Just pump the moss on my head with mana. No, it couldn’t have been that easy. It revived it, and surprisingly quickly. Still, I approached it with caution. The over-watering was terrible for the flowers, so I decided to treat mana the same way. Not too much, not too little. It took patience with the flowers, but the results of good care were always heart-warming.

Like the almost glistening moss on my head right now.

It lifted my spirits, soothed the pain, didn’t last long, though. The moment Deckard and I emerged from the labyrinth, the uneasiness, forgotten by the beating I took, and the worry of a gift adorning the crown of my head, returned along with thoughts of dread. My mind was flooded with images, most of them revolving around a table I was strapped to, unable to move while the Imperial Chief Healer cut into me.

“Is he here yet? Lord Wigram?” I asked, keeping up with Deckard as we walked through the city.

“Hmm...” He grumbled, thinking. “If he’s on schedule, unlike Sah, he should be here in less than two hours.”

“Good.” I breathed, feeling a little relieved.

“Though long-distance travel is rarely so punctual,” he added, and my unease deepened. “He may arrive a few hours early or be delayed.”

Bloody hell. I bit my lip as I marched on, each step heavier than the last. The weights on my legs seemed out of control. A foolish notion when I knew full well the not-knowing was the cause of the unbearable dread. It was killing me.

By the time we reached City Barracks, I was drenched in a cold sweat.

One look at the gate, and I knew. He was here. In front of the main gate where two guards usually stood were two others with them. Not the city guards, though.

Their uniforms bore a similar design, except for two pieces of cloth pinned on a standard blue hip-length jacket like pauldrons on armor. Safe for the white hem, these ‘pauldrons were the same violet color as their shirts. If this piece of cloth had any practical use, I didn’t see it. All I could think of was it differentiated them from the city guards at first glance.

Seeing them standing there, I faltered. Deckard didn’t. So I followed. Only a coward would flee, right? We got closer, and I noticed a more subtle distinction their uniforms bore. They were decorated with gold coin-sized buttons as opposed to silver ones.

A few more steps and I saw their classes.

[Imperial Soldier: lvl ??]

[Imperial Soldier: lvl ??]

No surprises there, except for their levels. They could match the master guards. I swallowed and used the union ring. “Are all soldiers this strong?”

“If they were, Sahal would control all of Eleaden,” Deckard said with amusement in his inner voice. “No, these two are Special Units.”

“How do you know?” Was it the fabric on their shoulders?

“First of all, it’s their levels. Then, the row of pins on their lapels,” he said as we reached the gate.

“Halt!” roared the man, an imperial soldier. I looked at the white lapels of his jacket and the pins on them. Five on each side, round like buttons, but smaller, each engraved with runes. “Who are you, and what is your business here?”

Unlike my experience with the guards, this one was quite rude. Perhaps stricter was the right word.

Deckard glanced at the guardsmen, the elder of whom shrugged helplessly, and back at the imperial soldier, nodding at me. “I’m here to make sure no harm comes to her, boy,” he said with cold in his voice.

“You...protecting her?” Remarkably, the imperial soldier remained unfazed by the blatant provocation. “Is she a Terran princess?”

His gaze, like that of his colleague, fell on me.

“More like a beggar,” remarked the other.

Stifling the urge to hide behind Deckard’s back, I straightened up instead, looking back sharply.

“She’s the reason you’re here,” my mentor said sternly.

The soldier sneered. “We were not ordered to protect her.”

Oh, the man didn’t know. Or so he pretended, giving the impression that they were ordered to guard the Imperial Chief Healer, nothing more. But only a fool would believe that. If they were to watch the Lord, they had to know what they were walking into.

“Frankly, I don’t care about your orders, boy,” Deckard replied. “Are you letting us in or not.”

“You’ve given me no reason to let you into the barracks, fighter,” he said with disdain in his voice. Even so, he was careful with his provocation, not going too far.

“He is...” That was all the guardswoman, the younger of the pair of guards, managed to say before she had the other imperial soldier’s sword at her throat. “Stay out of this.”

[Guardswoman: lvl ?]

The woman intended to help, calm and resolve the situation, which did not meet with the understanding of the imperial soldiers. All she could do was grit her teeth and glare back. My fingers brushed against my neck. I felt with her the helplessness I knew. Opposing would only lead to more hardship and pain.

“I did,” Deckard replied. “You ignored it.”

“Again, you’ve given me no reason to let you in,” the man growled back.

Remembering Rayden’s concerns about my mentor, I was worried that this verbal confrontation would lead to a fight. It didn’t. It may well have been my presence that held Deckard back, but he just raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “So you say. We’re leaving, girl.”

He turned his back to the gate and headed back the way we’d come, with me by his side, silent even though my mind was full of questions.

“Son of a bitch!...” the imperial soldier’s curse reached my ears before his next words were lost in the bustle of the street we were walking down. Looking back, I made sure we weren’t followed. Paranoia, many would say. Bad experience, I would argue. However, my instincts were silent, no prick-up hair on the back of my neck.

