Chapter 1: A Day's Work

Previously in the Prologue (click on older posts to read it if you are trying to start here!)...

Dalan Hafid escaped the assassins who were sent after him to kill him for deserting his unit in the Al-Mahid Army. He arrived in Gabradia where he tried to rob a young girl named Gil Regalia, but was too weak to do so. Gil, for reasons unknown to Dalan, healed his wounds and fed him, nursing him back to health. She told him about the island of Amaurea to the north, which was inhabited by half elves who would provide him asylum from the assassins. Dalan set out for Amaurea in hopes that he could escape his assailants.

Ch1: A Day's Work

10 Years Later....

“Today is the day that the Saif Border Mercenaries make a name for themselves in Centra. Alright men, lets move it! ” A voice echoed through the dimly lit tunnel over the sound of water dripping. A short brown skinned man, his black hair curly and unruly, slid down the curved pipe shaped wall on which he rested and landed with a splash in the clear shallow water which gurgled and flowed around his brown boots. He turned to face the twenty men standing in the ankle deep water. “We've got a job to finish,” he said, turning and looking down the long pipe-like corridor, which slanted down into darkness. He turned around and walked down the wide tunnel, his two bodyguards, one a giant, muscular, exceptionally dark skinned Mora and the other a lean, wiry shirtless Centran with neck length blond hair and stubble around his chin, walked up to flank him on either side. The long corridor was lit only periodically by sconces on the wall, most of which appeared to have burnt themselves out months ago. The short man gripped a torch in his left hand, and a long gold hilted scimitar in the other. Its sheath hung next to his khaki colored cargo pants, which were soaked. He turned to a slightly taller skinny young man who was no older than nineteen. Unlike the majority of the company, who were either Mora or Al-Mahidi, his skin was light, perhaps a shade darker than that of a Centran, although he could easily pass as a Centran, or a citizen of a nation from further east. His thick black hair, usually neatly parted and combed to the side, was currently matted and wet from splashing through the tunnels.
“Tobias, how deep underground are we?” Tobias reached down into the brown leather utility belt tied around his waist and pulled out a golden watch-like device.
“I’d say about five meters.” He replied. “Why do you ask, Guilder Ibrahim?”
“I'm just wondering how far into this godforsaken place we have to go before we reach our goal. And Tobias, just call me Murad.” He said looking at the new recruit and smiling. “I know you are new here, but my guildership only matters when I'm sitting in a cushy mansion bickering with the Council of Guilds. Down here, we've all got each others backs.”
“Alright, Murad,” Tobias answered.
“Are you going to hurry up or what?” A voice called from further down the tunnel. “I'm falling asleep waiting for you guys.”
“Pipe down old Dal,” The rough looking Centran said, smiling. “We're on our way, mate.”
“You'd better be,” The voice replied, with a hint of playfulness. As the company drew closer, the man from whom the voice came stood up from the flight of metal stairs that he was sitting on and stepped down into the light of the torches. “Right through here.” Dalan signaled, pointing up the stairs, which led into darkness. “How did I get the nickname 'Old Dal' anyways? Thats horrible. I just turned thirty a couple years ago, you know.”
“Well, let’s see. Maybe it’s because you've been through more in your life than most people have read in adventure novels?” The Centran man said, acting as if he were deep in though. “You survived on the front lines of a war of which Al-Mahid eventually lost.”
“Deserted, Lourrdes.” Dalan corrected. Lourrdes, however, continued.
“You escaped Al-Mahid without using any porters, without a piece of gold to your name and legendary assassins intent upon killing you. You disappear for five years, show up again and become the most famous treasure hunter in all of Centra and Al-Mahid and still evade capture despite the bounty on your head. Am I missing anything?” Lourrdes asked.
“I think that pretty much covers it. Don't embarrass me anymore though, or I'll make fun of your girly name again” Dalan said, smiling.
“Shaddup, will ya?” Lourrdes said, blushing slightly. “That joke got old about a hundred years ago. Besides, hardly anyone else in this unit has spent enough time in Centra to know that it is a girl's name. If you hadn't brought it up, I wouldn't have had to suffer so much,” Dalan’s expression showed mock sympathy.
“Sorry, m'lad,” He said, imitating Lourrdes gruff Centran countryside accent. “Got ter keep the new recruits amused,”
“Funny man, this one.” Lourrdes addressed the rest of the company, who chuckled. “Which reminds me, the new guy is fascinated by that weapon you always have slung over your back. Ever since you asked him to teach you to make yer some ammo.” Lourrdes gestured to Tobias, who shrugged. “That doesn't look like Hume technology. Rumor has it that you got it when you went into hiding in Elvaan territory.”
“Its called a repeating crossbow.” Dalan replied. “As for the rumors of me hiding in Elvaan territory, those are just absurd. You know how they feel about us Humes. Barbaric, the lot of us.”
“Ain't it true,” Lourrdes mused.
“Where did you get that weapon from then?” Tobias pleaded, but Dalan smiled and ignored him.
“What are we up against here, Dal?” Murad said, walking up and leaning against the railing of the ascending stairwell.
“Oh, not much, just a bunch of nasty insects. Blatta. Dalan said, referring to the large, cockroach-like insects. “If we take out the queen bug, the Centrans shouldn't have any more problems for a long while. The Centran Chivalry posted this hunt because they have had several problems with it. Hard to clean out the city's water works when you have a bunch of man eating bugs here. The knights that they sent in probably couldn't handle the job and their better knights probably felt bug crushing to be below them. Also, lately, some of the blatta are getting out and causing a bit of trouble outside the city gates, attacking travelers and all.”
“And why do we want to help the Centrans again?” The large bald bodyguard asked, his deep booming voice echoing off the curved iron walls.
“Because, Mustafa,” Dalan replied. “There is a one million gold reward. A small fortune for each of us involved to be sure. I tried to do this by myself, but this was definitely a job for twenty people, not one. Barely made it out of here alive. Also, there is something of interest in it for Tobias.”
“Dalan, the king of suspense and mystery,” Tobias replied sarcastically.
“What can I say?” Dalan threw his hands up in concession. “Come on, let’s go.” He turned and walked up the stairs into the darkness above. Dalan stepped out onto dry stone, shaking the water off of his shoes. The vast, sparsely lit room was just as he remembered it. Vast stone platforms, divided by narrow streams of water, flowing around and between them, separating them into large rectangular stone islands. Small metallic bridges connected many of these platforms to one another, forming a labyrinthine network of walkways. The heat from a torch above the wall that he rested against warmed his body, which was soaked from head to toe. He signaled to the others, who were just walking up the stairs, to sit around him.
“So here’s how it goes.” Dalan began. “When you attack the queen, the drones will be alerted. We will probably get swarmed by at least ten of them. I'd say we should have ten decent fighters on drone duty, ready to take care of them as they come. Five or so should be there to drag the injured out of the battle. The drones will probably be more interested in protecting the queen than they are in feeding on Hume flesh. Finally, the rest of us should focus on bringing the queen down. She is quick as hell. If we need to escape, the strongest fighters will cover the rear. If we break and run for it, no telling how many of us will die.”
“Is that all you've got?” Murad asked, standing up.
“Yeah, guess so,” Dalan replied.
“Alright,” Murad said, standing up and beginning to pace back and forth. “Ali, Shariq, Tobias, Jabari, Shahid. You guys make sure that none of our guys are seriously hurt. Get them out of there and tend to their wounds if needed.” Tobias sighed and Murad looked at him knowingly, walked over and sat next to him. “I know you want to be in the middle of things, but you will have enough on your hands with the job you have. You are a new recruit, not even twenty years old for Sharah's sake. You are bright and resourceful. We don't want to lose you just yet.” Murad smiled and stood up once more. He pointed out eleven other men and called their names, telling them that they were to ward off the drones. “...and I'll go for the queen. Mustafa, Lourrdes.” he said motioning to his bodyguards. “You two cover me as always. Dalan, you are with us as well.”
“Murad, I think I'd be better situated helping to fight off the drones.” Dalan said.
“But you are one of our better fighters. We need you up front with us.” Murad replied. Dalan slung the crossbow's leather strap from over his back, resting it against his arm, at the ready.
“You've never seen me use this before, have you?” He asked Murad.
“No, can't say I have. Always wondered why you had it strapped to your back. Maybe for decoration?” Murad quipped.
“Well, if you let me take on the drones, perhaps, you'll get to see what it does.” Dalan replied, knowing Murad's curiosity would get the better of him.
