“Either we do it this way, or we don’t do it at all,” Wyatt said while glaring at Marek. They had been arguing for some time. While they agreed upon most things in the plan, the question of who would lead the plan itself and set it in motion was the major sticking point between the two of them.

“While Ako’s suitor and her brother have been… put down,” Wyatt said, sending an apologetic look to the red-eyed Ako who was sitting at the head of the bed, “I am the one who was the Captain of the Citadel Guard. I know how to navigate through the crowd, and I know what to do in times of crisis.”

“This is my Company,” Marek said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “You may suggest a course, but don’t tell me what to do, Wyatt.”

“Marek—” Wyatt snapped and was about to say something rude until he hesitated and took a calming breath. “Marek. No one disagrees you are in charge, but you should not lead this. I have experience that you should utilize. The mark of a true leader is to know when to allow someone else to take charge if they are outmatched, and you will be outmatched today, Marek.”

Marek looked around the room. Anton was nodding while Ako was staring at the wall.

“Fine,” Marek said. “You are right, but do not presume to talk to me like that again.”

“Fine,” Wyatt echoed, his face now neutral as if they hadn’t just angrily argued. “Good.”

After their argument they gathered their things. Wyatt wore his mail armor underneath a brown tunic and green cloak. His sword was buckled on his right side, and his shield was slung over his back. Ako had a beautiful bow slung over her shoulder, with her quiver belted to her left side. She wore brown robes that covered her almost from head to toe, save for her dark-brown eyes. Anton was much like Wyatt in what he wore, but he bore a bastard sword, which was slung behind his shoulder.

Marek patted himself. His Dominion Wood wand—much used but still looking pristine—was attached to his wand-holder at his wrist under his green robes. He was careful not to wear brown robes, as they signified his status as a Mage. As if it truly matters, given what happened last night, Marek thought grumpily.

When he was done checking himself over, he saw that everyone was waiting for him. “Let’s go,” Marek said, opening the door and waiting with a smirk.

Wyatt rolled his eyes and stepped past him and into the hallway. Anton smiled back, seemingly unaware of Marek’s mocking of Wyatt. Ako returned Marek’s smirk with a smirk of her own, the first sign of happiness from her since they met.

When the three were through the door, Marek looked back into the room to see if they had forgotten anything. There was nothing, but it always paid to be consistently careful. Marek frowned and closed the door behind him, where again the three were silently waiting. Marek took the lead, walking down the hallway. There was enough to walk two men abreast. Marek walked in the front, Anton and Wyatt were behind him, and Ako was in the back of their little procession.

There was no one in the hallway save a young boy with short hair, whose eyes grew wide at seeing four people coming his way fully armed. He ducked out of the way back into his room, closing the door behind him with a slam loud enough to make Marek wince.

They made their way to the staircase on the main floor. Someone tried to come up the stairs, but when he saw them, the older man stepped out of the way. He leaned back against the wall to let them past, watching them with narrowed eyes.

He’s just being polite, Marek tried to convince himself. He’s just getting out of the way to be polite.

Once they made their way to the ground floor, all conversation stopped. Marek looked around the room. He hadn’t gotten a great look at it yesterday since they had been in a rush booking the room.

It was average. It had clean floors and tables made from the same dark wood as upstairs. The room was half-full. People huddled around their tables as if they were all involved in a high-stakes card game. Everyone was staring at them, all with accusing glares at worst and intrigue at best.

Marek turned away from them and walked to the bar. Of the dozen or so stools in front of it, only one of them was filled, a man in a long dark beard who puffed away at his pipe. He was staring too.

“Breakfast for four,” Marek said when he arrived at the bar, his voice unnaturally loud in the quiet. Are they staring at us because we are clearly not from the area, or because they think we were involved in last night’s events?

The barman glared at him and spat on the bar before wiping it away with a dirty cloth. “Fine. Sit,” he said in a light accent, his eyes going to the door. “Food will come.”

Marek nodded and reached into his pocket. The barman tensed. Marek smiled and pulled out three silver coins from his pocket, enough to pay for a single meal twice over.

“Make it fast,” Marek said.

Breakfast was a quiet affair because only Ako had gotten enough sleep as Marek, Wyatt, and Anton had slept in shifts a few hours at a time. No one had spoken, and everyone had their head bowed as they ate, the only sounds being the slurping of soup.

The room was still half-full, a surprise considering how full Mesaa still was during the celebrations. All around the room, people were eating quietly and slurping their soup. The hum of conversation that Marek had heard descending the stairs had not returned, and more than once, he had caught long stares from the patrons. They were all aggressive, and Marek knew that it would only take one sign of weakness before someone pounced.

Near the door, one man with long white hair had picked up his bowl and drank it, which made Marek envious as he slowly ate his soup. It’s too damn hot to do that, Marek thought, wincing as he put a spoonful of soup in his mouth without blowing on it first.

