Bardulla glared at the man across from him.

“I thought you said they were getting ready to leave.”

Harbiya chuckled. “Well, what I meant is that they are sending scouts out. They have to wait for them to return. Then, the captain will likely speak with his lieutenants about the best route. These military types do take their jobs seriously. They could make a decision any day, or a month from now.”

Bardulla looked out over the gardens pensively. It was strange meeting with Harbiya during the day. He had been able to avoid suspicion by placing it under the pretense that he would be meeting with all the lords. It was common practice for princes to keep in touch with the various nobility, no matter how much they might hate each other.

They were taking a late morning breakfast on one of the Daum tower’s higher balconies. Like so many of Bardulla’s predecessors’ holdings, the tower was fashioned in the traditional Gwyanian style. Bold stone pillars stretched from foundation to the top of the tower. These hard lines were softened by intricate, curving wood carvings on the arches. By any person’s measure, the tower was the finest example of traditional Gwyanian architecture. The perfect mixture of remnants from the fall of the Musah kingdom and the unique, early Gwyanian wood crafts to inspire awe.

Which meant it was severely out of style. Bardulla didn’t dare look in the direction of the city where the many towers sparkled in the sunlight. Not too many years ago, this tower had been adorned with gold. It wasn’t in the original plans, but his ancestors had kept up with the times well enough. That is, until his foolish uncle and last lord of the Daum family had stripped the tower in his attempt to console the king in his grief.

Now, Bardullah had to feign fondness of traditional architecture over the grand displays of wealth elsewhere in the country. It worked, in a sense. The fact that the tower of the Daums was unique and older than all the others gave it merit. In comparison to the glaring gilding of the other towers, this tower was dull and an eyesore.

He soon became bored and looked farther. The sun shone brilliantly white against the ice of a glacier spilling into a wide lake. Trees grew on the sides of the steep mountains nearly to their peaks.

Near the palace was a sheer rock wall that reached higher than any of the mountains around it. It seemed to scrape the sky with its bladed edge. There were parts of it that looked like massive pillars had been chiseled out of the stone.

Across the lake, the valley continued in wide swaths of flat meadows and thick forests upon the foothills of the mountains. There were no towns there. The area was exclusively for the nobles. Some hunted those lands, while others held outings, parties, and picnics.

Standing high above this expanse of wilderness was an enormous mound as tall as the mountains around it. There were a few massive chunks of rock upon the mound’s top that might have belonged to the tops of mountains. Those giant boulders looked like they might fall off at any moment. Indeed, it looked like one already had. At the mound’s base was a shattered pile of stone, as if a child had thrown a dried mud ball to the ground.

The whole thing looked like a giant had pushed its head up out of the ground from beneath the mountains and dirt clods were still stuck to his head. Trees and shrubs grew so thickly upon that strange mountain that few dared or cared to venture there. Bardulla smiled at the thought of the trees being a giant’s green hair.

Harbiya cleared his throat. Bardulla turned back to him.

“Why haven’t any of your scouts or informants been able to follow and see where they go?”

“Where who go?”

“The scouts.”

“My scouts?”

“No, the captain’s.”

“Oh, eh, heh, heh! You took so long to answer, I forgot.”

Bardulla inhaled deeply and then took a sip of tea to calm his nerves. “So, answer my question.”

“Well, the problem is we have followed the scouts for weeks now. But there are too many decoys. They were sent in all directions and to every valley. Some of them are so sly even my informants can’t find them after losing their trail.”

“Which means we’ll have to change strategy. We don’t know their destination, so we can’t try to search the place out before they go there.”

“Hmm, yes. I say when the convoy leaves, I’ll have my men follow close with them.”

“That’s risky. We’re talking royal guardsmen here, not some soldiers paid six rani a week to walk a wall and yell when something is suspicious.”

Though Harbiya’s face always bore a hint of a smile, his face grew strangely serious and a dark glimmer touched his eye. As he slurped some tea, his sleeve slipped down on his arm, momentarily revealing the worn and scratched silver metal of an intricately crafted bracer.

“The best way to guard against Kamwa is with other Kamwa. But” he looked at Bardulla and set down his cup “the best way to kill a Kamwa is by hiding in plain sight and ambushing him.”

Bardulla’s eyes flicked unconsciously to the various valuables in the room still left to the Daum household. There was a vase, an antique mirror, gold candlesticks, and other baubles.

“Let’s keep talk about them to a minimum.”

Harbiya smirked. “You don’t believe in superstitions, but are scared of talking about Kamwa. The wealthy are always vulnerable when it comes to money. Your royal guardsmen are no less than Kamwa, just wearing different clothing and walking in daylight.”

Bardulla’s features flickered in a scowl, but the emotion was hidden as quickly as it came.

“I have to leave for Edge today. It’ll be light traveling, so it’ll take me two days to get there.”

“I noticed you have to leave an hour after we have begun our meeting. The regular time to meet with each lord is two hours.”