“Fine, whatever suits you. Thought you'd want to be in the middle of the action. Kussa!” Murad called, pointing at an older gray haired man with a battle worn face who was sitting at the back of the crowd polishing his machete. “You'll attack the queen with me, then.” The man nodded. “Alright, let’s move out! The queen could be anywhere. If you see something big and ugly, point it out so we can kill it. Let’s go!” Dalan stood up and slung his crossbow over his back once more. He waited till the rest of the group had walked ahead of him and followed in the rear. Over the murmuring of the crowd, he heard the dripping and gurgling of rushing water and occasional high pitched squeaking noises. Drones. Dalan thought as the group walked across a small metal bridge and onto another stone platform. A skittering noise and a subsequent scream issued from the front of the crowd and Dalan promptly drew his sword. A squishing noise was heard and the screeching became more frequent and finally died out. “Whoa! Wotcher, mate!” a distinctively Centran voice issued from the front of the crowd, reprimanding a fellow soldier. The crowd began to move again. Dalan looked down and stepped over the dead drone, a brown insectoid creature about the size of a man's torso, with sharp mandibles and beady black eyes. It was on its back, twitching, and a green fluid that Dalan assumed to be blood, flowed out of a large gash from Lourrdes' longsword. More skittering and screeching could be heard through the darkness.
“Merde! Looks like I've done it now!” Lourrdes cursed, looking sheepish. Dalan squinted and peered as far down the platform as he could see. Nothing he thought. His thoughts were interrupted by Lourrdes' yell.
“HERE THEY COME!” Dalan wheeled around and saw a mass of drones, at least the same size as the first, rushing at the group from the front. Twenty. No, at least forty. Dalan thought, alarmed. In the midst of the drones, he saw a large black insect, about three feet tall. Its incandescent wings flitted in and out from under its opaque black shell. The group of men had already engaged in battle, the ten assigned to the drones hacking their way through the creatures with their swords and knives.
“That’s it! The queen!” Dalan shouted. Murad shouted out orders as he ran at the mass of insects.
“Lourrdes, Mustafa, cover me! Kussa, we're on!” A drone flew at Dalan, its mandibles clicking anxiously. Dalan sidestepped and the creature flew past him. He drew his sword and stepped back on his right foot, into a fighting stance, his new bronze hilted Centran-crafted two-edged sword held straight in front of him with his left hand, its silver blade gleaming in the sparse torch light. The drone flew at him again, aiming for his face. Dalan rushed at it, shifting his weight onto his left foot at the last moment and at the same time swinging his sword. The blade split the drone clean in half and green blood spattered his leather coat. Another drone lunged at him from behind, but hearing the assault, Dalan stepped aside and swung his blade down forcefully, slicing through its back. He looked up to survey the battlefield and saw more drones appearing on the scene by the second. Seven drones stood between Murad and the queen, but he, Lourrdes and Mustafa were handling them. Murad dodged a drone's attack by shifting his weight onto one hand and hand standing as it lunged past him. Another drone attacked and he spun effortlessly, as if dancing, his foot impacting the insect and sending it crashing into a nearby stream of water. In the same fluid motion, he brought his sword around and using the momentum of the spin, cleaved two more attackers, which dropped dead in front of him. Dalan turned to Tobias, who was helping two other men to pull a screaming comrade out from under a pile of drones. “Tobias, watch out!” Dalan shouted as a drone flew at the young recruits face, mandibles clicking greedily. At the moment, however, there were more pressing matters. A dozen more drones had joined the fray and swarmed at Lourrdes, Murad, Mustafa and Kussa as they attempted to fight their way to the queen. Tobias. It’s up to you, kid. Don't die on us.
“Oi! A lil bit of help 'ere would be much appreciated!” Lourrdes said as he stabbed his massive sword into a drone's back. Dalan slung the crossbow down from his back and rested it under his armpit. He looked down the middle, lining it up with the crowd of drones engulfing Murad's group and squeezed the trigger. Crossbow bolts whistled through the air, one after another, three lodging themselves in a drone which had jumped at Murad, spinning it around in midair as it missed its target and skidded to the floor dead. pfft. pfft pfft. Another two drones dropped to the ground, bolts sticking out of their small head, their black eyes lifeless and dull. The bolts continued to zing through the air, hitting their targets with deadly precision.
“Haha!” Murad laughed gleefully as crossbow bolts soared around him, striking their targets with deadly precision. “Old Dal strikes again!” Murad jumped over the corpses of the drones that Dalan had felled and sprinted toward the now exposed queen. Dalan pulled a string of bolts from a clip at his belt and began to reload the crossbow. Tobias! He thought, remembering the drone that attacked the recruit. He turned around and breathed a sigh of relief. Tobias stood with the others assigned to retrieval duty, tending to the man that he had pulled out of the pile of drones. His knife, covered in green blood, was gripped tightly in his right hand. Two dead drones lay nearby and the others assigned to retrieval were looking up at Tobias with admiration.
“Way to go kid!” Dalan shouted over the sound of the battle as he strapped his crossbow across his back and drew his sword, following Murad into the last dozen or so drones that were guarding the queen. Dalan swung his sword in large sweeping strokes in front of him, slashing through three drones in the process. Two jumped on his back and he could hear their shrill screeching in his ears. Suddenly, the wind was knocked of him as he stumbled forward from the force of two massive blows from behind. He felt his back where the two drones had been. Gone. He thought. Damn, I'm going to have to clean this coat. Behind him, Mustafa stood, examining the green fluid his hands with disgust.
“Hey, big guy,” Dalan coughed. “Try not to break my back next time, alright?” He said, joking, but Mustafa rushed past him. Dalan surveyed the room, noticing that all the drones lay on the floor, twitching or dead. Murad and Lourrdes were engaged in battle with the queen and Mustafa bounded toward them with uncanny speed for a man two heads taller than the rest of the company. Mustafa, drawing his four foot long scimitar from its sheath, rammed straight into the queen, sending Lourrdes staggering back and Murad flipping out of the way. The queen and Mustafa continued to roll as the giant man plunged his sword into the soft undersection of the queen who let out a shrill hissing noise and attempted to free itself from Mustafa's sword, mandibles clicking at the large man's sweat drenched face.
“Sweet Lord Archos, thing won't die!” Lourrdes said, running over to where Mustafa and the queen struggled. pfft. pfft. More crossbow bolts flew through the air, lodging themselves into the queen's face. The large insect reared back. That was six shots. Dalan thought. Six left. Dalan gritted his teeth. pfft, pfft, pfft. Six more soared through the air. The queen jumped off of Mustafa, his sword still lodged in its body, staggered weakly and charged at Dalan with the last of its strength. Dalan's eyes instinctively squinted shut and he reached for his knife, as the queen let out a bloodcurdling screech. Silence. Dalan thought. He opened his eyes to see Murad atop the queen, his scimitar halfway into the insect's head. Dalan looked up and surveyed the scene. Five of the twenty men lay injured, Tobias and the other two uninjured men assigned to healing duty tending to them. Good, no casualties. Dalan thought. He looked abruptly up as he heard a popping noise echoing through the large chamber. It grew to a deafening roar and Dalan realized that the entire company was clapping. Tobias let out a whooping cheer, followed by a few others.
“Hey, Mustafa. Lop a bit of that exoskeleton off for me, will ya? We might need it a bit later,” Dalan said. Murad slid off the insects back and walked over to Mustafa, who had gotten to his feet and was carving a portion of the insect's exoskeleton off with his massive sword, which he had withdrawn from the body of the queen blatta. He shot an inquisitive look at Dalan who smiled knowingly. "Its for the Centrans. Don't worry. You will soon learn what I mean by that,"
“Mustafa... You rushed... you are one crazy bastard.” Murad said sternly, but his mock anger broke into a smile. “That is why I'm glad you are on our side." Mustafa, never one to show much emotion, looked quite indifferent. “I've spent a few hours too many in this dank place. Ready to head out? Oh and nice shooting Dal.” Murad said as he walked back toward the stairs. Dalan put his knife back in his belt and followed. Mustafa picked up two of the more injured men and slung them over his back, Lourrdes helping one to stand.
“Nice one old Dal.” one of the new recruits said, clapping him on the back. “Just like the legends say!” Dalan smiled.
“Legends don't mean merde, kid. It's hard work.” With that, he turned on his heel and hurried to catch up with Murad. Need to discuss our compensation after all. He thought.

