Darius and Favian rode on, the northern road winding gently through open land, through fields that slowly gave way to rougher ground. Sadnon faded behind them.

  After a while, Darius broke the silence.

  “Have you ever been to Almeroth?” he asked.

  Favian shook his head. “No. My travels never took me that far. I’ve moved mostly between Sadnon, Orlan, and Ardet.” He paused, then added, “My guide always said we’d go to Almeroth when the time was right.”

  Darius’s grip tightened on the reins. “My guide,” he murmured.

  The word tasted strange in his mouth. The memory of that unseen presence

  stirred an old irritation in his chest. He hadn’t heard that familiar presence since the Appalling Parade in Sadnon.

  “I think my guide has abandoned me,” Darius said at last. “Ever since the day of that parade, it’s been nothing but silence.”

  Favian glanced at him, concern creasing his brow. “I must admit, that is strange. My guide used to fall silent at times, yes—but never for long. A few hours, perhaps a day at most. Then it would return, as though nothing had happened.”

  Darius exhaled sharply. “It seems mine prefers wherever it is now to my company.”

  They rode on in silence for a short while, the horses breathing evenly beneath them. Favian’s expression grew distant, as though he were listening to something only he could hear. Finally, he turned his head towards Darius.

  “My guide says your guide is in a situation beyond his control,” Favian said slowly. “And that you’ll need to bear with him until it’s resolved.”

  Darius frowned. “What situation?”

  Favian shook his head. “It wouldn’t tell me. Only that it isn’t choice or neglect keeping your guide away.”

  Darius let out a long breath, staring ahead at the narrowing road. “Then I suppose patience is my only choice.”

  The horses pressed on, carrying them north towards Almeroth.

  The two rode on and soon reached a narrow stone bridge arcing over a wide, dark river. The water below moved steadily, reflecting the fading colours of the evening sky. At the bridge’s entrance, a weathered wooden sign had been driven into the earth. It read ALMEROTH, the letters carved deep, with a crude arrow beneath pointing onward.

  They crossed, hooves echoing softly against stone, and before long the city revealed itself.

  Almeroth rose in tiers beyond its outer walls were thick grey stone crowned with watchtowers and iron braziers already being lit for the night. Narrow streets wound upward from the gates, packed closely between tall timber-and-stone houses whose upper floors leaned out over the road.

  Banners and coloured cloth hung from balconies and poles, fluttering faintly in the river breeze. Lanterns glowed along the streets, casting warm light over cobbles worn smooth by centuries of passage.

  As they rode deeper in, the city square came into view. It was wide and bustling, even at the late hour. Garlands had been strung between posts, tables were being set aside, and a raised platform stood at the centre, half-draped in fabric. It looked like the final preparations for a festival— one paused only by nightfall.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Darius asked, scanning the scene.

  Favian shook his head. “No. But it looks like some sort of celebration.”

  Darius took in the movement around them. People were drifting away from the square, heading home with baskets and bundles, voices low and tired. The day was clearly ending.

  He turned to Favian. “What’s the plan for accommodation?”

  Favian hesitated. “I don’t have one. And I don’t have money either.” He gave a faint, humourless smile. “I never needed it before. People used to welcome strangers freely, before the purge.”

  Darius said nothing, waiting.

  “If we find someone willing to take us in,” Favian went on, “we stay one night only.”

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  “And after that?”

  Favian exhaled. “I don’t know. But we can’t repeat what happened with Nathan’s family.”

  Darius lifted a hand and pointed. “There. That man. He looks like he could use help.”

  Ahead of them, an old man stood near the roadside, his back bent beneath the weight of several bulging bags clutched in his arms. Favian followed Darius’s gaze and gave a brief nod. They urged their horses forward.

  When they drew close, both men greeted him. The old man looked up and froze.

  “Favian,” he breathed.

  Favian frowned. The name meant nothing coming from this stranger’s mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said carefully, “do I know you?”

  The man stared at him, disbelief flickering across his lined face. “Favian… it’s me.”

  Favian only shook his head.

  Realising, the man glanced quickly to his left, then to his right, scanning the street. When he seemed satisfied that no one was watching, his skin rippled like disturbed water. His frail frame straightened, wrinkles smoothed away, and in moments the old man was gone, then replaced by a young, broad-shouldered figure, solid and unmistakable.

