By the time Fadelio had returned to the mouth of the cave, he saw Atau carry the last of the treasures out into the open. Before the warrior's eyes, a mountain of barrels and chests had been loaded onto what was left of their cart. At least the duke's men had known enough decency to leave the donkey alive. It would make their next journey much easier, though he didn't know yet where it would lead them.

“Where is Master?” Fadelio asked the bearded southerner as he came forward.

“Corco's still inside, mixing some stuff together again. Here, help with that.”

Atau pointed down to the chest by his feet, the last treasure they had to load up before they were ready to depart. Together, the two men grabbed onto the box and, with heavy groans, carried it up onto the worn wood planks. Still out of breath, Atau nodded in gratitude.

“So, now what?” he asked as he turned around and took a heavy seat next to the chest.

“Now, we go back to Etra,” Corco answered from behind.

Fadelio turned and found both Corco and Brym standing by the cave entrance. The prince carried a bowl filled with a white substance in his left, but Fadelio never even registered his master's shield hand. He could only look towards his right, where the prince held his own pony tail, cut off from his head.

“Master...” Fadelio muttered in shock.

“By the depths, what are you doing?” the incredulous voice of Corco's cousin rang out.

“I cut my hair. I also made a little something. Move over.” Corco moved to his two friends, and, after Atau had made some room, took place on top of the wagon as well.

“But... how could a prince of Medala be allowed to lose his hair? Why wouldn't you stop him?” Wide-eyed, Atau stared over to the flustered Brym.

“...wait, I didn't know the hair was special. If I knew I would have done something!” Rattled by their reactions, Brym tried to defend himself as his eyes focused on Atau in hope for an explanation.

“...the long hair is the symbol of our pride. Only a defeated warrior will cut his hair, in shame.”

“And we were defeated. Can you deny that?” Corco's calm voice answered for the confused Brym.

“This was no defeat! Look around you!” Fadelio refuted in anger.

Rather than turn towards the corpses, Corco turned away, a queasy feeling rising in his stomach. At least they hadn't eaten breakfast today. Otherwise, he was sure he would have lost his meal at the horrific sight of the dead soldiers he and Brym had passed on their way through the cave. Even so, Atau had loaded up the entire cart in the time it had taken Cprcp to stop shaking. It seemed like the new memories didn't only come with advantages.

“We lost almost everything and we were driven out of the country. You think that's a win?” the prince continued.

“With how easy these flies were to take down, why not go back and show that duke what price there is to pay for messing with men of Medala.”

“Those were only ten people... and it was far from easy. Do you have any idea how many men the duke has? You wanna battle your way through an entire army?”

“We won't have to. With our courage and master's new ideas, we can circumvent the armies and take the duke down all the same!”

“And then what? What happens after, if, your suicidal plan works out? We'll be the heathens who killed Duke Herak of Balit, brother to the bornish king. We'll be wanted men all over the continent. Don't forget that our goals are greater than just taking down one duke who was mean to us. We want to rebuild the Fastgrade Merchants. You think we can still do that once we have noble blood on our hands?”

Corco gave his overzealous attendant a stern look. Fadelio was far too prideful for his own good. If they wanted to avoid unnecessary trouble in the future, the warrior would have to change as well.

“Then what, are we just gonna run?” Atau asked the question the servant wouldn't.

“For now, we will have to disappear,” Corco nodded his head as he rubbed his fingers into the mix of talcum and oil he had improvised. Then he began to rub the cream onto his face.

“...you're whitening your skin?” his cousin asked in consternation.

“No need for that kind of look. I know. I threw my powder away halfway across the sea, but things are different now.”

“But you wouldn't even whiten your skin in Medala.”

“In Medala the whitening is done for nothing more than the vanity of the lords. Back home, everyone's got more or less the same skin color anyways. Here, things are different. If we want to disappear, we need to be less visible first.” Corco looked to his two giant companions with a frown. “...at least somewhat.”

“So we leave Borna and rebuild the company. Easy enough, but what happens if another Duke Herak comes along? There's nothing we can do if a greedy noble tries to steal our things again, is there?”

Corco felt a smile creep onto his face. Two days ago, this was the thought which had caused so much of his desperation. Back then, he didn't have an answer to the question, but now he did.

“That's easy. Imagine this: The great nobles of the Arcavian continent are all taken by the newest fad. There is a new, unique product to show off their wealth and sophistication with... and the only place they can buy it is from us. No lord would be dumb enough to steal from us then. If their greed means that our product won't be sold again, they'd draw the ire of the entire arcavian nobility, not to mention the relations we'll build with sales like that. So now that the greedy lords can't just take our things openly, what will they do? They'll have to use other means. If they come with fair competition we'll stomp them into the ground... and if they come in the night they'll never return.” Corco's voice became firm upon his assertion.

“...but what's the product? Our wine is good, but not without match. There's plenty of Balit traders eager to take our place. How can we offer something no one else can do?”

Corco looked at the frowning Brym and tapped his temple in reply.

“With this. I have more than enough ideas up here to make money with. But first, we'll need to do some marketing. Otherwise we'll just repeat what happened in Balit.”