. . .

“Pretty quaint for a recruiting office.” Murad said, looking up at the large two story white stone building in front of him. The rest of the company gathered around him, whispering to each other and admiring the architecture of the capital city of Centra, the pearl white cobblestones of the road shone in the bright sunlight. Tall buildings, some of white stone, others with white painted walls lined the streets. Trees grew out neat small square patches of vividly green grass, lining the streets and casting their shadows on those who walked under them. Well manicured flowers sprung out of the neatly clipped grass on either side of the road on which they walked. “I guess the Chivalry is their military after all. All of this is probably funded by the state.”
“I wonder what kind of weapons and armor you get when you get knighted.” Lourrdes mused. “Always wanted to be a knight as a kid.”
“And then you killed the lord of your village.” Murad replied, sighing.
“He asked for it. Tried to sleep with my wife without the courtesy of even trying to be discreet about it.”
“Beheading a noble just might be an offense punishable by death.” Dalan said sarcastically. He could have sworn that he heard Lourrdes mutter “...cut something else off first.”
“Makes me wonder why we are set up in that crumbing old lighthouse.” Tobias whispered to Dalan, staring up in awe at the manse that housed the Chivalry recruiting office.
“What was that?” Murad retorted, wheeling around and looking at Tobias. “I'll kick your little scrawny behind out of the guild. Hand you over to the authorities back home.” Murad muttered. “I'm sure they'd like to get a hold of another member of the Fraternary.”
“Well, if we kick Tobias out, I'm sure we'll miss his inventions.” Dalan replied. “After all, he did teach me to craft the bolts that I use for my crossbow after simply examining one of the old ones that I gave him. Besides, how many other chances are you going to get to actually talk to a member of The Fraternary? They are pretty much the only real thinkers and scientists left in our country and they virtually cut contact with outsiders since the darkening a thousand years ago.”
“Well, maybe if Al-Mahid would stop killing their greatest minds, they'd resurface, ya think?” Lourrdes said sarcastically.
“Hmph, can't argue with that,” Murad said as he pushed the door of the Centran Chivalry's recruiting office open and walked into the softly lit room. “Alright, boys, lets collect our gold!” Two knights stood behind a counter in the right corner of the room. They looked at each other as twenty men, most of them Mora, filed into the small entryway. Murad walked up to the counter, Lourrdes and Mustafa at his side. One of the knights involuntarily stepped back at the imposing sight of Mustafa towering over them.
“I heard you were offering a million gold to whoever took care of the little insect problem in your waterways,” Murad said matter of factly
“Yeah, you here to sign up, Mora?” The braver of the two knights said. “Famous treasure hunter by the name of Dalan Hafid. Sound familiar? The best of your kind, most decent if you ask me. He tried and failed. What makes you think that you could even come close?”
“That definitely wasn't a solo job,” Dalan said calmly, stepping forward. The knights were startled. “I heard you talking to a couple of Centrans who wanted to try at the job. Told them that they'd need a huge company if they even hoped to get out alive. Didn't tell me that, though. It’s almost as if you wanted to get rid of me. Don't like the idea of a Mora treasure hunter outdoing your best knights, I suppose.” The knights were silent and Dalan continued. “No matter, I brought some friends along for it the second time.”
“That old Dal. No one can seem to kill him properly. Anyways, are we here to sign up, boys?” Murad asked his men, who were gathered behind him. Loud rambunctious laughter issued from their ranks. “See, they like you.” Murad said, smiling at the knight who was speaking. “No, we're here to collect,” He said, holding his hand out.
“Not so fast, boy,” The knight said, looking down his nose at Murad. “We need proof. How do we know that you aren't just saying that you got rid of the bug problem? My mum always told me, never trust a Mora, or a Roma, for that matter.” Upon the knight's mention of the Roma, Tobias started. Dalan put a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him back. Tobias' face flushed red with anger.
“As you wish,” Murad shrugged, signaling to Mustafa, who withdrew the piece of the queen's exoskeleton from a bag slung across his back and slammed it on the table, which quivered under the force of the blow.
“Pay up,” Mustafa's voice boomed. One of the knights staggered back and fell, scrambling onto his feet again with much clanking of armor.
“A million gold,” Murad continued. “Bet we could have a hell of a party on that, eh Lourrdes?” The knight talking to Murad turned to Lourrdes.
“So I see you are with them. You are no better than those dirty savages.” he said, fixing Lourrdes with a patronizing look.
“Only because your kind kiss up to the nobles and walk over us peasant folk,” Lourrdes said casually. The knight looked at him thoughtfully.
“You... I know you... You're that Barrett guy. Yeah, Lourrdes Barrett! The peasant with a bounty on his head! Hah, would you believe our luck, Sir Alastor?” the braver of the two knights said. “The guy we posted the bounty for just walked in the door!”
“Whoa, hold up there,” Murad said, holding his hand up. “If you mess with one of us, you mess with the lot of us,” A murmur of agreement came from the company and a few put their hands on their swords.
“I say we cut em into little bits and feed em to the desert snakes. We don't let em mock Murad and Lourrdes and get away with it.” Someone in the crowd whispered loudly.
“Anyways, I don't want any trouble. Can't say that for all of my men, though. I suggest you just give us our fair share and we'll continue on our merry way.” Murad said. The knights, both visibly shaken by the threat of force, both disappeared into a room to the right of the counter. When they returned, Sir Alastor was holding a large bag. He put it on a large balance, to show the weight of the bag of coins. Murad nodded approvingly. The knight then picked up the bag of gold, which he shoved into Murad's hands.
“Heres your pay, Mora. Now get out of here.” He said resentfully
“But you are too kind” Murad said, smiling. “Oh, and that is Guilder Ibrahim to you. I assume you don't want me to tell your captain about your disrespectful attitude at the next council of the guilds, Sir Alastor. Alright, let’s move out!” he commanded as he walked to the door.

