Later that same evening, Gabriel and his company were sat around one of several campfires, hemmed in by the wagons and tents of Tulcetar’s troupe. They were hale, hearty and bedecked in clean clothes.

The group of mercenaries had all but collapsed when they reached the caravan, and Tulcetar had dutifully let them rest for as long as they pleased, which ended up being the entirety of the day. Figo’s shoulder had been seen to, and their various superficial wounds had been patched up. They all looked a good deal livelier as they sipped ale from wooden cups and feasted on bread and cheese, while rabbit sizzled over a healthy, crackling fire, which emanated comforting warmth.

The soldiers sat away from the mercenaries, at fires of their own, shooting the mercenaries an occasional glance but otherwise leaving them to eat and drink to their hearts’ content.

A tension hung in the air though, an acknowledgment of something recognized, but not said.

It was left to Vish to address the metaphorical “dragon in the den”.

“These Order of the Rising Dragon guys are actually pretty alright,” he said, as a camp follower refreshed his drink.

“I know. I’m starting to worry that we might be the bad guys in this,” Figo sulked, massaging his shoulder as he talked. The joint had been reset, but that didn’t stop it being extremely sore.

“You’re a mercenary,” Lydia reminded him, “You go where the coin is.”

“Yes, but, you don’t really believe that, do you?” Figo asked.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Lydia pointed out.

“So, you would do any job so long as the price is right?” there was a tinge of disgust in the archer’s voice.

Lydia shrugged, “Are you telling me you’ve never had to do anything,” she searched for the word, “unsavory?”

“Gabriel and Natasha don’t put us in those situations!” he hesitated before adding, with an apologetic look towards Gabriel, “Mostly.”

“Aren’t we here because you abducted some kid back in Gladstone?” Lydia retorted.

“We returned him to his fath-,” Figo stopped and rephrased, “to his home! We were doing what was best for him,” the archer sucked in his cheeks, “He just didn’t know it at the time.”

“That’s enough, Lydia,” Gabriel piped up, “Stop teasing Figo. We try not to give people a hard time around here for having a sense of ethics. If you want to rip on someone then, well, that’s what Vish is for.”

“Sure, gang up on the foreigner,” Vish said.

“It’s actually a “gang up on the heartless, selfish bastard” type of thing, but whatever helps you sleep at night,” Gabriel replied honestly.

Incidentally, Vish”s alienness for once seemed to be a non-issue. The caravan guard was made up of people from a number of different places and cultures. Gabriel picked up a smattering of Dbhorin being spoken, leagues from the desert which gave them their name, and even spotted an Impere - one of the diminutive, yellow-eyed, dusky skinned folk form the South-Eastern valleys.

“All I’m saying is that there’s going to come a point when you’ll need to make decisions that you don’t want to, and it won’t be so easy to keep that spotless conscience of yours clean,” Lydia said, re-hijacking the conversation, “Believe me when I say that working for pay is as good a moral standpoint as it gets.”

The warrior drained her mug whilst Figo’s mouth flapped wordlessly.

Gabriel leaned in, “We don’t know anything about them yet, so you can cut the soul-searching out.”

He clapped Figo on the shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain from his injured comrade.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Gabriel moved on quickly to cover the sound of Figo sucking air through his teeth, “We’ve got a chance here to suss them out before we make our next move. Just remember, not everyone who pours you a beer is a decent person.”

Vish frowned at his drink, “I’ve been judging people by the wrong standards all my life then.”

Figo sagged in on himself. He apparently decided to drop the matter, or perhaps was just too pre-occupied with more tangible pain to continue. Either way, Gabriel was grateful. Figo wasn’t looking himself, and Lydia didn’t seem in a mood for healthy debate.

They drank and supped in semi-pleasant silence after that, content to be dry, well-nourished, and free from the probability of being massacred. After they had eaten their fill, Tulcetar politely asked if he might join them.

The balding, blonde mage had dressed down for the evening, and was wearing a simple red tunic over trousers that were too thick for the weather. It was only when Tulcetar arrived that Gabriel noticed they were all similarly attired. The fresh clothes they had been given must have been spare uniform, he surmised. Either that, or red was really in this season.

“I trust you are being well looked after?” Tulcetar said, as he sat down on a foldable canvas stool his valet put down for him.

“You and your people have been most generous. We thank you for your hospitality,” Gabriel assured him.

This was mostly accurate.

From the moment the mercenaries had arrived there had been a constant stream of attendants hovering around them like flies around a pile of manure. The caravan consisted of roughly twenty individuals. Twelve of those were soldiers, one was a healer, and the rest, apart from Tulcetar, seemed to be various aides, scribes, and servants. They guarded, or attended, three closed-backed wagons, led by docile mares. The only thing anyone seemed to have in common was the red clothing they wore, and an aura of polite indifference towards Tulcetar’s guests. Gabriel and his comrades wanted for nothing, true, but they were also clearly not wanted.

“Think nothing of it,” Tulcetar said, waving away Gabriel’s thanks, “I firmly believe in the old notions of guest friendship and universal reciprocation. The world would be a much better place if people treated one another like people, don’t you think,” he said, holding out his cup for a serving girl to fill.

Gabriel looked between the two and struggled to find his tongue, “Uh, yes? What goes around comes around, and all that.”

“Precisely,” Tulcetar said emphatically.

“May I ask, Tulcetar ‘Dragon-Wing’, what takes you to Tindra?” Gabriel segued.