“I have to keep up appearances, you know. Everyone hates you. Some princes refuse to even meet with you. This shows the Daum elders I uphold tradition and shows the other princes I am more gracious than they. But leaving early keeps them in my graces because it shows I don’t truly accept you. Not to mention I’m not overtly being rude, since I truly am very busy getting ready for my coming-of-age ceremony.”

Harbiya eyed the youth’s relaxed posture and how he lazily took sips from his tea.

“Is sticking close the only plan we have?” Harbiya asked.

“As the convoy travels, we can narrow down the area pretty quick. Sending scouts ahead of the convoy will be important.”

“That’ll make it a close call. It would require my men nab it practically from under their noses. I mean, heh, I have spies and informants, but they aren’t thieves.” A glint caught in Harbiya’s eye. “There are rumors that the nobles have paid Kamwa, I mean thieves, a fair amount of money to keep their valuables safe. Not to mention take a little extra from the people they tax.” He smiled. “But that’s only rumors of common folk.”

Bardulla eyed the man carefully. “I’m sure you can find some Kamwa to assist you. Get some of your informants to pull their weight.”

Harbiya gave a little shrug. “Oh, you could say I’ve tried in the past. But a rumor started going around that the nobles control all the Kamwa now. I wouldn’t want to…alert the wrong noble I’m up to something.” He leaned back in his chair. “In another matter, I’ve lent you my information about the situation. When are you going to help with your, uh…influence?”

The two stared at each other across the table, as if each held a hand of cards they were unwilling to show the other. They both had guesses at what hand the other had, but neither wanted to commit and reveal the truth. Yet, they each had to play a card on their turn regardless.

“By the way,” Harbiya said, “a rather strange thing happened the other day. Lady Beisha was accused of dabbling in the unholy mysticisms of the Musah.” He shrugged. “Strange, isn’t it? Never heard rumors about it until now.”

Bardullah raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I pity her, then. People should learn to hold their tongues when it comes to rumors. They can be quite damaging.” He took a sip. “She can’t leave things as they are. No one will want to associate with her.”

“Yeah, I heard she was going off to a remote temple for a year. Something about dedicating herself to Rawala to prove her innocence.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I could stand staying somewhere for a whole year just to clear up some nasty rumor.”

“Do your part on our deal and you won’t have to,” Bardullah said.

Harbiya smiled wryly.

There was a knock on the door, the sound muffled by the wood’s thickness.

“Enter,” Bardulla said.

A woman servant entered and bowed. “My prince, your coach is waiting.”

Bardulla nodded and took one last sip of his cooling tea. He rose and nodded at Harbiya.

“See what your men can find out. We’ll discuss it next time we meet.”

Harbiya smiled again. He was quite sure his men would find some Kamwa for hire soon. Kamwa that likely were in the employ of a certain Daum family.

***

Rylen woke to a dim morning. The patter of light rain could be heard. He sat up and looked over to the other side of the room. Hyrestl’s bed had been rolled up and stowed near the stone center of the building.

The look Hyrestl had given him the night before came freshly to the forefront of his mind, that disappointment when his eyes had landed on him. Rylen’s chest ached at the thought of it. Then there was the disgusted sweeping glare that encompassed the whole inn—no, the whole world around him.

Why did he look at me like that? The thought whirled around his head. Perhaps he was sleepwalking again. It wasn’t uncommon for Hyrestl to walk out of the bedroom in the middle of the night only to come back again on his own. Somehow, he had avoided detection by the townspeople so far. At least, Rylen hadn’t heard any nasty rumors.

But he knew this wasn’t the case. When Hyrestl had first looked around the room, his eyes had lost their usual glazed-over look when he was sleepwalking. The very fact that he displayed any facial expressions was an indication that he was awake. Asleep, his face was emotionless. The moment Hyrestl had started looking around was when a faint and peaceful smile had tugged at the edges of his mouth.

Then, what dream was he waking up from? Rylen wondered. What would he wake up from that would make him act like that? He thought back to the other times his father had had nightmares or had muttered in his sleep. There were a couple times Rylen thought he had heard names spoken, but he couldn’t remember them. They definitely sounded Telamian, though. Other times, the man would yell and thrash. This time was different. He had been smiling peacefully.

There’s nothing to worry about, Rylen reassured himself. He was just tired. Maybe he was disappointed I wasn’t done cleaning yet. After a long journey, I wouldn’t want to help clean tables, either. The words rung hollow in his mind. That look had still hurt. He took a deep breath as he felt his eyes sting at the thought of it. It made him feel like Hyrestl wanted to cast him out of the inn like trash.

Faint sounds rose up the stone stairs. Wood utensils tonked against each other, there were a few thumps as logs were roughly added to the fire. That would be Hyrestl getting breakfast ready.

Rylen knew he was an outcast. By any Gwyanian’s standards, Ara-Era was still an enemy. But what about Hyrestl? Telamians in Gwyan were only known about from a handful of travelers’ stories that were more tall tale than anything else. That, and that the Sae hated Telamians.

What was he to Hyrestl?