“Marketing?” Brym's always curious eyes grew large upon encountering a strange new word.

“We'll give the lords a little taste of our new products, for free. Something of great value, which cannot be bought with money. Soon, Dukes and Kings will be begging us to sell it to them, all so they can show off the exclusive wares. How does my face look?”

Done with his disguise, Corco raised his head and turned it to let his companions get a good look at his handiwork. Atau barely failed to suppress a chuckle, while Fadelio wordlessly came forward to fix what must have been a spotty and streaky whitening.

“...so... for now we run?” Brym asked again.

“No. First we need to get back to Etra.” Corco patted the barrel next to him. “We'll need to use the alchemist's distillery. Now we even have the money to pay him.”

“Wait, the alchemist? Wasn't that the shop in the shady alley?” Atau interrupted, “Why wouldn't he just call some lowlifes and rob us blind once he sees those chests?”

“Not to worry. We will be more than enough to protect master,” Fadelio answered, still focused on applying the cream. Corco, meanwhile, shook his head, and ruined his attendant's work in the process, before he pointed to his two larger companions.

“No, you two stay behind. You stand out far too much, even in disguise. If the Duke has spies in Etra, and why wouldn't he, they'll run back to Balit the second they see you. With a bit of work and a few greased hands, me and Brym can get inside undetected. As for the alchemist: You really think that man will touch our gold once we tell him it belongs to the Duke of Balit? Don't worry, I'll make sure he doesn't get any strange ideas.”

“..and after that?” Atau asked again. His voice had become deeper, no doubt depressed at the thought of their ignoble escape.

“We'll go sightseeing for a bit. Over the next year, we'll follow the good weather and travel through Arcavia. First though, you guys will have to learn a few things. I need to get you ready for our great performance.” Under the worried looks of the remaining merchants, Corco had started to grin again. This would be fun.

With small steps, Zolo moved towards the large wooden door. As one of the duke's messengers, he was supposed to rush there, but the tightness in his heart convinced him to delay his arrival for as long as he could. He really wanted to run away. However, he knew that failure to deliver a message would have even harsher consequences than delivering bad news. Thus, he took a heart and pushed open the door.

The hall he entered was dark and stuffy. All sunlight had been robbed from the room by the large bear pelts which covered the narrow windows in the gray stone walls. The only source of light within the room came from the lavish fireplace, its flames enhancing the frightful view on the bear skull hung above it. Next to the fire, a table had been set and on it, the recipient of his message was busy with his midday meal.

“Duke Herak! There is... a message from Etra!” Zolo pretended to be out of breath. After all, it would have been his duty to run all the way here.

The duke's head shot up from his grilled meat to study his servant's face. Zolo tried to do the same, with little success. It wasn't surprising, as the whole upper half of Duke Herak's face was covered by a bronze mask, which shimmered in the flickering lights of the fire. It was a reminder of his greatest shame and his greatest triumph. The accident all those years ago had horribly disfigured the Duke. It forced him to wear his mask and shun the eyes of the public, but at the same time, his actions that day had saved the life of his brother. As a result, Duke Herak had become the favorite relative of the King of Borna. Over the years, it had allowed him much freedom to do as he liked, as he did during his unlawful seizure of the Fastgrade Merchant Company.

“At last, word from my men. You may speak.” A grand gesture to show his magnanimity. Zolo braced himself for when the Duke would lose his composure and break his facade.

“...Milord. It seems... Milord's men have perished.” The messenger's quiet voice was followed by a heavy bang. The noble fist landed in anger and shot the duke's plate off his table, precious meat and all.

“What did you say, you worm!? Those were true knights! Do you dare tell me ten Balit knights failed to take on a handful of merchants!?”

Gone was the calm, noble demeanor as the enraged Duke spat saliva and bits of meat into Zolo's face. The messenger made himself as small as he could and retained his quiet voice. This wasn't the first bad message he had delivered. He had long learned how to increase his chances for survival.

“The scouts believe that the men became the target of an ambush. They must have been outnumbered several fold. After all, without a heinous sneak attack, no knight of Balit would be defeated.” A lie, but Arcavus would forgive him for saving his hide, and for preventing the Duke from committing the sin of murder in the process.

“Lords be damned! I'll have those heathens on a spike!” At least for now, the enraged Duke was no longer focused on Zolo. Instead, he looked to unleash his anger on the poor merchants he had stolen from. “Where are they now? Have the scouts not taken them in yet?”

“Unfortunately... the guards on Etra's east walls swear that it has been at least eight days since the merchants left the city with the Balit knights in tow. No one has seen them since and the scouts are unsure where they went from there.

“Useless, the lot of you!” A goblet flew towards Zolo, but he made no attempt to dodge. Getting wet was a cheap price to pay for his life. “Take a thousand gilders from the treasury! I want every man in Borna, no, every man in Arcavia to know that it will be theirs if they bring me the heads of the heathen merchants! I'll show those rats what it means to defy the bear of Borna!”

“Yes, Milord!” With a bow, Zolo turned on his heels and left the room, his steps much faster than on his entry. He could feel the sweat trickling down his brow. Again, he had survived.