. . .

“So that is forty five thousand for each of us?” Dalan asked.
“That looks like what it comes out to after the guild dues are taken out. Probably a few thousand more for the long time members.” Murad replied. The group of men walked down the tree shaded, sun dappled streets of the uptown. The well dressed men and women who walked by gave the group a wide berth. A few, however, looked at Dalan and whispered, pointing excitedly.
“We had to walk through the Middleton district, didn't we? Home of the rich and famous, place to hear all the juicy gossip about certain Mora treasure hunters and such. I just hope no one asks me if I fought off a battalion of orcs while riding a wyvern.” Dalan sighed, looking at Murad.
“What about the rumors that you have a nice cushy mansion on an island off the Sung continent? Are those true?” Murad replied. Dalan let out a hearty laugh. “What is it?” Murad said, looking confused.
“I'm sure you heard the one where me and two half elves defended all of Amaurea from a Centran invasion, right?” Dalan asked.
“Well, yeah, but,” Murad was at a loss for words. Dalan smiled and continued to walk. Tobias came up beside him.
“Forty five thousand, Dalan? What am I going to do with all of that money?” He asked, looking at the bag slung over Murad's back.
“Whatever the hell you want to do with it I suppose. Oh, there's a porter. Lo, porter!” Dalan called out to a diminutive elf standing against a wall. He wore the signature white robes of the porter's association.
“How may I help you?” The elf responded, bowing.
“There are twenty of us. We need a port to Akhmet, the Al-Mahid capital.” Murad said, stepping forward. The porter counted the men standing in front of him.
“Twenty? That will cost you,” The porter said, his brow furrowed.
“I'm well aware of that. But I don't think that my men want to walk home through the desert.” he replied, his face showing that he didn't quite fancy the idea himself.
“All right, that will be twenty four thousand gold.” He calculated. “Twelve hundred for each person.” Murad set down the bag of coins and fished out two handfuls of coins, which he counted and handed to the porter, who stared at the money, his mouth agape.
“Twenty two... twenty three... twenty four thousand. There you go,” Murad said as he handed the last of the gold coins to the elf, who stuffed them in his pocket.
“Very well. Have a good trip,” A white glow surrounded the man as he held his hands out. He closed his eyes and a pillar of blinding white light appeared in front of him. Murad and the other men stepped into the light and Dalan followed. For a few seconds, Dalan felt dizzy and disoriented, as if his body was being pulled forward at an uncontrollable speed. He could see nothing except for a blinding white light, against which he shut his eyes. When he opened his eyes once more, he was standing in the middle of a sandy road. The evening desert heat bore down on him. Getting his bearings, Dalan looked around at the various rugsellers' tents and the large crowd of bickering auctioneers not too far away.
“Dalan, over here!” Murad called. Dalan turned and saw the mercenaries milling at a small artificial stream which encircled a palatial sandstone building, which was built on ground higher than the rest of the city. The Dey's palace. Dalan thought as he walked over to Murad, who had removed shoes and was swishing his feet in the water. Many of the other men sat under the arches of sandstone, built around the stream to complement the dusty desert beauty of the palace. Murad pulled a small pouch out of his pocket and put three handfuls of coins from the large bag into it.
“There you go, Dal. Forty five thousand gold.” Murad said. “Good fighting out there,” Dalan nodded his thanks. “We're going to head back to headquarters in a few minutes. Get some drinks, you know? Wanna join us?”
“Nah,” Dalan replied. “Not sure I'm up for such a long walk. Think I'm going to stay the night in the city. I'd rather have some good kebab at Amadhi's, not the burnt meat and strong grog you guys cook up over there,”
“Amadhi?” Lourrdes said, walking up to Dalan. “Classy. Isn't he the Dey's cook as well? With all of this money that you supposedly have, why are you here working with us? We love to have ya here, but it obviously isn't for the money. What is it then? And why do you always stay at the inn, despite the fact that you are a world famous treasure hunter? Shouldn't you have a house or something?”
“I've never had a peaceful life. Guess I'm too used to it to settle down now,” Dalan lied. I would love to settle down. He thought. But if that old man was right, time is running out. Lourrdes laughed.
“Well, see ya mate. Will you be dropping by headquarters tomorrow?” He asked Dalan.
“That’s the plan. I'm going to get some rest. “Salaam, everyone,” Dalan said, addressing the crowd. He turned and walked back to the road his feet sinking into the soft, warm sand on the roadside.

