The following day and night passed peacefully, despite the drizzle that had begun to fall. They had managed to cross the Orein River without trouble, using a massive transporter that could fit not only themselves and their horses but also five or six more people. No further tension arose between the paladin and the elf; the only thing left between them were the fleeting glances exchanged now and then.

  Kalen had asked Amadis the bard for a poem to gift Begryn when the moment was right. However, according to his own mind, that moment hadn’t arrived just yet. Galfrido noticed those exchanged looks but kept it to himself, displaying a level of stoicism surprisingly mature for someone of his nature.

  The next morning, with heavier rain now falling, they saw a wooden sign nailed to an old, twisted tree, pointing toward an inn on the road to the south. It was surely one of those rundown inns frequented by miners, farmers, and the occasional Doknar guard assigned to patrol the outer villages. They were far enough south now to begin setting aside concerns of being pursued. Their only worry was making sure Drako didn’t attract curious eyes—and for that, he had to remain covered.

  “Thank Kramer, I’ll finally get to taste a proper beer again…” exclaimed Galfrido as he saw the chimney smoke in the distance, rubbing his arms against the cold and wet.

  “Drako could use some warmth too,” added Begryn, looking down at the child in her arms, clearly upset by the cold and damp.

  They advanced several more paces until finally, the two-story building serving as the inn came into view. It was built of stone and wood, nestled into a small hollow. Stables were attached on the side facing the mountains, visibly empty. Through the windows, the orange glow of firelight was visible, along with the general murmur of people inside.

  Upon entering, they were greeted by a mix of scents—drinks, food, and spices: saffron, pepper, and rosemary. The bar was directly in front of the entrance, run by an old but stocky man with a thick mustache and an eye patch. A blonde girl bustled from table to table, taking orders. On the left was a large wood-burning stove, flames dancing inside, surrounded by five empty chairs. To the right, there were six tables, each with several loud men. They cursed, laughed boisterously, and shoved each other. They looked like miners or perhaps lumberjacks, though by their appearance they could easily pass for bandits.

  However, at a table in the back, Kalen noticed a pair of shields resting at the base with the heraldry of Doknar. It was evident that the men occupying it were guards on a break, at best.

  “Beer!” shouted Galfrido, seating himself on a bench by the fire. Almost instantly, the waitress—who couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old—took the order with a smile and disappeared behind the bar.

  “At last! That damn rain was going to freeze us to death…”

  “The weather might be better by tomorrow. If it isn’t, we’ll wait here until it clears up—mostly for the child’s sake,” added Kalen.

  The young woman returned with the drinks, and they immediately ordered food. The house specialty was “herb-roasted chicken,” which they didn’t hesitate to accept.

  Kalen kept his habits hidden under his brown cloak, while Begryn wrapped Drako in her own violet one. Galfrido, meanwhile, removed his greatsword from his back, leaned it against the wall, and relaxed.

  They began to consider that perhaps someone here knew a way through the Ramei Mountains. If anyone would know, it would be someone at this inn—it was the last one on the road south. However, they couldn’t go around asking people one by one, as it might jeopardize their mission.

  They were deep in this discussion when, near sunset, the door suddenly opened.

  A silhouette appeared in the doorway, and with a few steps, it resolved into a clear figure: a man of medium age, fairly tall, with black hair—short, though slightly overgrown at the fringe—and a well-trimmed beard. He wore a long, worn black leather coat of very good quality, knee-high black boots, and dark trousers. Under the coat, a blood-red shirt with thin black stripes, and a moss-green scarf wrapped around his neck.

  “Aaahhh… about time,” he said upon entering, narrowing his sky-blue eyes beneath thick eyebrows, brushing the damp fringe from his face with one hand. He walked toward the bar, nodding politely to those present.

  “Innkeeper, I’d like to buy your finest beer, please!”

  His accent was Trabariothan, though certain word endings carried a hint of Elbarien.

  The burly innkeeper, without a word, looked at the waitress and motioned with his head. The girl nodded and, upon seeing the new visitor, blushed uncontrollably. A few minutes after the traveler sat at one of the tables, she returned with his drink. Before leaving, she winked at him, and he returned the gesture with a smile.