Tulcetar smirked, “I beg you, Thornehammer, please just call me Tulcetar, or Tulce. ‘Dragon-Wing’ is a bit of a mouthful,” he looked around conspiratorially, “and I confess I find it rather silly.”

Gabriel judged that Tulcetar was not accustomed to guarding his thoughts, so simply said, “Oh?”

“It’s a given name, offered up when we join The Order. The initiates seem to like it; it makes them feel like they are part of something, I suppose. Plus, it fosters an air of equality; we are all under the same wing, so to speak.”

Vish watched another servant offer Tulcetar some food before being dismissed, “And yeeet…” he began, before Gabriel kicked him in the shin.

Tulcetar didn’t seem to notice, “To be perfectly honest, I’ve already met a dozen others called ‘Dragon-Wing’,” he laughed, “There is a lamentable lack of originality.”

“And this ‘Order’ you mentioned, what exactly is that?” Gabriel asked, feigning ignorance.

“The Order of the Rising Dragon,” Tulcetar said, pointing at his chest, only to realise that he was wearing a different outfit, “We’re an organization dedicated to weeding out corruption, and ensuring accountability in positions of leadership.”

“Should you be telling us all this?” Gabriel tested.

Tulcetar laughed, “I just came from a recruitment drive in Methalis; I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I kept it a secret,” he sipped his wine and looked at Gabriel more seriously, “Don’t believe the slander that trickles down from Jandrir and Badanis, we’re not some cloak and dagger operation. That smear campaign come from geriatric fossils, too in love with their own power and image to entertain the notion of change. We are very much out in the open. We are shouting from the streets, and sooner or later we will have everyone listening.”

Gabriel decided not to mention that the only other member of ‘The Order’ he had met previously had been holding a clandestine meeting in a private residence when they had… Actually, there were a few reasons why Gabriel decided not to bring Hubert up.

“So, what is it that you actually do?” Figo asked, clearly hoping that something like genocide would be on the list.

“A number of things! We host rallies, we provide food and shelter to people un-homed by war or natural disasters, we even have a small hospital in Badanis!”

Figo groaned.

“All that talk about coups and rebellions is just propaganda then,” Gabriel pushed, making bold assumptions based on the little he had gleaned from Vagalad.

Gabriel’s shot in the dark hit something.

“So, I see you have heard of us after all,” Tulcetar said darkly.

Gabriel cursed himself internally, but the mage’s ire did not seem to be directed at him.

Tulcetar shuffled uneasily, “As with any group or faction, you get varying degrees of radicalism. Some of our brothers and sisters do advocate more, umm, direct methods of change, but they are the vast minority, and they are kept in check,” he said with surety.

“That,” Gabriel wondered how far he could test the other man before things went sour, “sounds a little bit like a powder keg waiting to explode.”

“It’s troubling for our image, I won’t lie,” Tulcetar sighed, “but it is one of the pitfalls of being an open community, and not having selective membership: you inevitably invite varying viewpoints,” Tulcetar sipped his beverage, “I mean, some of our members even believe in the mythology,” he scoffed.

“The mythology?” Vish asked.

“The Order of the Rising Dragon refers to the dragon lord colloquially known as ‘Ruby’. Ruby toppled ancient empires and bested dragons, humans, giants, and the like, to forge one land unified in ideology and values. It was said to be a place of virtue, where all manner of races worked together. Legend has it that most of our cultural and technological advancements stem from that time, and that Ruby even entrusted the first non-Aether beings with magic.”

“I’m familiar,” Gabriel said flatly, although he neglected to mention that he remembered the stories differently, “Well, that explains all of the red…”

Vish leaned back on his hands, “Sounds like a fairytale, to me,” he snorted.

Tulcetar smiled mirthlessly, “I mean, there is even a story that a corrupt king was blasted from his throne by the beating of Ruby’s wings - Literal winds of change,” he chuckled, “They are, indeed, fables, but every good story has a kernel of truth to it. Only the most dogmatic amongst us actually believe that Ruby has returned!” he smirked, “The rest of us are content to think that we are trying to emulate a time, fictional or not, when people worked for one another, and not against.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard the stories,” Figo said to Vish, “but I guess I shouldn’t be by now.”

Vish traced a pattern in the dirt, “Never really been one for thinking about the past.”

“Well, Ruby’s domain is commonly believed to have been in the Northern plains. Some accounts do suggest he ruled from sea to sea, but there is an absence of supporting archaeological evidence,” Tulcetar explained.

“So, you believe Ruby was real?” Gabriel surmised.

“I believe it is wholly unimportant! Stories and legends exist so that we might scrutinize ourselves in the here and now. Without them, we might not view ourselves with such a critical eye.”

Tulcetar yawned, “I would love to continue our chat, but you must excuse me, I am growing tired. I may have overexerted myself a little against those goblins. Still, hopefully I have gone some way to allaying your fears.”

Tulcetar rose to his feet, “We are not the things that go bump in the night. You are perfectly safe here,” he added.

Gabriel smiled back awkwardly, “Just one last thing before you go. Why Tindra?” he asked again, “There are far more influential cities and towns.”

“Ultimately we will be moving on to Jandrir, but we took the Southern road, rather than the route through Badanis, so that we can touch base with our representative here,” Tulcetar said, a hand politely covering his gaping mouth.

“And who might that be?”

“Oh, some local merchant. I believe he goes by the name of Goyun. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Tulcetar said his goodnights and scurried off to bed.

The mercenaries looked at one another.

Gabriel tapped his cup on his knee.

“Okay, I mean, really, who didn’t see that coming?”