This way to the city… It isn’t used very much”, remarked Sevrian one day with a thoughtful expression.
“Of course it isn’t, lord”, one of the assassins said while shrugging his shoulders. He tried to sound respectful, but the words came out indifferent as always. “It leads to what is basically nowhere and is too damned long to be used with anyone in his right mind. Most people walk the southern path to the city state. There are lot more towns and inns along it, too.”
“There are none around this one, though”, Nalia proclaimed from somewhere behind the old man’s back.
The cutthroat nodded silently.
This moment was the last one when Ehrir heard this particular member of the darkly-dressed trio talking.
***
The crystal towers of the king’s castle – the highest points in Tarha-Nan – showed up on the horizon in the middle of the morning the next day. They were barely visible – just a few colored dots on the edge where the clouded skies embraced the painfully bleak earth. Yet, Mor-Ael stopped in the middle of his step when he noticed them.
“Come on, continue forward”, one of his comrades hissed at him. “The city is way too far off for us to leave ‘em here.”
The leader of the three men mumbled some answer quietly and resumed his steady pace.
He stopped permanently after a few more hours. At this point the towers were marking the horizon like strange crystal fangs belonging to some gargantuan demon.
“I won’t take a step further from this exact place”, he threw a dark glance at his comrades. They nodded.
“It’s as he said. In the end, we have to obey him. He’s our superior.” One of them didn’t seemed particularly pleased with his own words. The other remained silent and emotionless.
“’Fine.” Salelia, who was walking a few steps behind, approached the assassins. “You’ve been of tremendous help to us, honorable guild members. I hope good luck bestows your organization and you.”
“May the gods hear your words.” Mor-Ael shrugged. “Those bastards pretend to be deaf most of the time, though. May you find what you search for, lady.”
The witch, along with Sevrian, exchanged some more lines of dialogue with the men before departing. The assassins left the road quickly after, continuing into the rocky wastes and soon leaving Ehrir’s line of sight.
“Whew… Some weight is lifted from my dead shoulders now”, said Zaster that same afternoon, his voice rustling and creaking as always. “Do you think we’ll see these guys again any time soon?”
“Depends on the situation in the city.”
“Can you give a funnier answer next time? I’m not here for someone to point me to the obvious one.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“What exactly do you want now, Zaster?”
The undead man went quiet for a moment.
“Nothing in particular. I’m just nervous, you know?” The Unliving cleared his throat with a few painfully-sounding coughs. “Nidor has been under the mistress’ tutelage since he was eight years old. Most of the others are with her for more than five years now. But I… I’ve actually been her disciple for no more than a year. I’ve never been in an actual dangerous situation during that time, besides a few small fights like the one in the tomb. And I’ve never gotten into a serious adventure, or whatever you call it… But I feel that whatever shall happen in this damned city of thieves would probably deserve the name ‘adventure’… And I don’t like that.”
“At least it’d be more interesting than our walks through the forests, wouldn’t it?”
“Aye, it would. But that doesn’t mean it would be particularly enjoyable.”
The two men continued to chat as the time passed them by and the cold winds brought thicker clouds above their head. At dusk the walls of the giant pit in which the city rested (like a giant snake in its lair) were already clearly visible.
The city of cutthroats awaited them.
***
There was only one easy way to enter Tarha-Nan and it involved going around the castle standing atop of it like a silent guardian of crystal. There were more… traditional fortifications surrounding it, including smaller stone fortresses and several high walls. They barred anyone from entering the city without going through the main roads. Defenders stood on top of them – silent and unreal like ghosts, wearing dark clothes, almost indistinguishable in the newborn night’s darkness. Parts of the walls were as unusual as its defenders. They were raw-looking, chaotically shaped, dark and smooth, as if not being made out of stone. It seemed like the other portions of the fortification were built around those giant boulders of black stone… or black crystal.
The path lead the group to a massive, ancient gate. The words “Thou shall respect the shadows, the darkness and the blades, for their domain lies beyond this door” were inscribed upon its frame. They were clearly visible even in the weak, trembling light of the moon. The sides of the castle, shining faintly with countless different colors, loomed beyond the wall, brightening the night just a little bit. It was a hypnotizing sight to behold.
“Well, they certainly have some good ways to make you excited for entering this shithole before you even see it properly”, commented Nalia.
Her words weren’t properly noticed by anyone besides Ehrir and Varhel, due to the appearance of a voice from above the gate at this very moment. And it was a powerful, strongly resonating voice.
“Are you wishing to enter Tarha-Nan, city state ruled by our faithful king Broh-Aer the Second, and also a part of the Union of City States led by the glorious High Sovereign?” The voice belonged to a man positioned on the top of the wall. He stood in the shadows with his face hidden by the night’s veil.
Sevrian seemed unimpressed by his words, but answered in the same pompous and official manner.
“I do wish to enter your renowned city, keeper of the gate.”
„Well, then… May I ask about your intentions within the borders of our home?” The man sounded uninterested, but kept his voice clear, strong and powerful.
“I seek an audience with the king of your renowned city state. I’m bringing him important information. For his ears only.”
“Oh?” The gate guardian sounded somewhat surprised. “I don’t want to hear this message you speak of, if it’s truly this important… But I need a confirmation of your words.”
“Of course… I have it right here.” Sevrian reached into the pocket of his coat and took out an envelope made of creamy parchment. The sign of the Ashen Gaze was drawn upon it, barely visible in the moonlight.
“Good. My men will come get it shortly. I’m sorry for making you wait, guests of the city, but it must be done.”
The gatekeeper went silent after these words, but his servants – two silhouettes besides him – came soon enough.
In one moment, they stood on the wall. In the next they emerged from the shadows lurking around the entrance to Tarha-Nan and stepped towards Sevrian. They wore simple pairs of dark clothes, covered with leather plates. It was a light, not particularly spectacular kind of armor… In actuality, the guards didn’t shine out with anything besides their obvious use of some magical transportation… And the simple pendants around their necks which emitted strong golden light.
“I see… Magical artifacts that can be used so easily. Fascinating”, the old man murmured before he handed over the letter from Ostrias.
“Thank… you…” one of the men hissed before returning to the shadows with his comrade. After just a moment they were back above the gate.
“What do these people use to teleport around?” Ehrir’s question was almost a whisper, but it was heard. Nalia just shrugged her shoulders. Varhel mumbled something about magic being able to do anything, especially if artifacts were involved in the matter.
The gatekeeper spent some time reading the letter, his expression obscured and hidden from the group of mages under his feet. In the end, he got it back into the envelope and threw it towards the old man. The tattooed female disciple of Salelia caught it mid-air after one graceful, almost superhuman jump.
“I see… Ostrias Haelum is truly an important figure”, the keeper spoke, this time more informally. “It’s logical for your message to be just as important. You can proceed into the city. My men will open the gates for you. However, you probably won’t be able to enter the palace or get near the king with such ease.”
“I understand.” Sevrian nodded. “Thank you for your understanding, honorable gatekeeper.”
“Of course… Sevrian of the Maelics, I presume? Your name was mentioned in the letter.”
“Yes.”
“Maelics as in…”
“Yes, those Maelics.”
The guardian didn’t answer.
Soon the gates opened with a painful creak and the group passed through them.
The city of Tarha-Nan – a den of thieves, lowlifes and cutthroats – lied before them in all of its miserable, dark glory.