Prologue

Prologue

Dalan Hafid's feet crunched through the green grass, throwing a spray of morning dew up into his sweat drenched face. The weight of his sheathed sword bore down upon his back a knife was tucked into his belt at his left hip. His breath came in rasps and each one that he took rent his lungs asunder. They found me. They followed me... All the way across the Centran border! Dalan thought as he flailed toward a line of tall thick trees which stood against the horizon like sentinels, watching over the small helpless human figure. They could be anywhere... they could be here... He thought as he remembered the figures of the two Al-Mahid assassins, their faces obscured by black turbans and facial wraps that concealed all but their cold, lifeless eyes. Sprinting through the woods, Dalan pulled up the left sleeve of his brown military fatigues, revealing an arm of the same color, spattered with crimson from a newly opened gash which ran across his forearm. He wondered how long he could keep up this pace before passing out, or even if his blood would lead his followers straight to him upon his seeming inevitable collapse. Dalan's parched lips curled into a grim smile. Well I did desert their army after all. Gave up my only way out of that godforsaken prison. Ran away from the only way to clear my record. A way to clear my name, for Sharah's sake. Dalan realized the irony of his thoughts, as he ran through the forest glade a free man. At least for now.


The shadows from the trees seemed to flit over Dalan, bits of the crisp orange dawn sky played down upon him. Between the trees ahead of him, he saw the glint of the same light off of a clear glassy surface. Dalan stumbled out into the clearing and looked up in awe, his pursuers forgotten. In front of him a large mass of green blue water glistened in the dim light of the young day. On a large island of land, in the middle of the lake, stood a tall imposing stone wall, dappled with blue-gray and purple stones and was at least, Dalan thought, 7 stories high. So, this is Gabradia. He thought, staring up at the turrets of the blue, gray and purple speckled stone walls in amazement. A great gray stone bridge, wide enough for thirty men to walk astride, stretched half a mile across the vast river to a place slightly further down the riverbank. From within the city, arose a tower, twice as tall as the walls that cloistered the city. It was made of the same blue-gray stone as the rest of the kingdom and it's conical walls came to an sharp point at the top. Dalan rushed to the bank and greedily drank in the water, coughing and sputtering as he drank it in. It tasted of sea salt and perhaps something more putrid, yet his thirst compelled him to continue. When he had drunk his fill, he stood up and staggered to the edge of the bridge. His body would carry him no further. Walking closer to the bank of the river, he wedged himself on the cold stone under the bridge, and lay down. Pulling out his knife, he pulled back his overcoat and cut a swath of his sleeve away from his shirt. The thick woven material made a tearing noise as he sawed into it. Pulling it away from his shirt, he tied it tightly around the gash in his left arm, staunching the flow of the blood. I'm going to die aren't I. They... They are going to find me. Dalan thought as closed his eyes and fell asleep.


. . .


When he awakened, the orange evening sun was sinking behind the line of trees in the distance. Dalan opened his eyes and looked up at the purple pastel colored sky. Standing up, he examined his left arm, which had stopped bleeding. Black crusted blood clung to the fabric tied around the wound. He walked around the side of the bridge, noticing the last travelers of the day ambling across the massive bridge toward the city gates. Dalan felt a sharp pain in his side that doubled him over. I haven't eaten for 2 days. He thought as he stepped onto the hard stone bridge.


“Yer got any food?” Dalan's parched voice grumbled at a lady who was passing by. She quickened her pace and paid him no mind. “Do yer have some food you could sp-” Dalan stopped as the man he had addressed walked quickly past him. Dalan walked up and down the bridge for the next couple of hours, asking for food or gold, but received no response aside from a man who muttered “Groveling dirty Mora, go back to where you came from.” under his breath. Well, I see the Gabradians and Centrans share a common sentiment about me. Dalan thought has he continued to walk. Night had fallen and the bridge was lit only by torches spaced every 20 meters or so, which cast flickering shadows upon the last of the returning travelers. The guards that he had seen guarding the entrance to the city had left temporarily. They are going to close the gates. Dalan sighed and unsheathed his standard issue Akhmet army knife, its rough edges glinting in the sparse torchlight. He concealed the weapon in his right hand, which he hid under his tattered brown overcoat. Another sharp pain jolted through his body and Dalan clutched at his side with his free hand. As he staggered upright, he felt a little lightheaded. Must have lost a damned pint of blood. He thought as he steadied himself and nodded to reassure the people around him on the bridge. No one, however, was looking his way. Lowering his head to conceal his face, he joined the crowd walking to the gate. Near the edge of the bridge, a young girl, no older than eighteen, four years younger than himself, was pulling a merchant's cart, which was almost empty from a good day of sales. Her shoulder length golden blonde hair flew behind her in the breeze. Dalan slowly edged across the crowd and edged in next to her, his footsteps matching hers, his right shoulder almost touching hers. “Give me your money and you wont get hurt, little lady.” Dalan whispered. The girl started, but continued when Dalan continued “keep walking. Don't try anything.” She continued to walk along the bridge, slowly and cautiously, refusing to make eye contact with Dalan.
“And what is it you want to do with that money?” she asked him, her light blue eyes intent on not meeting his.
“Thats-” Dalan winced as a sharp pain went through his side. “Thats none of your business.” I've got to act fast. Dalan thinks. Before the guards return.
“I'm reaching for my change pouch.” The girl said, reaching down cautiously. For a second, her eyes met Dalans' and he felt uneasy. Its almost as if she is about to... With a flick of her wrist, she drew a sword from a brown leather sheath hanging at her side and swiped it at Dalan with such speed that it whistled through the air, the tip of the light two edged blade barely missing his nose as he jumped out of the way. Screams issued from the surrounding crowd as they stumbled to get out of the way. “A bit careless, don't you think?” the girl said “I'd think that you thieves would be smarter than to attack an armed target.” Damn. Dalan thought as he looked up at the girl, who was slowly walking towards him, backing him toward the other side of the bridge. He regretted that his wits weren't about him. If I was in any better condition, I would have noticed her sword. Dalan thought. “Drop the knife.” the girl said calmly, still walking towards Dalan. No. I cant. I would rather die than go to jail aga-. His thoughts were interrupted by a now jarring pain that wracked his body. Dalan's vision blurred over, he staggered two steps back and the next thing he felt was the cold pavement against his cheek as he fell unconscious.


