“Urak’s Grove?” Ardmy asked with concern. He paused as he steered his horses away from a deep, muddy puddle in the center of the road. The wheels of the wagon narrowly missed it, and they kicked up small splashes of water. “And you were planning on going there alone?”

“Yes,” Deventh said, sitting back and using a thumb to count the vials on his belt and bandolier. Grateful that he didn’t have to walk the distance to the gate, he found himself daydreaming of the opportunity to one day afford a horse. “I’ve been there enough times to know what to expect.”

“Exactly what do you gain from doing all of Zéah’s dirty work? It’s not as though she even pays well.” Ardmy shook his head in disapproval.

“Perhaps she doesn’t pay you well,” Deventh said, a smirk spreading across his lips with his suggestion. “Are you worried about me?”

“Yes,” Ardmy said. “Someone has to be.”

“Anna is the one who usually fills that role,” Deventh said in momentary contemplation. “Unless you have another idea on how to find what Zéah’s looking for without paying more than the job is worth, then I’m going regardless.”

“Let me come with you,” Ardmy said, his voice demanding.

“No."

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no reason for you to go.”

“Even if you do know what to expect, how can you think nothing will ever happen to you? I’m going, and that's final.”

Deventh sighed. He’d come to know his friend well enough to realize it was futile trying to assuage his concerns.

“After asking me to escort you to the gate because you weren’t sure you could protect yourself?”

“I may not be able to protect either of us, but I can at least heal you if you get gored by a wild boar.”

“Not if you do first.” Deventh shook his head. “It’s safer if I do the job without having to worry about both of us.”

“Fine,” Ardmy relented. The lone word of his answer was tinctured with disappointment. He sighed and focused on the road ahead, as well as the chirps of a goldfinch singing from the trees. In wordless recognition of their impasse, the two friends carried on with mutual silence, destined for the Raven Gate.

Two hours passed before the granite structure of the gate came into view. Its massive frame joined the pass between the Grimcrest and Razorback mountain ranges. In front of the heavy wooden doors were gathered numerous carts drawn by ox and horse. Bright colors adorned each canvased top, with emblems signifying the many merchant guilds of Grimros. From a distance, Deventh and Ardmy could see merchants squabbling with guards.

As they drew closer to the gate, the crowd grew thicker, the bustle more unforgiving to those not apt to keep up. Ardmy reined in gently, both curious and waiting for an opening to proceed.

Two voices stood out among the others—One deep and dull, the other bright and melodious. The latter was shouting at the former, and the two elves could overhear the conversation.

“This is a missive from Lord Ghünthor himself, you bloody tusk-brain!” The melodious voice cried out, cracking under the strain of yelling.

“Orders are orders,” the deeper voice said in an even, monotone expression. “Don’t care what you say, if the captain said no then that’s no.” The crowd split in two to form a near perfect circle around the spectacle before funneling back into a single line.

Deventh locked eyes for but a moment with the holder of the missive, a young Nelthrin man of unremarkable stature and appearance. His clothes, though ill fitting, had an eclectic manner only a merchant would be bold enough to display. Unfortunately, it seemed that the brief moment of eye contact was well enough to engage him.

“Y-you, there! With the mask!” said the man as he pointed one ring-laden finger at Deventh. The elf looked around to confirm he was the subject of the merchant’s attention. He raised his hand up and pointed a single finger to himself with a questioning glance, and the merchant nodded with fervor. Noting Ardmy’s smug grin, Deventh sighed and hopped out of the wagon, approaching the man.

“Is there something I can help with?” he asked.

“Yes, there most certainly is,” the merchant said, presenting a sealed envelope. “Please sir, could you tell me what this appears to be to you?” He kept his eyes glaring at the guard. Deventh paused for a moment, regretting his choice to be involved.

“It appears to be an envelope."

“And what do you make of the seal on this envelope?”

“It would appear to be the earl’s seal,” he said, gauging the guard's reaction. The orc was looking elsewhere, picking at his teeth with a dagger he’d pulled from his belt.

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“Very observant, thank you. One more question, if you’d be so kind,” he asked before leading Deventh close to the guard so it would be impossible for him not to hear. “To what person does the guard within Nelthemar report?”

“The aforementioned, in most cases. In some rarer cases, the king may command any guard without exception, regardless of who governs the area,” Deventh said with a sigh. He was annoyed, knowing whatever he said wouldn’t matter to a guard who didn't care.

“Thank you so much, dear sir. Now,” the man turned to the orc. “Having heard all of this, would you kindly take this missive and do your fucking job?!” The guard continued to pick his teeth absentmindedly, and after some time appearing to be in thought, he pointed at the letter in the merchant’s hand.

“You telling me the earl actually wrote that?” he asked. The merchant’s face turned a bright red.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you this whole blasted time!” he shouted. The guard leaned forward against the pike he had been resting on his shoulder.

“How do I know it’s not a fake?” he asked. Upon hearing this, the merchant threw the envelope on the ground and screamed. As his voice echoed throughout the valley, a flock of ravens took flight from the neighboring trees in a cacophony of caws and ruffling feathers. His face grew to a fiercer shade of red as spittle flew out of his mouth and he pointed a finger in the guard’s face. Curses and expletives flowed like a roaring waterfall, and Deventh couldn’t help but chuckle.