  “He seems like he’s from Trabarioth,” Kalen ‘Fal whispered.

  “We can’t be sure. He might be from Elbarie too. Still, there has to be someone from Trabarioth in these parts… or at least someone who knows a pass,” the elf muttered, pulling the cloak tighter around the baby, who had begun to squirm. “That man gives me a bad feeling. There must be someone else.”

  “Come on, sweetheart, pour another one!” one of the supposed guards suddenly yelled, slapping the waitress on the rear.

  “Want some?” said the young woman with a smug smile on her face. She immediately grabbed one of the beers and poured it over the head of the gray-haired soldier.

  “You filthy bitch!” he shouted, standing up, partly embarrassed and partly furious. “Who the hell do you think you are? Do you know who you’re dealing with?”

  They saw the barkeeper lower his head, pretending not to notice. “He probably has some sort of deal with the guards, either for protection or business,” thought Galfrido, well acquainted with the workings of martial corruption.

  The guard grabbed her arm tightly and slapped her tray with his other hand, knocking several mugs of beer to the floor.

  “Looks like someone needs a bit of discipline. Old Cathluf can give it to you right away, no problem, little whore.” The other guards laughed.

  “Let me go!”

  Galfrido stood up, rage etched across his face, but Kalen stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and gestured toward the table of the newcomer, who was downing the last of his beer and rising to his feet.

  He walked over to the table and stared at the three men without changing the expression on his face. That’s when they noticed the weapons he carried. A crossbow was slung over his right shoulder, and an unrecognizable type of sword hung from his belt. Judging by its sheath, the blade seemed thin and flexible, though not short by any means. The crossguard had a circular clasp with finely carved curves in the shape of a nude woman, and the grip was clearly designed for one-handed use.

  “What the hell are you looking at?” said the spokesman, the so-called Cathluf, still holding the blonde girl by the arm.

  “Well, where I’m from, we don’t treat young ladies like that.”

  “This isn’t your land, dumbass.”

  “Clearly not. In Trabarioth, you lot would never make it as guards. Now let the girl go…”

  “Oh yeah? You and —?”

  He didn’t get to finish. In a flash, the newcomer headbutted him straight in the nose, breaking it and sending him crashing to the floor, knocking over the table and sending his chair flying backward.

  The other two men started to rise, but the stranger unsheathed his thin sword with one hand and his crossbow with the other at lightning speed. One weapon for each idiot.

  “Now, let’s not make a scene. As I said, in my homeland we don’t treat ladies like this… am I making myself clear?” He offered a half-smile, his brow furrowed, a flash of cold fury now visible in his eyes.

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  “You’re going to pay for this!” said the man on the ground, trying to get up, dazed, his nose bleeding profusely.

  “No, I won’t. And now get out. You’ve disturbed the peace here enough and bothered these good people. Wait a minute… are you even guards? Leiorus, help us! Doknar is in great hands, huh?” he said, raising his hands to the heavens. “If you don’t leave right now, I’ll do something worse than beat and humiliate you… I’ll file a formal complaint at your post with your sergeant. Corporal, I presume?”

  The newcomer glanced at the distinctive insignia on one of the bracelets on the arm of the blood-nosed man—“That’s what I thought. Well then, Corporal, I’m waiting.”

  Kalen narrowed his eyes. It was clear from the man’s words that he was thoroughly familiar with military ranks, as well as how to apply pressure to subordinates. The guards, begrudgingly, gathered their things and left the inn—not without shooting one last glare at the barmaid, who seemed quite pleased with the performance of that simple-looking, slim-built man.

  “He’s from Trabarioth… and he must have been military, or at the very least has experience in some militia. I’m sure of it,” said Kalen.

  “Absolutely agree,” Galfrido nodded.

  “Do as you wish,” Begryn muttered, knowing she had lost the argument. She turned away with little Drako in her arms to stare into the fire. Galfrido looked at his friend and shrugged.