. . .


“Get up.” a female voice told him. Dal opened his bleary eyes and looked around him. Street lights lit up the street of an apparently deserted city. Tall, narrow residences, made of cobbled purple, blue, gray and white brick and purple shingle roofs lined the side of the road on which he lay. Lay? Dalan thought. He looked down and noticed that he was sprawled in the thinly plated, but durable aluminum pushcart that the girl had been pulling earlier on her way into the town. His hands moved down to his belt to feel for his sword sheath and his knife. Gone. The girl was standing a few feet away, unlocking the door to one of the residences, Dalan's sword slung across her back. She probably has my knife too. He thought. Across the street, the buildings were more sparse, large and spread apart. Deserted bazaars, their wares relocated for the night stood at the side of the street opposite Dalan. “Can you stand?” she said, more softly this time, walking back towards him, the door to a building open, a soft, welcoming light coming from inside.
“Yeah.” Dalan replied as he swung his legs out of the pushcart and tried to stand. His weight threw him off balance and he stumbled into the girls arms.
“Men these days. Do women have to do all the work?” She said, though Dalan could not see her expression in the darkness. She put his arm around her shoulder and carried him inside of the building. The door led to a hall with a flight of stairs, lit by lanterns flickering with an unusually white-yellow light. at the top of the stairway, the hall turned abruptly to the right. into a long hallway with oak wooden doors on both sides. Still supporting Dalan, the girl walked to the third one on the right, inserted another key and opened the door. The small one room flat was lit by two of lanterns which emanated same bright yet soft light that lit the stairwell and the hallway. A small bed with fluffy cream colored sheets which matched the color of the wallpapering, sat in the corner near the doorway. The girl and Dalan walked over to the bed, his feet dragging the floor and she set him down upon it. The plush mattress billowed as it conformed to his body. He sunk into it, weary and ragged. A desk sat in front of the window, with a lantern on it, fire burning brightly. In the far corner, a small wooden reading table with a lantern sat next to a plush lavender colored chair. "I'll be right back." The girl said as she left the room, closing the door. She returned shortly, pulling the aluminum cart behind her. Its wheels made a rumbling noise against the unpolished wooden floor. She rolled it into a closet, closing the door, then walked over to Dalan.
“Those... Lights?” Dalan managed, pointing at the lantern hanging on the wall, then the one on the desk.
“Hm?” the girl asked. “Oh, those. Pyrelights. I suppose you have never seen them before since you are from Al-Mahid. They have a ban on all magicks except porting over there, right? The idea for these lights was created by a couple entrepreneurial magi in the town. The flame burns brighter than fire and goes out only after a month or so. Its also self contained. Perfectly safe if you spill it. You just scoop it up off the floor with a dustpan.” The girl walked over to the black iron stove, which was glowing heartily and placed a purple porcelain teapot on it. Removing a jug of water from a nearby shelf, she added some to the pot and threw in some yellowish and greenish herbs. How did she know that they have a ban on magicks in my country? Dalan wondered. She must be well traveled. “You don't look too well.” She continued. Did you drink from the river?” Dalan nodded. “South or north bank?”
“South” Dalan replied weakly.
“Figures.” The girl said dejectedly. “This tea should help. Apparently, the Elvaan who built this city positioned the waste system so that the sewage is dumped southbound, flowing out to sea. Brilliant race if you ask me. I suppose your people could have become like that as well.” she quickly added. “Pity that the darkening occurred and all.” The darkening. Dalan thought. The reaction of the religious fanatics in control of our country to the period of scientific and philosophical enlightenment hundreds of years ago. Ala-Meidan history? Who IS this girl?
“Hi-history?” Dalan managed.
“Yes, I read about history from all over. I'm a merchant, so it helps to know about the countries that you travel to to sell your wares.” she responded. Steam began to rise out of the teapot. The girl opened the cabinet next to her and pulled out a loaf of bread and some strips of dried roasted meat and set it on a black wooden tray. She then took the teapot off of the stove and poured a cup of the green colored tea.
“This is...” the girl began but was interrupted by Dalan.
“Menthe and... Camellia...” Dalan finished her sentence. “C-cures stomach pains and nausea.”
“Hah! It seems that even fanaticism cant crush the scientific spirit of a Mora. Sorry, I am not used to having a foreigner in my place." Gil laughed. not used to foreigners? Dalan thought inquisitively. He thought of the nation from which he came, Al-Mahid, and its diverse mix of the tan, dark-eyed Al-Mahid, the light skinned Roma, who migrated from the far off nation of Yagua and the predominant race in the region, the Mora, a dark skinned, coarse haired people from the nation of Moorea, which was separated from Al-Mahid by the vast South Sea. I guess it is a little different here. Dalan thought. "Anyways," Gil continued, "My nation inherited most of its technologies from the Elvaan about a few hundred years ago. Way back then, used to be a slave-labor city. They subjugated us Centrans. To fuel an Elvaan war of some sort.” the girl said bitterly. “Anyways, since we were introduced to this technology without developing it, people don't have a clue as to why anything works. Even now, hundreds of years later, our best scientists are still having trouble.” The girl carried the tray over to a small wooden table beside the bed and sat it down.
“Drink.” she ordered. Dalan picked up the cup and put it to his mouth. Hot steam rose up and warmed his face, which was cold from fleeing through the forest in the dead of night. The hot liquid warmed his whole body as it went down his throat. He could already feel his strength returning and asked the question he had been dying to ask since he has arrived in this strange place.
“Why? Why did you save me?” He asked, putting the mug down. The girl looked at him, slightly confused, her head cocked to one side.
“I... I honestly don't know. Perhaps it is because you remind me a little of myself... My past. Drink and eat, then get some rest. We will talk in the morning.” the girl stood up and walked back over to the stove
“Wait!” Dalan said The girl turned around. “wait... What is your name?”
“Gil. Gil Regalia.” she replied “And you?”
“Dalan Hafid.” Dalan said, putting down a piece of bread. The tray was nearly emptied, only crumbs of the bread and the more burnt pieces of the roasted meat remained.
“Nice to meet you Dalan. I wish the circumstances on which we met were better though. Get some sleep. You look like hell.” Gil said, smiling. Dalan choked a laugh out halfheartedly and reclined back on the bed. Mug in his hand, he took one last sip of the tea and felt the tingling effect of the herbs spread slowly through his body. Setting his mug down on the side table, Dalan relished the moment, the softly lit, warm cozy room. The food, the warm tea. He closed his eyes and for the first time in weeks, a peaceful sleep overtook him.