Once everyone was finished eating, Marek rose, with the rest of his group following suit almost immediately afterward. No one watched them go, but Marek knew that there were still eyes on them.

“Which way?” Anton asked quietly as they walked out of the inn. “Left,” Wyatt said, pointing to the stable that was next door. “We have to get our horses.”

“And my camel,” Ako said. Her voice was so quiet Marek almost didn’t hear it. “I want my camel.”

“That’s fine,” Marek said, smiling over at Ako, who smiled back at him tremulously. “We’ll get your camel.”

It was strikingly bright outside. Marek blindly turned left with the group. Wyatt led, with Anton directly behind him. Marek was content to follow, and Ako walked closely to Marek, almost burrowing into his side.

Thank the gods that the stable is not behind the inn, Marek thought. They could box us in and leave us with nowhere to run.

They made it to the stable relatively quickly. From there, it was a simple matter to tell the stablemaster they were leaving and required their mounts immediately. They all had horses and Ako her camel, and it was a matter of minutes to get situated.

The crowds were out in full force yet again, and it wasn’t even noon. If not for the fact that they were mounted, more than once, Marek would’ve lost sight of Wyatt and Anton, and even Ako got separated from Marek once in the crowds. “Stay close,” Marek said over the hubbub, seizing her shoulder and pulling her back before they got too separated.

Ako nodded, moving her mount even closer to Marek. She placed a hand at the dagger sheathed on her hip. “I will not let it happen again,” Ako said, her soft voice somehow managing to carry over the crowd.

As they continued to navigate through the crowds, Marek recalled the plan that they were now enacting. They were to cut through the city along the Trade District—which they were on the edge of—and then cut back through the Noam District, which would lead them to the side gates closest to Mesaai. Marek had made the journey himself a few times. On regular days, it would only take about an hour to make the trip but wading through the crowd could mean it would be three hours or so before they could leave.

Even then, they had to buy supplies first, and as they traveled through the trade district, they picked up the necessary supplies. They gained speed as the crowds thinned slightly, which was odd, but Marek didn’t particularly care.

They bought their food and supplies, enough for the week and a half journey to Mesaai. The entire time, Marek felt as though there were eyes on him, just as there had been at the inn.

“We’re going to the side-entrance,” Wyatt muttered as they put their recently bought supplies on their horses. Each horse’s saddlebags were full of dried meat and water flasks. Not a banquet, but it’ll keep us alive.

“Agreed,” Marek murmured back. They were attracting enough attention already, and he could’ve sworn that he had seen a few individuals more than once, particularly one who had a red cloak and just happened to be close by whenever they stopped or slowed down.

Wyatt repeated the same message to Ako, who nodded and mounted without another word. Anton raised his eyebrows, glancing over his shoulder conspicuously before he shrugged and got back on his horse as well.

If you could be any more evident, Anton, you would be waving a flag.

Marek shook his head and remounted his horse, trying to present a relaxed façade to the world. He sat on his mount, his back straight and untensed. He turned his head, cracking his neck and then rolling his shoulders as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

They remounted and continued, now ready to depart. It took a half-hour of navigation, moving just slow enough not to be noteworthy but fast enough so that people were getting out of their way. Marek winced as a man threw himself out of the way. He was older, and he hit the ground hard. He wanted to call back and apologize but knowing his luck that would be the moment where he was filled full of arrows.

At that thought, he glanced to his right and left, staring at the roofs of the buildings that were just off the main road. It would be so easy for someone to loose arrows down on them and not have to worry about return fire. It was how the city had been defended multiple times from Mesaai, a wide-open city that seemed to take offense at how cloistered and compact Mesaa was.

Everything not Mesaa, Mesaai was a popular saying. Right now, Marek wanted nothing more than to be within the relative safety of Mesaai’s walls.

Still, there weren’t any incidents until Marek and his group arrived at the gates. There was a lineup, about forty people deep. Time seemed incredibly slow as Marek nudged his horse up to Wyatt.

“We seem fine for now,” Marek said, pitching his voice low to remain unheard. Up at the front of the line, a guard and a man with an overloaded camel were arguing, speaking too quickly for Marek to understand in his passable comprehension of Kulok. “What if—”

“We’re fine for now,” Wyatt interrupted. He jutted his thumb back to where Marek had come from. “Go back to your spot, Marek.”

The man turned away from Marek, who fumed. How dare I try to start a conversation! Marek thought. I didn’t even get to ask what his plan is. We’re just supposed to trust him and pretend that we can read his mind.

Technically, Marek could do that, but it would require him drawing his wand and blowing their cover. Considering that even the people in the line were turning around to stare at him and his group, Marek didn’t want to.

Although if Wyatt keeps being infuriating, I may have to do something. It’s my Company, not his.