“They’re not following us,” Deckard said, noticing my unease.

“How do you know?” Stupid question, the realization of which hit me as soon as it left my mouth. His domain was impressive, much larger than mine.

“It would hurt their pride.” Not the answer I was expecting. “There.”

Soldiers, where? Looking around, I found myself in a small square and Deckard gesturing to a small restaurant on it. The place was strangely devoid of people for being just off the main street. The square, enclosed by medieval-style houses typical of Castiana, looked lovely. It was just the lack of trees that I missed. A citywide issue, if I may say so.

That’s why the restaurant, called Dora’s Kitchen, with its windows adorned with pots of overhanging plants in bloom, got my attention right away. Yet the flowers were not the only reason for my interest. The place seemed alive. A few tables outside were full with people in a good mood, and most importantly, a marvellous smell wafted from the front door.

There was no more room inside than the outside gave away. Just four tables, of which only one empty, no counter, and the kitchen door. I found this place to my liking. It was...cozy.

“Deckard,” came a woman’s voice booming from the half-open kitchen door, and an older woman walked out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Good to see you. How long has it been...?”

“A few weeks,” he said, uncertainty in his voice, perhaps even guilt. “Maybe a month or two.”

“I fear the day you don’t come back from that damn labyrinth.” She sighed, her eyes falling on me, sparkling. “I see you brought a young lass with you. She’s your...?”

Fluttering my wings, I raised my hand to stop her before she got the wrong impression. Deckard thwarted my efforts when he immediately nodded. “...yes, she is.”

The woman, no doubt Dora, the restaurant owner, clasped her hands together and bawled her eyes out. “Oh my. Take your seats. I’ll bring you my specialty. On the house.”

Not quite sure whether I should be flustered or take it as it was, I followed Deckard’s example and sat down at an empty table. Dora showed up with two plates of steaming food a few breaths later. Some kind of shrimp in a sauce on sprouts. There was no better way to describe it, but the smell made me drool.

“Enjoy your meal,” she said, sitting down. “So, apprentice? Talk.”

It wasn’t hard to figure they’d known each other long and well. Dora knew right away I wasn’t here on a date with him and spoke to him as to her child. He, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to tell her how we met, omitting a few details, of course.

Meanwhile, I tried to quietly enjoy the shrimps. They were simply divine. Yet neither have I escaped the chef’s gossip-seeking ears and had to answer a few of her nosy questions.

“Dora, I have to warn you, the city guards will be looking for us,” Deckard told her after she managed to get some gossip out of me. She waved him off. “That’s nothing new. You’ve been a troublemaker since you were little.”

“Maybe you could keep an eye on him, Korra,” she added, winking at me. I glanced up from my nearly empty plate and paused. On him? Me?

He laughed. “She’s more trouble than you think.”

“Like master, like apprentice, huh?” Shaking her head, she laughed too. Me, I fought the urge to lick the plate while trying to keep the two out of my mind as much as I could. I didn’t know Dora well enough to open up to her like Deckard. Her questions made me uncomfortable.

“Oh, want more?” She noticed my empty plate. I shook my head. “The food was excellent, but I’m full.”

“Another satisfied customer. Everyone likes my sewer shrimps,” she said proudly and smiled when she saw my puzzled expression. “...and react the same way.”

“What? Oh, no...” I said quickly. “I just...I thought Castiana didn’t have sewers.” Or the sea, for that matter. Fallens Cry, perhaps?

“That is true. If you want, I can tell you the story of how they got their name.” She offered, but Deckard stopped her. “Maybe another time, Dora. Please...”

“Is it the time?” she asked knowingly.

“Almost,” he replied warmly.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Korra.” She got up from the table and took the plates. Then before she disappeared into the kitchen, she looked at Deckard. “I’m glad you finally found an apprentice. Take good care of her.”

I couldn’t even bring myself to say goodbye as bliss from a wonderful lunch quickly turned to dread. Time for what? Most likely, to be found.

“Soldiers?” I asked, not too loud and careful with my words.

He shook his head. “I told you they won’t chase us. They’re gonna leave that job to the city guards.”

“Why?” The whole incident outside the barracks gate didn’t make sense to me.

“Look, those guys knew exactly who we were. Just a pissing contest to show us they’re in charge now.” He said.

“Are they?” Worry crept into my voice.

“As long as the Imperial Chief Healer is there, they are in charge of security at the barracks. Don’t worry, San’s not going to let them fuck around that easy.” He assured me, leaning towards me. “But remember, don’t back down to them. You do it once, and they’ll walk over you all the time.”

Oh, that’s what it was all about. To show we’re not gonna be pushed around. Still... “Won’t they be pissed at us?”

“That’s for sure,” he grinned. His enthusiasm for the trouble it may have brought wasn’t something I shared. “If they try some shit, they’ll regret it,” he added loud enough for two city guards who just walk into the restaurant to hear.