  A few minutes later, once calm had returned to the tavern, Kalen stood up and walked over to the man, who was now quietly sipping from his mug while exchanging glances with the waitress.

  “That was well done,” the man looked at the paladin, who still wore his cloak over his garb. However, with a second glance, he noticed the hilt of the immaculate sword and the glint of chainmail at his collar. “My name is Kalen ‘Fal, and I was wondering if we could buy you a drink.”

  “Pleasure, Kalen ‘Fal. My name is Anthos, and one more beer is always welcome.”

  He seemed pleased by the recognition and the invitation. As he approached the group, he introduced himself to each one, holding their gaze for a brief moment as he heard their names, and tried—unsuccessfully—to get a glimpse of the baby resting in Begryn’s arms. They introduced the child simply as Drako, giving no further details and doing their best to conceal his true nature.

  They noticed that, by the fire, the moisture from Anthos’s long coat began to rise as steam, as did the water in his hair.

  “I liked the way you stood up to those guys, Anthos,” said Galfrido with a half-smile, raising his mug. “Not every day you see someone take a stand these days.”

  “Or maybe you're after something more?” added Begryn, hinting at ulterior motives with the girl.

  “My world for a beautiful young woman,” Anthos replied shamelessly, grinning and flashing a row of bright white teeth.

  “I suppose you're all the same,” the elf said, turning her head in displeasure, while Galfrido smiled.

  “Do you mean men, or humans in general?” Anthos took a long sip from the freshly delivered beer.

  The elf didn’t return a word or even a glance, but she understood the pointed reference to the racism her people often showed toward humans.

  “Whatever your reason was for standing up to those guards… thugs,” Kalen said, using a scornful tone for the final word, “it showed great courage. Even if that courage is sometimes used to chase earthly pleasures.”

  “Hey, don’t judge me, man! I’m just a guy who helped a young lady. I simply enjoy the benefits that come with the effects of my actions.”

  “Ha!” Galfrido raised his mug of beer again and downed it almost immediately in one gulp.

  “I appreciate the hospitality, the kind gesture of the invitation, and, of course, the pleasant company,” Anthos said, pausing briefly. “But I’d like to get to the point. If I accepted your invitation in the first place, sir Kalen ‘Fal”—the knight narrowed his gray eyes at the word—“it’s because you caught my attention the moment I arrived at this inn. A strange elf—no offense—but I’ve never seen a member of your race with your features; a huge warrior with a sword almost as long as I am tall; a Dorlan knight… and a baby. I’m not stupid. So, elf friend… Begryn, right? Did you invite me because you liked me, or are you ‘looking for something else’?”

  “You’re from Trabarioth, aren’t you?” Begryn asked.

  Anthos nodded. “I’m from many places… but yes, I’ve lived in Trabarioth.”

  “I’ll be brief and straight to the point. We need to cross into Trabarioth and reach the Frozen City.”

  “Impossible this time of year, sir Kalen,” he emphasized, shaking his head. “All the passes are closed. You’ll have to wait until spring, if you’re lucky.”

  “We don’t have that kind of time,” Kalen responded bluntly. “This is urgent… the kind of matter that would lead a knightly order to send one of their own.” A certain degree of arrogance could be detected in his tone, typical of those born into nobility.

  “Well… good luck with that,” Anthos said, finishing his drink and standing up. “Assuming you manage to get over all the snow or climb the mountains, I doubt the kid would survive. And judging by the urgency you’re showing, I assume the child is the main reason you need to reach the Frozen City. Am I wrong? Some bastard royal child or something? You know what? I don’t care.”

  “Wait…” Begryn looked up and met his gaze. Anthos saw the purple sea in her eyes that seemed to have a life of its own, surrounding tiny pupils that reflected no light whatsoever. “This is something we truly need. It’s life or death.”

  “And we can pay.”

  “We can?” Galfrido asked, turning his head to look at his friend.

  Anthos sighed and, for a moment, glanced again at the waitress, who hadn’t stopped watching him with the urgency only teenagers could express. Then he looked at the baby—and for some strange reason, Kalen noticed something in his gaze that hadn’t been there before: a hint of sadness. Begryn seemed to notice it too, as she lowered her eyes and clenched her jaw slightly. But almost immediately, she returned to her usual cynical expression.