  Favian and Darius both stared, mouths slightly open.

  “Marshal,” Favian said, breathless.

  Marshal grinned.

  Favian swung down from his horse at once and pulled him into a fierce embrace. “You’re alive,” he said, half laughing.

  “And so are you,” Marshal replied. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to see you too.”

  “I haven’t seen you since Ardet,” Marshal said. “Since the Ragelers.”

  Favian nodded. “I’ve been busy. My guide has kept me moving.” He glanced at Darius. “This one here is my most recent task.”

  Marshal extended a hand. “Marshal.”

  “Kriger,” Darius replied, taking it.

  Marshal’s attention returned to Favian almost immediately. “You came at the right time,” he said quietly. “The others will be glad to see you.”

  Favian nodded and mounted again, and Marshal climbed up behind him with practiced ease. With Marshal leading the way, the three of them rode on, slipping deeper into Almeroth.

  As they rode on, Marshal’s form softened and thinned once more, bones bending, shoulders stooping until the frail old man returned. He adjusted the sacks in his arms as though they had always belonged there.

  “I thank the Unknown you’re alive,” he said quietly. “Too many Truthers have fallen of late.”

  Favian nodded. “And I thank the Unknown you’re alive as well. Darius and I have seen things; horrors, in Orlan and in Sadnon.”

  Marshal turned, surprise flickering across his aged features. “Orlan?” he said. “I thought the people there knew better.”

  “There was a purge,” Favian replied. “Many still resist the Valiants’ story, but I don’t think it will last. Not with how firmly the narrative has taken hold in places like Sadnon.”

  Marshal sighed. “Almeroth stands on a knife’s edge. Half the city leans towards the Valiants, half towards the Truthers. We can’t afford mistakes.” He gestured faintly at his borrowed body. “That’s why I move like this. No one questions a bent old man.”

  Favian studied him anew. “I didn’t know you could shift your form.”

  “I didn’t either,” Marshal said. “It came overnight. I woke one morning and simply… could.”

  Favian let out a quiet breath. “Incredible.”

  Marshal smiled. “What will be more incredible is Tilda’s face when she sees you.”

  Favian’s eyes lit at the name. “Tilda’s alive?”

  “She is,” Marshal said. “And she’ll be glad you came.”

  Favian smiled to himself.

  Marshal lifted a hand and pointed ahead. “Left.”

  They turned their horses as directed, leaving the brighter streets behind and slipping into narrower ways where shadows gathered and the city grew hushed around them.

  They rode for a long while before reaching a solitary cottage set apart from the others, its shape crouched low against the dark. No lamp glowed within, and Darius wondered if the place was abandoned.

  Marshal slid down from behind Favian, shifted back to his real self, and walked up to the door. Favian and Darius followed, dismounting quietly. Marshal knocked three times. A moment passed, then a lamp flared to life inside.

  The door opened.

  Favian’s face broke into a smile at once. “Tilda.”

  He stepped forward and embraced her, and she returned it just as quickly, shock and joy plain on her face. Tears welled as she pulled back. “I thought you were dead,” she said, voice unsteady.

  “Not yet,” Favian replied with a soft laugh.

  She ushered them inside at once. The cottage was dim, the air warm. “Forgive the darkness,” Tilda said as she closed the door. “We keep the lights out. Lamps carry too far at night.”

  “That’s wise,” Favian said. “You were always the brightest among us.”

  She smiled at him, and Darius caught the look that passed between them. It was something deeper than friendship.

  They moved into another room, and lamps were lit one by one. A large round table stood at the centre, with two men and a woman already seated. One of the men, curly black hair falling into his eyes, rose and pulled Favian into an embrace.

  “Tristan,” Favian said, grinning. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Good to see you alive,” Tristan replied.

  Tilda gestured to the others. “Cormac. Brenna.”

  Both offered warm greetings, which Favian returned. Then he turned to Darius. “This is my friend, Kriger.”

  They welcomed him with nods and quiet smiles.

  “Please,” Tilda said, motioning to the table. “Sit. You must be tired.”

  Darius took a seat as the room settled. For the first time, in a long while, he felt a little excited. If they were friends of Favian it meant they could be trusted.

  More Truthers meant they were even more formidable than before.