Finally, they made it to the front of the line. There were two guards standing in front of the open gates—which were wide enough that two of them could walk through abreast—and two guards inspecting those who wished to leave Mesaa. They bore pikes that gleamed in the bright sun, and all wore chainmail with the purple tabard of Mesaa on their chests. A white dove was in the middle of the tabard, which struck Marek as particularly ironic, considering how many wars and conflicts that the Merchant City had been enmeshed in.

“Name?” the guard said with a sneer that would have made any of Marek’s instructors back at the Citadel proud.

“Wyatt,” Wyatt said tonelessly. He jerked his head back to Marek and Ako and Anton. “Behind me are three of my companions.”

The guard nodded, his sneer still in place. “I assume that they have names?”

“Marek, Ako, and Anton,” Wyatt said, looking and sounding utterly bored. “We are on our way to Velaire.”

Velaire?

Marek was confused, but then after a moment, he understood. Best not to aggravate the guard by saying that we’re going to Mesaai. They were already under enough attention as it was.

“Velaire?” the guard said, raising his eyebrows. “A long journey to take.”

“We’ve just bought supplies,” Wyatt said, reaching back and patting his saddlebags, which were almost full to bursting. “Should take us close enough to find more.”

“You speak sense,” the guard said, now sounding just as bored as Wyatt. “You are approve—”

“HALT!”

Marek whirled to see a Mage riding in on camelback riding past him. He wore brown robes with purple trim, signifying he was Mesaa’s resident Mage. Fuck, Marek thought as he took a second look at the Mage.

Physically, he wasn’t the most impressive man Marek had ever met. He was short and had a wispy black beard that looked like it was about to fall off with each stride of his camel. The guard interrogating Wyatt stopped to salute, as well as the other guards near the gate.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” Wyatt said loudly. “We are peaceful travelers!”

“Silence,” the mage snapped in a thick Kulok accent. He dismissed Wyatt and instantly locked his gaze with Marek’s.

The mage sneered. “You think yourself so powerful, so bold,” he hissed. He flicked his wrist, and his Dominion Wood wand appeared in his hand. “Once you use magic, you leave a trail. I lost you more than once, and now you have been found. You will be brought in with your friends,” the mage spat, “and be judged for your crimes.”

Tracked my magic? Marek thought, furiously trying to parse over this information as everyone around his group slowly backed away from him. I’ve never heard of such a thing before!

“This is my city, whelp. You would do well to remember tha—”

Marek flicked his wand into his waiting hand, aimed it at the mage, and launched a magical assault on the man’s mind. He had to push through the mage’s mental defences and incapacitate him. If he were alone, he could, but with his companions beside him the chance of hurting or killing them was too high.

The mage’s eyes widened as his magic flared defensively. The man visibly gritted his teeth, stumbling back and putting a hand on the wall to steady himself. He had managed to block Marek’s first strike, but only just. As if it had been fencing, Marek had immediately gone for the riposte and almost landed a killing blow.

“KILL THEM!” the mage bellowed, spit flying out of his lips. He straightened and sent a counter to Marek, which he swept aside with a twitch of his wand. “KILL THEM ALL!”

Marek launched another attack, sending invisible threads of magic to the man. None could see it, not even magicals, but they could sense magic coming from and toward them. It was akin to how the newly blinded slowly attuned their hearing to compensate for their loss of sight. Marek pushed hard, the amulet on his chest almost glowing under the midday sun. It was sending him images, sounds, and feelings of what would happen if he were to fail. Death would be preferable to the chaos and carnage that would result in millions of deaths if he and his company were to perish.

In the background, Marek could hear clashing weapons. Almost immediately, there was a gut-wrenching scream that made Marek’s focus wobble. Thankfully, it wasn’t a voice he recognized, so he pushed it all in the back of his mind.

While Marek’s opponent was older and more experienced, Marek was far more powerful. He flicked his wand again, sending another volley. Like lightning, Marek smashed through the man’s paltry defences and launched into his mind, where he quickly crushed the mage’s internal resistance.

At this point, the duel was over. If Marek wanted, he could reach into the mage’s consciousness and pull, ripping him apart as surely as a sword could pierce a man’s heart. Instead, he channeled more through his wand. It wasn’t too much of a strain, but if he wanted to continue channeling at this rate, it would eventually become one.

What are you doing? the man said, speaking in his own mind. Gone was the self-assurance and power, replaced by a pathetic creature scrabbling to survive. He appeared now, cowering beside Marek as if he were about to strike him.

Whatever I desire, Marek sent back, flexing his magic and pulling them up in the air. While it was in the man’s mind and therefore not real, Marek made great pains to make it feel realistic. Marek could feel the wind in his ears and through his hair. He felt the hot beams of sunlight on the back of his neck, and the sight of their little battlefield became smaller as they continued to climb upward.