Smirks flashed across both their faces. They knew full well that the remark was not directed at them but the imperial soldiers occupying their fort.

“Sir, miss, we’ve been ordered to take you to the barracks,” said the taller of the two politely, refraining from saluting. There was no doubt that they knew Deckard from before he took the path of the seeker. Or at least they’ve heard of him. The man in question just smiled slightly and then, without a word, gestured to me.

He was trying to be cultured, leaving the decision to the lady, something that didn’t quite fit with him and I wasn’t used to. Though I knew he was just in a good mood after meeting Dora.

“We’d better go then,” I said, giving in to his play, struggling to sound noble and not to let worry into my voice as I beckoned to the door.

Accompanied by them, we returned to the barracks quite swiftly, and this time we made it through the gate without too much trouble. As we walked through, the tension between Decard and the imperial soldiers was palpable, but none of them said a word.

The two at the gate weren’t the only ones throwing daggers at us with their eyes. I felt like we were a thorn in every imperial soldier’s side. All because of Deckard and his... well, I got why he did it, not so sure he thought it through. He was strong, there was no denying that. Could he have fought an entire unit of soldiers, though? Hmm...

When we arrived at the massive door of the room in which I had explained what had happened in Esulmor yesterday, I had to suppress a shudder. The tension between Deckard and the soldiers made me forget for a while, lunch at Dora’s had lifted my fears completely, but now they were back with even more force. The trepidation gripped my heart so hard I lost my breath.

“Janina is going to freak out,” Blaine remarked, standing guard at the door. In my panic, I didn’t even notice him, nor the female soldier standing on the other side. Janina? Why would she freak out? No doubt the swordmaster’s eyes were on me. Was it my hair then? It was hard to keep it combed during practice.

My gaze wandered to the woman, an imperial soldier, guarding the door as Blaine. I assumed the short sides long top was a male hair code in the army, however she was cut exactly the same. Perhaps her top was a little longer. I touched my hair, worried that when the Imperial Chief Healer was done with me, I’d be clean-shaven?

A faint yelp escaped my throat as the door opened. I was expecting the butcher, Janina appeared in the doorway instead.

“Finally,” she gushed when she saw Deckard. “What took you so long...Traina’s tits, no...” She grew aggravated as her eyes fell on me.

“What?” I asked, straightening my mane in haste.

She growled at Deckard and grabbed my hand. “You can’t show up like this in front of my mentor.”

“Told you so,” I heard Blaine saying while being dragged by the angry healer.

“Why can’t I? Where are we going?” I asked, confused.

“Bathrooms,” she barked gruffly. “You’re filthy, you stink. Argg... I’ll have to give you some of my clothes.”

Oh, there was no arguing with that. I was covered in dirt, sweaty, and my clothes smelled even worse, the result of intensive training in Fallens Cry. But until now, no one has complained like her, not even Dora in her restaurant.

It was the quickest and most awkward bath I’ve ever had. The last time I had my back scrubbed and my hair washed was when I was a kid by my mom, and it wasn’t in cold water. Less than ten minutes later, I was back at the door, clean and in new clothes. Janina even gave me slippers. Unfortunately, her boots were too small for my feet.

Neither Blaine, Deckard, nor the female soldier commented on it, not wanting to cross her. Only after the pissed-off healer fixed Deckard’s shirt did she let us in.

There were more soldiers and guards against the walls in the room, but my eyes were glued to the old man sitting at the table in the middle, engrossed in a discussion with Rayden. Seeing Captain, who promised nothing would happen to me, eased my worries a little.

“Mentor,” Janina addressed him respectfully. The man, without any doubt in my mind the Imperial Chief Healer, raised his head, glancing at her. There was a certain sadness and resignation in his eyes. “I said you didn’t have to call me that anymore.”

Heedless of his request, she gestured to us. “You know this one...and this is his apprentice, Korra Grey.”

“Sir,” Deckard greeted him. The disapproving grunts of the soldiers, which the Imperial Chief Healer had to silence with a motion of his hand, made it clear that this was not the correct form of address. However, he didn’t mind.

When he got up, I was surprised at how tall the old man was, at least a head and half taller than me. He held himself straight, and for his age, he was brimming with vitality. “I remember. The young man who was getting my apprentice into trouble all the time. That doesn’t seem to have changed.”

“You’ve gotten stronger,” he added, smiling, then his unnaturally blue eyes fell on me.

I swallowed. Despite nearly drowning in the bathtub a moment ago, my throat was dry.

“Lord Wigram,” I gave my greeting with a slight nod, the words catching in my throat. Judging by the reaction of the soldiers, even that was not the right address. Correct etiquette was the last thing on my mind, though.

The old man’s gaze was sharp and piercing. He was judging me and didn’t hide it. He had no reason to. It was no secret why he was here. Not to those present. So I resisted my instincts telling me to growl, cower or hide from his eyes and forced myself to stand still with my mouth shut. I hardly dared to breathe. How could I?

[Grand Healer: lvl ???]