The guide was not surprised, but he did watch in silence as the Paladin prayed. He had arranged three slightly oval stones around an ember he had taken from the fire. On them, he placed a small waterskin on one, a gold ring on another—which he removed from his left hand—and on the middle one, a small reliquary that always hung from his neck beneath his robes. Apparently, it held prayers or something of the sort. He recited a few words that Anthos did not quite catch, and the ember flared for an instant as if someone were blowing on it. He gathered his belongings and, after a bow toward the sun, rose to his feet.

  The morning came cold, but with a sun that began to take shape through a thin red line on the horizon, turning the few clouds into pink tufts of cotton in the clearing sky. In little time, they gathered the few things from their makeshift camp and pressed on, following Ertai’s trail, which, though fading, was still fairly visible.

  Around midday, with the trail now even clearer, they spotted something in the distance. It didn’t look like a person, but rather a cart. As they drew closer, they realized it was a traveling peddler, carrying all his goods in wooden crates strapped to his back. Just looking at him felt exhausting. He was no young man either, but someone already advanced in years.

  “Is it normal for a peddler to be this far south of the city, in Trabarioth?” asked Kalen.

  “It’s not the most common thing, but it’s not all that unusual either. The southern orc territories, as I mentioned before, are quite civilized and usually trade their own goods, especially between the towns of Epsilia and Arghonia. They have no problem dealing with foreign merchants.”

  “Well, maybe we can resupply quickly. And perhaps he’s seen something that could help us. After all, he’s right on the trail we’re following.”

  As they approached, the peddler noticed the travelers and raised his staff in greeting, the tip of which bore an unlit lantern. His weathered face showed a scruffy, graying beard, the result of several days without a proper shave. His head was covered by a leather cap that also shielded his ears.

  “Good day, good day, gentlemen,” he said, his smile widening even further. “What fortune to come across civilized folk these days! Not that the orcs of Trabarioth aren’t civilized, of course not, but their civilization is a little…”

  “Uncivilized?” said Anthos with sarcasm, glancing sideways at his companion.

  “Yes! No—no, that’s not the word…” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Rustic! Their civilization strikes me as rustic. And after several days in their lands, don’t be surprised if I let out a roar or two now and then.”

  Anthos looked him up and down but found nothing strange. After Ertai’s betrayal, it was going to be difficult not to expect the worst from people. Even so, this man looked very much like all the other merchants he had ever seen. Maybe he took advantage of the better weather to travel north, and that’s why he’s on foot. After all, the south of Trabarioth is somewhat warmer, he thought.

  Kalen, for his part, kept a polite smile, showing distant cordiality without the slightest hint of hostility.

  “Would you like to see something I have for sale?” he asked, lowering a few crates. “I would be most honored if you bought some of my excellent goods, and I’d have a double benefit: I’d lighten my load and earn a few crowns.”

  “Agreed,” said Kalen. “For the moment, we’ll need a blanket, a tinderbox, and some legumes… and if you have a wineskin, that too.”

  Anthos looked at the knight with a half-smile. He hadn’t lost his taste for life’s small comforts, not even in the middle of a mission of utmost importance. The merchant’s grin widened further—if that was even possible—and he began passing over the items the knight had requested. After the transaction, Kalen handed him a few coins.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Very fine goods,” said Anthos with a smile. “My compliments. What’s your name?”

  “Ronan, sir. And thank goodness I came across you on this beautiful winter’s day. It will only grow colder to the north, I imagine.”

  “You imagine correctly. I’d like to know something… Have you by any chance crossed paths with a man? He was dressed in some black leather garments, with long black hair and blue eyes. Skin as pale as marble. You may have seen him—he’s headed the same way we are.”

  Kalen glanced sideways at the guide. The little man named Ronan began tapping his foot against the ground, his nervousness evident. Anthos’s expression hardened, his gaze fixed firmly on Ronan, who couldn’t hold it for long.

  “You’ve seen him, haven’t you, Ronan?” Anthos dropped the polite tone.

  “N-n-no… not at all, sir…” Ronan swallowed hard. It was obvious he was lying.

  “Listen, Ronan, we don’t have time for lies. I’m not in the mood for games. A good friend of mine was wounded, and another dear friend was kidnapped. I suppose you even saw the baby he was carrying.”

  Kalen could see Anthos’s face twist into a terrifying grimace as he stepped closer to the merchant.

  “Please, sir,” Ronan said while hurriedly packing up his things. “I don’t want any trouble, I know nothing of a man in black, with blue eyes, or a baby with white hair…”

  Anthos and Kalen’s eyes met, both opening wide.

  “Who said the baby had white hair?” the paladin asked.

  “Oh, damn…” said the peddler, immediately pointing a finger at the guide. “He did, at some point.”

  “The baby does have white hair… but I wasn’t the one who said it. You’re starting to test my patience, Ronan…”

  At that moment, Kalen ‘Fal pulled Anthos a few paces aside, laying a hand on his shoulder to give the poor man a moment’s reprieve.

  “Listen, Anthos, I’m not one for coercion or torture to get information. Let me try offering him some money. Maybe then he’ll talk.”

  Reluctantly, the former mercenary stayed a few paces away. He watched as Kalen approached the peddler and began to speak with him. The knight showed him a pouch of gold, but Ronan kept shaking his head. Anthos thought that either Ertai had paid him more to keep quiet or he had threatened him. Every passing second meant the baby was farther away. They had barely rested in order to catch up, and now they were wasting precious time.

  Anthos’s patience had reached its limit. He strode toward the merchant and, without a word—much to Kalen’s surprise—delivered a heavy punch square to his nose.

  “Talk, damn you! Spit it out, you filthy little wretch!” he barked, seizing him by the throat.

  Almost instantly, blood began streaming from Ronan’s nose.

  “Anthos!” shouted Kalen.

  “Silence, Sir Kalen! My turn now. Are you going to talk or not?” Anthos struck his nose again. The man began to sob. Anthos hurled him to the ground and drove a kick into his stomach. The merchant spat a mouthful of blood and stared at Anthos in sheer terror as the paladin lunged at him again.

  “Stop!” the knight roared, pulling him back just in time.

  “Let me go! I’ll beat you to death, Ronan, if you don’t tell me what I want to know!”

  “Enough! For Leiorus’s sake, enough!” the battered merchant wept, his face a mess of blood, snot, and tears. “He said he’d come back and feed me to a basilisk if I ever spoke!” he finally cried.

  “What…?” The guide’s eyes went wide as he looked at him in disbelief.

  The man broke down into wailing sobs. Kalen ‘Fal stepped away, clutching his head in both hands.

  “He said…” Ronan could barely speak through his tears. “He said he controlled the monsters… I didn’t believe him until…” He swallowed hard. “Until he summoned a deformed worm from the earth—a seven-headed thing as thick as an arm. It was grotesque, obscene, and I… I panicked. He told me nothing more, only threatened me and took some hides. The last I saw of him, he was heading toward the Forest of Storms, near the northern edge. I swore I wouldn’t tell a soul. Please, don’t hit me anymore. I’m just a man trying to earn a living! I fear for my family… If I die, my children will be left without a father and… what will become of them?”

  “I… I’m sorry.” Anthos regained control of himself, though shame weighed heavily on him.

  “Happy now?” Kalen said, handing Ronan a purse of crowns before striding toward the northern border of the forest.

  Anthos glanced one last time at the merchant, still struggling to recover from the beating, and felt a deep disgust for himself—a disgust he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “Gods… what’s happening to me?” he asked inwardly. Sir Kalen was entirely right and had more than enough reason to be angry, and the guide knew it.