This isn’t real, the man whimpered beside him. He tried to make it sound like a fact. Instead, it came out more like a plea. Marek said nothing, straining his magic as he pushed them higher and higher.

THIS ISN’T REAL! the man screamed, his pupils wide with fright.

Instead of replying, Marek flicked his wand, pulling the man close to him with his magic. They were inches from each other, and Marek could see the sweat that was pouring down his face. The man flinched away from Marek’s glare. Then, he looked down at the ground far below them and paled. They were thousands of feet above the ground, easily fatal. You should never have opposed me, Marek told the man, who didn’t look up. He was shivering uncontrollably. You should have let us through, and you should have let us be.

Yes! the man wailed. He was completely absorbed in the illusion now, both a willing and unwilling participant. I should’ve!

Yes, you should’ve, Marek said. Something—probably a hand—was gripping his body and shaking him, but he ignored it. If he hadn’t died yet, he had to trust in his companions to keep it that way. He flicked his wand, pulling the man close to him with their magic and smiling remorselessly.

Goodbye, he said, and then made himself invisible. Ordinarily, such a thing was an impossibility, but because he was in control of the man’s mind, he was also in control of his plane of existence. If Marek kept channeling magic now, the man would be trapped within, forced to live through whatever torture Marek had devised.

NO! DON’T LEAVE ME! the man screamed, his voice cracking. Marek didn’t reply. He didn’t need to; he had accomplished everything he had wanted. Marek left the man’s mind, going back into his own body, which he had kept just enough of his consciousness in to keep himself upright on his horse. It wasn’t ideal, but he had to trust Wyatt, Anton, and Ako to keep his body alive.

He came back to bloodshed. The guards were all dead or dying. Wyatt was killing the last of them, his sword thrust through the man’s throat. Wyatt half-turned, jerking his sword through the guard’s throat, which sprayed blood as the man’s body collapsed to the blood-soaked ground.

“Marek!” Ako cried. She was holding her bow and three arrows in one hand at her side. Her other hand was gripping Marek’s shoulder. “Thank Noam! What happened?”

Marek didn’t get a chance to respond as the mage—who was still standing somehow—began to scream. Ako jumped and fitted an arrow to her bow, aiming and sighing within two heartbeats.

“No,” Marek said. He put a hand on her shoulder. Ako looked at him, her eyes alight with questions. “He’s incapacitated. We must leave.”

“What have you done, Marek?!”

Marek turned to see Wyatt, who was nudging his horse toward him. There was a scratch on his forehead that was bleeding profusely, but otherwise, he seemed to be unwounded. Anton was also fine, if a little blood splattered. The mage was still screaming. He was now on the ground, rolling around and hugging himself as he cried out frantically for relief that would not come.

“I had to attack before he did, or he would have killed us all,” Marek said, nodding to the mage. The man’s voice was now hoarse from the screaming. He then looked back to the shouting men and women who were running away. The city guard will be coming shortly, Marek mentally noted. We must leave. Now.

“I’ve dealt with arrogant mages before, boy,” Wyatt snapped, nudging his mount closer until they were within a metre of one another. “You are all the same. Always demanding the world to follow your whims and damn the rest of us. I don’t care if you kill yourself over your own foolishness, but I will not allow you to kill us as well! I hope you have a plan, boy.”

Marek glared at Wyatt with enough ferocity that the man flinched “Call me a boy again, Wyatt, and your fate will pale compared to what I've done to the mage,” Marek hissed.

Shouts arose from behind them. Marek didn’t look—he didn’t have to. Mesaa’s City Guard rapidly approached.

“RIDE!” Marek roared. He kicked his horse and stowed his wand up his sleeve, ending his magical connection to the mage. He needed two hands for this. Plus, if he had to draw it again, they would soon be dead, caught by whatever forces Mesaa had sent against them. There would undoubtedly be more magicals and more men sent against him. He could take down some, but any cavalcade would ride him and his Company down if there were too many of them.

Wyatt cursed, spurring his mount after Marek. Anton and Ako followed. Anton rode beside him while Ako rode behind. As they rode through the gates, Ako turned in her saddle with a grace that would’ve made any noble back in Velaire envious and loosed three arrows on the armed soldiers that poured from the gates.

After Ako had fired her three arrows, she stowed her bow over her shoulder. “Why did you stop?” Anton shouted over the pounding of their horse’s hooves.

“Because I might need the rest of my arrows later!” Ako shouted back.

Wyatt rode silently in front, spurring his horse on none-too-gently. Marek did the same, risking himself as he placed a hand on his still-burning amulet through his robes.

There were no images, senses, or smells. Instead, he felt that same approval he felt when he had saved Ako. He had done the right thing.

Thank you, Noam, Marek thought gratefully. He let go of the amulet, grabbed the reins of his horse, and concentrated fully on staying alive.