. . .


Dalan awoke to the morning light pouring through the green day curtains which were pulled to. For a few moments, he lay back and let the light from the sun warm his face. This is more like it. Dalan thought as he propped himself up on his elbow. A small piece of parchment that had been resting on the bed fluttered onto the slightly dusty wood floor. Dalan reached down and picked it up. He squinted at the letters of the message, struggling to recall the little bit of Duali, the language of both Centra and Al-Mahid, that his parents had taught him.

Dalan,

I have gone to the central square to sell some goods. The door next to the closet leads to a washroom if you want to freshen up. There is running water for a shower, but it is cold. I will be back in at midday with food. Don't leave the room or open the curtains. They are looking for you.

P.S.

I bought some clean clothes for you and left them on the chair in the corner.

~Gil Regalia~


Dalan could make out the words clothes and shower, but put the letter down in frustration after trying to decipher the rest. Dalan looked over at the chair and saw a white cotton shirt, a brown leather jacket and a pair of long pants made of some rough material. ...looking for me? Dalan thought, perusing the only other coherent phrase that he understood with his limited comprehension of language The assassins, no doubt. He swung out of the bed and walked over to the window, looking through the day curtains. On the streets below, he saw masses of people milling around on the cobblestone streets. Vendors on the street corners hawked their wares to the crowds on the street. In the light of day, the hodgepodge of blue, purple and gray stones that the buildings and city walls were composed of had a pleasing effect on the eye, giving the city a soft, violet tint. On a street corner, not far away, a group of young men put on a dazzling light show, to the applause of many of the bystanders, who dropped coins into a hat resting nearby. Magi. Dalan thought. He was amazed at how freely magic was used within the walls of Gabradia. Scanning the streets, he did not see one single Mora or Al-Mahidi, dressed in assassins' clothing or otherwise. To strike like the howling wind and leave no trace behind. Thats their mantra. I doubt I will see them unless they are the last thing that I see. Dalan looked around the small apartment again and wondered why this Gil trusted him so. Upon careful examination, Dalan found that there were no true valuables left within the room and her cart, which she had carried in after she brought him to the room was gone, presumably to hold the various goods she was selling. Yet, here he was, alone in her apartment, with a chance, if he so wished, to steal enough to allow him to flee the country. But he didn't wish. Not after all she had done for him, in spite of his threatening her life. And run where? Dalan thought. Surely there is nowhere that he wouldn't eventually be found and meet an untimely death by poison or the blade. Dalan smiled. Blade. He thought, remembering that she had relieved him of his weapons as well. I wouldn't last a second. I'd be robbed by bandits before the assassins could even get to me. Dalan sighed in exasperation. At least I'm safe for now. He thought as he stood up and walked to the washroom.


. . .