  “It’s not going to be cheap. You know that, right?”

  “What’s your price?”

  “Three hundred crowns. And I’m not covering supplies or transport.”

  Galfrido’s eyes widened at the exorbitant amount. He mentally calculated how many weapons and pieces of armor that kind of gold could buy.

  “Deal.”

  Though the arrangement seemed strictly business, both Kalen and Begryn had sensed that Anthos’s decision to help them went beyond the money or wealth. Something had stirred in Anthos when he looked at the child. And the paladin, who despised having to negotiate a price, accepted without hesitation.

  After a few minutes of casual conversation, both Begryn and Galfrido excused themselves and went to the rooms they had rented for the night, leaving Kalen and Anthos—the group’s new guide—by the fire. The knight seemed quite content, sipping wine from his flask. It was a common noble custom to have a refined palate for good drinks, and he was no exception.

  “A little more of that fine wine, please! And a mug of beer for the man here!” Kalen called after a while.

  The young woman came over, handed them their drinks, and walked away—but not before flashing a smile at the new guide, which he returned in kind.

  “All of this feels very strange to me,” Anthos finally said.

  “A job is a job,” Kalen replied, sipping his wine.

  “I’ve done many jobs, but nothing quite like this… not because of the task, but because of the group. Though, if I understood correctly, all I have to do is act as a guide.”

  “That’s right, my friend.”

  He paused for a second and took a slow sip. Night had fully fallen, and there were only a few people left in the inn. Most were from a nearby village that didn’t even appear on the map—mining villages were often like that.

  “Well, if we’re going to travel together for a while, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Sir Kalen?”

  “Mmm… about me. Not much to tell. I was born and raised in Doknar, served as squire to the great Sir Rhien Mildavar, and he was the one who knighted me. As soon as I passed my trials, I became a paladin of the Order of Reidos. I met Galfrido during a period I spent in a village, during one of my final trials as an initiate. As for Begryn… I met her a bit later.” He took another drink, this time a bit longer. “And what about you, man of the frozen lands?”

  “Not much, honestly. I was born in Trabarioth with the name Cédric Gunthelaar. When I was very young, I was kidnapped and sold in a slave market. I was bought by the dueling master Akhram Nut… maybe you’ve heard of him?”

  Kalen shook his head.

  “Mmm… well. He was the one who gave me the name Anthos. Master Nut had some peculiarities, since he came from a lineage of warriors who specialized in using this sword”—he tapped the weapon at his side—“With it, they perfected the art of dueling. Since it’s an ancient sport and rarely practiced these days, he began teaching me personally with great devotion and… oh, how I learned! It was like a dance… Gods, how I miss duels.”

  “And then?”

  “Well… uh…” The knight began to notice he was getting a little nervous. “Anyway, I ended up joining the Blood Claw mercenary company, and I rose to be second-in-command under Adken the Wolf, the company’s captain. I spent nearly ten years with them. Then, due to differences in how we operated, I decided to leave and try my luck in Doknar and… here I am. Looks like fortune smiles on me, since I found work even before reaching the city. And to think I assumed this region was a total dump.”

  “I’ve heard stories about Adken the Wolf. A warrior without equal, I imagine.”

  “Yes, a true beast on the battlefield.” His gaze was now lost in the fire.

  They spent some time talking about trivial things until Anthos excused himself, stood up, and went to the bar. By that hour, there weren’t many people left in the inn, so the waitress was alone behind the bar, wiping down glasses with a rather questionable cloth.

  After a few minutes, Kalen could hear the girl’s laughter, along with that of his new guide. He smiled and went to his room.

  He spent quite a while unable to fall asleep—partly because of the laughter, thumps, and moans coming from Anthos’ room, and partly because he couldn’t stop thinking about the mission.

  And those thoughts were tangled with the presence of Begryn, the woman who had managed to steal his heart—even before he was a fully consecrated knight.

  Wandering through his musings, he eventually fell asleep.