Though Hyrestl hadn’t willingly taught it to him, Rylen had picked up enough of the Telamian language that he could follow and respond to most of what Hyrestl might say or write. At the same time—and this was a secret—Hyrestl had intentionally taught Rylen how to read and write in the language of Ara-Era. However, he had never used it in practice. He still didn’t know why Hyrestl had taught him it, but he had been very insistent about it.

The result was that he sounded like a Gwyanian country boy with strange inflections from Hyrestl’s Telamian tongue. If one was astute enough to notice, they could catch hints of Eran as well. Not only did he look different, his voice sounded different as well.

It might have been a little different if my parents had been Gwyanian. But no, his father, his guardian, was an outsider himself. He had been raised a stranger to the land he had grown up in. He couldn’t even decide what he should believe. The Gwyanians’ king was a god, but Hyrestl’s gods lived in the land and rivers, even the clouds and stars. Then there was Ara-Era’s religion, but Rylen didn’t know what it was. It bothered him that he was more inclined to prefer a belief that he wasn’t even familiar with.

It struck the youth again how odd the inn was. He’d heard travelers comment that even the capital didn’t have any building like it. As such, it had become one of the minor attractions in Edge.

Rylen reluctantly slid out from under his covers and rolled his bed up. No Gwyanian rolled up beds. Gwyanian beds were made of a wood frame and straw.

Next, he began to run through his drills. He moved by rote. There was no real energy in his strikes; today his legs and arms moved like they were in ruts on a road. No Gwyanian woke up to practice fighting, either. Except maybe soldiers.

Perhaps I should help with breakfast. The thought entered his mind, but he didn’t do anything about it. Hyrestl never liked him skipping practice. Usually, he even joined him. Something suddenly nagged at the back of Rylen’s mind. There was something off about what had happened last night. No—everything was off about what happened last night, but he felt like he was missing something.

He advanced and retreated across the floor, careful not to stomp and wake those travelers still sleeping below.

He didn’t remove the wall panels like he had yesterday. He kept them in their places in an attempt to keep the humidity at bay. However, it also meant the heat from the fireplace was trapped. Though he wasn’t trying very hard, he soon began to sweat.

Hyrestl never talked about his past, except in bits and pieces that were absolutely necessary. Those bits usually came in phrases like I was born in Telam…then I went to Ara-Era…and now here. He talked about it with such general terms, pauses, and hesitation it was difficult to glean anything from it. If Rylen asked for folktales or what people did in Telam or Ara-Era, Hyrestl had an endless supply of information. Or, at least he used to. He didn’t talk much about those either, nowadays.

But that wasn’t what was off about last night. There was something else… He felt like it should be obvious, something he should know easily, but it seemed to slip from one side of his mind to the other.

He felt his form grow a little sloppy, and he corrected himself. I need to focus, he told himself but didn’t take the advice. He began again, only slower.

Hyrestl must have had family in Telam. Then, why did he leave them? Why did he come to Gwyan? Why did he even go to Ara-Era in the first place? He knew better than to press the man much for information. Once, he had nagged all day, and Hyrestl had finally agreed to tell him. That is, only after succeeding at knocking a balanced bowl from Hyrestl’s head. It had ended with Rylen getting frustrated and a very bruised bottom. In the end, he couldn’t do it, and Hyrestl had kept his secret.

He advanced to the wall and turned back toward the center to find Hyrestl standing in the doorway, watching. Rylen froze, midstrike. Hyrestl approached slowly, with critical eyes. The youth watched apprehensively. It felt like a stranger was approaching him. Hyrestl nudged his arms and feet just a bit.

“Squat a little lower.”

Rylen did so.

“Now, slowly.”

Rylen moved through his drill slowly, focusing on the correct movement.

“Do you feel how the power of your legs moves into your arms? We want that. Focus on that feeling.”

Rylen performed his strikes and turned when he came near the stone wall. On his way back, Hyrestl joined him. Together, they finished the rest of the drills to the sound of the pattering rain.

Rylen had half expected Hyrestl to say something like Focus. If you don’t focus, you die. Take your mind off of everything and fight, just fight. But no. After they had finished, Hyrestl just nodded and said, “I think you can correct yourself in drills from now on. You know the correct way.”

Rylen nodded appreciatively, and the innkeeper went back down into the kitchen.

Hyrestl was acting normal. Like nothing had happened. With his practices done, there was nothing holding him back from helping with breakfast now. He followed Hyrestl down into the kitchen, the smell of baking bread wafting to him, and then he poked his head into the storeroom to fetch some nuts. He reached up to where he had moved the bags over to make room for—

Nothing was restocked. Perplexed, he withdrew his hand and walked out of the kitchen into the front seating area. There were no boxes or bags there. Holding doubt against doubt, he looked in the rear areas and out the windows to the wraparound veranda.

There was nothing. No barrels sitting by the front door, no sacks, nothing to give evidence that Hyrestl had been away on a trip for supplies.

The older man walked out of the kitchen, casually wiping his hands with a rag. “Rylen, if you’re looking for supplies, there are none.”