“Well, don't you look dapper?” Gil said dryly, closing the door of the apartment behind her. Dalan lounged in the plush chair next to the window. His new clothes were a little small for his well built frame, but fit nonetheless. His short wavy black hair was combed back neatly and parted from the widows peak in the middle.
“Thats the difference between a night of running through the forest and a good shower. I'm glad you can tell the two apart.” Dalan retorted. "And why didn't you tell me that the washroom had only cold water? If your idea was to wake me up, then you succeeded."
"I wrote it in the note! Didn't you read it?" Gil replied, exasperated.
"Oh, that is a good one, a Mora beggar reading a letter. I'm lucky that my parents taught me to read even that much before they..." Dalan's voice trailed off.
“Well, I'm glad you washed the sheets as well as yourself. You smelled like you brought the whole Gabradian forest in here with you last night.” Gil said under her breath as she walked over to the desk, her thick golden hair cascading behind her. Dalan thought he saw a small smile form on her lips, but it vanished as soon as it had appeared. Gil put her cart into the closet and pulled out a couple of brown paper bags, spotted with grease at the bottom and a jug of brown liquid. She tossed one of the bags to Dalan, who opened it, crinkling the paper as he peered inside. The savory smell of bread, butter, spinach and meat wafted from the bag and Dalan felt hungry again. He rummaged through the bag and found a smoked turkey leg and a small pie of some sort. Dalan picked up the pie and examined it, before biting into it. He closed his eyes and chewed on it, noticing that it was stuffed with a warm green leafy vegetable, which was thoroughly mixed with a creamy sauce.
“Eat. Bought it from a street vendor. The green stuff is called spinach.”
“Its good” Dalan said through a mouthful of pie.
“I wish I could have gotten in earlier, but I was at the Drunken Magi gathering some info.” Gil continued.
“Drunken magi?” He asked.
“Local pub downtown. You are pretty infamous.” Gil said as she pulled out two dusty mugs, wiped them off and poured some of the dark liquid into one, then the other. “Gabradian ale. It may be a little strong for you, but its the best ale in all of the Centran continent.” She said, walking over to where Dalan sat and handing him a mug before taking an enthusiastic swig from her own. Dalan smiled at the condescension but offered no retort to her questioning his drinking experience. Gil walked over to the bed and sat down on it, pulling the turkey leg out of her own bag “A couple of guys were out in the town square asking if anyone had seen you. Looked like they were from your country. They said you were an escaped convict.” Dalan looked at her, but said nothing. “Well, are you?” There was a moment of silence, only broken by Dalan pulling the large turkey wing out of the bag. Despite the awkward situation, his hunger compelled him to continue eating. After taking a bite of into the juicy meat, he looked up at Gil.
“Yeah, I'm a convict.” He said matter of factly. “I was an orphan as a kid. Grew up on the backstreets of Akhmet with a few other kids. Some of the older ones taught me how to survive, how to be quick with my fingers and even quicker on my feet.”
“Pickpocketing?” Gil asked. Dalan nodded and continued.
“When I was fourteen, I was caught. The options were losing my hand.” Dalan made a slicing motion with his hand, “or going to jail for the next twenty years. I took the jail time. I don't know how much information from our country you get up here, but we are currently at war with our neighbors in our continent of Al-Mahid, the Jazair. Well... Last I checked, it was more like a slaughter. Our leader, Dey Jaffar Pasha commanded an expansion into their territory and offered freedom to any jailed petty criminals like me. We had to serve a 5 year term in the war and then we were to be set free. The Jazair are a simple people. They generally keep to themselves and hunt and gather in the wilderness for the survival of the tribe, but we needed resources, since most of our land is a barren desert. Their land was far more fertile than ours. Dalan finished the last of the spinach pie, taking a swig of the dark ale before continuing. “Anyways, I was in the advance force. We were basically all criminals who were being used as human shields for the better fighters. The Jazair don't usually interfere with other nations, but that doesn't mean that they cant organize when they want to. The battles that we had fought were tough and they were almost a match for us. They seemed to always be prepared for us and there were rumors that their seers and shamans called upon the spirits of their dead soldiers to discern our next move.”
“That is madness.” Gil laughed.
“Thats what I thought at first, but is it really? Up until that point, they had proven themselves to be a very simple culture, but upon attack, they organized themselves into an effective fighting force, battling a force 3 times its size from a civilization at least a thousand years more advanced. Some of their soldiers fought as men possessed and would often take on a couple of our finest mercenaries without breaking a stride. Sometimes, I think that the only reason I survived was dumb luck. I was not strong enough to fell any one of their soldiers by myself and neither were many of my comrades. Is it any wonder that such rumors were going through the camp? Their power and organization were unparalleled!”
“But why did you desert?” She asked. “Those men said you were a deserter and a criminal when they asked about you.” her eyes widened in realization. “It was fear. You weren't raised as a soldier. The sight of such forces must have terrified you.” Dalan smiled knowingly and dropped the remains of the turkey leg back into the bag which he crinkled up and set on the table next to him. He took another swig of ale, concentrating on the liquid burning its way down his throat. Hoping it would wash away the memories of fear and anguish which haunted him from the past week.
“Not exactly. I was scared, yes. But the commanders were even more so. They feared retaliation and that, should the Jazair retaliate, even the capital of Akhmet would not be safe. In a plan born out of desperation, they decided to attack the city of Agar and slay anyone that was found there. Women, children, no one would be spared.” Dalan stated, his lips pursed in a grim line. “I signed up to clear my name, not to slaughter families. That was when I decided that I had to leave. I fled for Centra under the cover of nightfall, with provisions that I had stolen from the military camp. It was a weeks journey to Centra. Once I arrived, I stole some food to stay alive and lived on the streets as a beggar for a few days. The assassins eventually tracked me there and almost killed me. I was forced to flee again and I ended up here.” Gil was thoughtful for a moment. She looked at Dalan curiously.
“Well, you certainly didn't seem like the petty criminal type.” she said matter of factly. “I was orphaned as well. I'm from Port Albert. Both of my parents died when I was fourteen. They were attacked by pirates at sea while returning from port Izaria on the Centran continent. I took the last of their money and used it to become a merchant myself, but I haven't been through anything like what happened to you. Maybe thats why I helped you. When you robbed me last night, you didn't seem malicious. You almost seemed... desperate.”
“Hah! Well I guess things didn't work as intended. Its hard to be cruel and cold when you have been running from assassins all day.” Dalan laughed gruffly.
“Well your running isn't over.” Gil replied. “We need to discuss how we are going to get you out of here.”
“Where would I go even if I left? They tracked me thus far. Why stop here?"
“Amaurea” She replied confidently. Its a small Elvaan island between Centra and the Aurensvale coast. You should be able to get there by climbing the Nadel mountains north of here. There is a bridge over the water that should get you there.
“Yeah but Gil, its the Elvaan you are talking about. I don't think they take kindly to Humes waltzing onto their land and asking for asylum.
“Half-elves,” She corrected him. “They would be more than welcoming to you. Some Humes choose to live among them. If you so wished, you could find a job and settle down there.”
“But what about the assassins?” he asked.
“First of all, you probably aren't that important to Al-Mahid. I am willing to bet my merchant's guild membership that the two assassins that came here are all they sent to look for you. You are a deserter, not a spy. Also, you say the war is still going on right?” She asked. For a second, Dalan wondered what ever became of the proposed slaughter at Adar.
“As far as I know.” Dalan responded
“Then they would probably need the country's best fighters on the battlefield, if these Jaza'ir are anything like you described. The question is, are you worth tracking onto Elvaan territory? Even civilian elves practice magicks as a part of their daily lives. It is much more prevalent than anywhere in the Hume world. Moreso even than here, the Hume capital of magick users. Most of their citizens probably have super-sensory spells and would easily spot anything less than the best Hume spies and assassins available.” Dalan relaxed noticeably. Perhaps there is some hope. He thought.
“How would I find this Amaurea?” He asked curiously.
“Climb the Nadel mountains to the peak. From there, you should be able to see the coast. If you head north-northeast down from the peak, you should see the bridge. We should pack now. It should be easier for you to leave under the cover of the crowds during the day. I'm sure they are keeping watch for you even at night.” Gil stood up and opened the closet. Dalan could hear the clanking of metal as she pulled something out of her pushcart. Gil closed the door and walked over to Dalan, handing him his knife and his leather-sheathed sword. He stuffed his knife into his belt and strapped his sword across his back. She also presented him with a large threadbare bag, which he took, looking at Gil inquisitively.
“Food.” She explained. “Anyways, from Northbridge province to Amaurea is about a four day journey. You'll need the provisions.”
“Can't I just find a porter and port there?” Dalan asks.
“The porters guild mandates that Elvaan cities can only be teleported to from within Elvaan territory. Same with other continents as well. Al-Mahid and Centra are the only exceptions, since they are united on a common landmass and share vaguely similar cultures. Besides, even if you tried to find a member of the Church of Alphus who practices such magicks and can port to Amaurea, I bet that those assassins are making sure you don't use a port to escape anyways. They are probably monitoring anyone who they suspect can use such magick.” Gil responds.
“You have a point there,” Dalan said, reprimanding himself for his carelessness. Dalan stood up, slinging the brown threaded bag over his shoulder and walked to the door.
“Northbridge is a few minutes walk northwest of here. Be careful. Needless to say, make sure that you aren't followed. You know what to do once you leave the city.” Gil said.
“Gil. Thanks for everything.” Dalan said, feeling remorseful that he had attempted to rob her earlier.
“Yeah, whatever. If you survive, I'm sure you'll pay me back. You seem like that kind of guy.” Gil said in an unconvincingly nonchalant tone. Four days. Dalan thought. If i can make it to this Amaurea place, I can start all over again. With one last glance at Gil, Dalan stepped out of the threshold of her flat and turned down the hallway to walk down the stairs. As he pushed the door open, he raised his hand up to block his eyes against the bright sunlight which streamed down upon him. Crowds of people went about their business, magi bustling in and out of a building down the street, a mother reprimanding her child who was pouting and pointing at a sweets vendor. A cool midday breeze blew across his face. Dalan smiled. And even if I don't survive. Maybe I will find freedom in death. Dalan stepped fearlessly into the mass of people, knowing that no matter what happened, he would soon be free.