The thunder of galloping horses soon broke up the shouting, and as Deventh and Ardmy both turned around, they saw a small patrol of armored men riding up to the gate. Trinkets and oddments flew from the bags and pockets of travelers as they scrambled aside to safety. A daring few dived back into the road while others watched in dismay as their belongings were trampled to the point of no return. Still standing frozen at the center were Deventh, Ardmy, and the two disputants, who all stared with bewilderment at the procession as it barreled toward them with no sign of slowing down.

The leader of the procession raised his right hand and gave a signal. A line of five riders gathered at each flank and overtook him, all the while drawing closer to their onlookers. Once they were within a short distance, the two lines forked and passed alongside them to continue. The merchant let out a distressed yelp as the horses kicked up mud that splashed onto his garish attire.

As the rumbling hooves fell behind them, the leader approached with an abrupt halt which caused his horse to rear and whinny. The others half expected him to be thrown from the saddle, but he was remarkably steadfast, albeit rattled.

“Hoi! What’s all the ruckus?” the Nelthrin asked, his demeanor calm once he’d regained his balance, though his breath was short. Flicking away a few stray hairs darkened with the sweat of his forehead, he regarded the orc. “Khurek, I thought your post was moved to Kho’gul. What a pleasure to see your shining face still here.”

“Captain Tiroirs,” Khurek’s voice shrunk. “I didn’t realize you’d be back so soon.”

“Yes, well, lots of pleasant surprises all around!” The captain’s sarcasm bolted through his arms as he threw them into the air. “We’d have been back even sooner, were we not asked to hunt down a supposed man-pig in the grove.”

“M-man-pig?” Khurek asked, unsure whether he heard correctly. The captain glanced at the three other bystanders and acknowledged them with a nod before addressing the orc’s question.

“Yes, a man-pig. Walks on all fours, squeals and snorts at people passing through. He’s befriended all the wild boars in the area as if they were his own. Even rolls in shit and mud with them.” He shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh. “Allegedly, anyway. We didn’t find the bastard. Imagine that, a rumor like that turning out to be an outright fabrication!”

During a short pause, the merchant took the opportunity and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Captain!” he said. Tiroirs looked down and beheld the sight of him waving the now mud-splattered letter that had caused such a fuss earlier.

“What is this?” the captain snatched the letter from the merchant, who watched with anticipation as his eyes rolled over the paper. “Ah. Finally.”

“C-captain?” Khurek’s face drooped. His voice shrunk further.

“Khurek, do tell. Were you giving this good merchant a hard time?” Tiroirs asked. When the orc averted his gaze, the merchant chimed in.

“Yes! He was! After my guild has provided substantial evidence that the disappearances have ended. We went through each and every legal process to have our petition approved by the earl himself, running the courier absolutely ragged to expedite it!”

“I truly apologize for the trouble,” said Tiroirs. “We’ll have that gate opened for you right away. I’m sure you'd all like to get back to business.” The merchant, vindicated, grinned ear-to-ear.

“Thank you, sir. Your help is very much appreciated,” he said with an elaborate bow, removing the hat off his head with a flourish as he did. “Beaverton Traders will remember your kindness!”

“We hadn’t realized there were travel restrictions in place,” said Deventh, breaking into the conversation. He looked at Ardmy and gave a nod. “Seems our timing lined up well.”

“That’s odd,” the merchant said as he placed the crook of his extended thumb and index finger on his chin in contemplation. “It’s been nearly a week. The gate was finally closed once bodies were found by an overturned passenger cart, which was, of course, the last incident they found. Too little too late, as always.” He shook his head. “You must not be with the guilds, then? Everyone received a sealed copy of the letter along with their safe conduct papers.”

“No, I’m with no guild,” Ardmy said. “Would that be a problem?” The merchant from Beaverton Traders turned as if to ask Captain Tiroirs for the answer, but the captain had already moved on and began to yell at his pavisers to begin work on opening the gate.

“No, I don’t believe so. The gates are opening now, so you should be let through,” the merchant said.

Ardmy sighed in response. He stepped down from his wagon to face Deventh. A knot of unease formed in his gut.

“I suppose I should get going, then,” he said as the wooden gates creaked open. Ravens, which perched on the cliff face overlooking the passage, once more took flight as the noise echoed through the valley and into the canyon beyond. “Still...” The corners of Ardmy’s lips twitched in a halfhearted smile which waned as he trailed off. Deventh looked at him expectantly.

“Still?”

“Oh.” Ardmy shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts. “It’s just, now that I’m here I have my doubts. There always lies a chance I won’t be successful in Ravengarde.”

“You’ll do well,” Deventh said. “If you can sell dandelions to orcs, you’re already well on your way to success.”

“I suppose I won’t find out if I don’t go,” he concluded. “Thank you again for accompanying me, Deventh. Look for me next time you’re in Ravengarde.” He extended his hand to the Dronvar with a warm smile, belaying his unease. Deventh met his gesture with a firm handshake. Though his mask concealed his face, Ardmy knew well that his friend was smiling back.

“I’ll be sure to do so,” Deventh promised. “Good luck, Ardmy.”