Leaving the stretch of the dry, rocky ground, the wheels of the carts rolled onto hard-packed mud road around midday. The long grasses of the Muska plains undulated in the wind like waves in a sea of green as the caravan travelled through them. An occasional knoll or two, a thicket here or there, all covered in various shades of green. After so many days of dead grey, brown or yellow, everyone found the sight soothing. The view gladdened their hearts as expectations of real beds and decent meals filled them. No, really, they've had enough of the same lentil soup and bread every damn day for more than a week.

Their happiness didn't measure up to the excitement of Ron Wessinger's pockets. A chance to trade had arrived and soon hard iron shells, shiny silver talents and glorious gold crowns would find their home in them.

The Russet river flowed down from the Dreaming mountains and crossed the plains. Its water made the earth of the plains rich with minerals, making Muska the biggest agricultural provider in the Queendom. Every half a year, when the caravan arrived in the town of Garola, the villagers of the various small unnamed villages scattered around the Muska plains gathered there to trade. They traded grains, seeds and wool with the caravan for spices, pieces of jewellery and other necessities and novelties. By tradition, the time had become a time for festivities for the locals for almost half a century.

When plumes of orange clouds had started decorating the reddening sky like long trails of fire, the caravan neared its destination. The open field outside the town was where the trade would take place. The merchant would set his camp there, waiting for tomorrow's trade to begin. But most of the folk travelling with the caravan, including the knights, most of the mercenaries and Erhan separated from it and took the paved road heading west where the town of Garola lay.

At the end of the path was an arching, grey stone bridge. The Russet river flowed beneath it, foaming and frothing. A few watermills lay along the riverbeds, their wheels turning with the force of the water. A few boats swayed over the waves here and there.

Erhan crossed the bridge and reached the town gates behind it. It wasn't his first time in the stone-walled town. The last he visited it had been half a century ago. Although it was a town, it was at least four times bigger than the mining town he stayed in, it was almost a city.

Compared to most of the man-made constructions in Clover, The walls around the city were old. It was whole, no sign of war marred its blocks of stone for almost five decades. The town was after all a part of one of the longest-lasting kingdoms boasting a glorious history forty-three years. In a land which outsiders named ‘the land of instantaneous Kingdoms’, the Robera kingdom was a true survivor. Though even it wasn’t completely unchanged. Only five years ago the now queen usurped the throne, changing it into queendom.

Erhan walked through the gates of the town along with the other travellers. Although the sun had just drowned, the town still seemed crowded. Though most of these people were returning home from work. shops were also closing down one by one, pushcarts both empty and full passed by him, going in and out of the gate. Erhan walked down the road in the red light of twilight towards the south-east of the town. He had much to do in the town, but those tasks would have to wait for tomorrow. An inn he used to know laid the way he was heading. Or had laid, he didn’t know if still stood there.

On two sides of the paved road, the buildings stood in rows, some a single floored, some reaching two or three stories. Free space was scarce in the town. Even then some of the richer houses sported a small garden or a lawn before their doors. One such building was the Russetwatch inn. Though its garden wasn't before its doors, rather on the side of the three-storied building.

Erhan watched the garden full off vegetables for a while. There used to be more flowers in it. He sighed as he pushed open the wooden doors and entered a lively tavern. The conditions inside were quite different from the silent sombre of the White weasel. The brightly lit room had none of his favourite dark corners for one, and although the tavern time was only beginning, the people filling up the tables promised a loud evening.

A tall muscular man in white innkeepers apron trotted through the hall holding two beer mugs in each of his hand. As he spotted Erhan, the face lit up into a sunny smile. He put the drinks down on the wooden counter and gestured towards one of the youngsters working with him. Then he skipped toward Erhan, stopping just in front of him. “Wellcome, welcome. You are a new face I see. Came with the trader? Looking for a room?”

Erhan didn’t recognize the man. That was no surprise considering how much time had passed. The middle-aged man in front of him carried some resemblance with his acquaintance. Especially, that amazing square jaw was quite telling of their close relation. Erhan smiled. “Yes. I’d like one for a few nights.”

“Perfect!” the man clapped like thunder, shocking a few guests into choking on their drinks. Loud sounds of cursing and coughing broke out through the room. The perpetrator turned around bowing and apologizing here and there. Erhan shook his head. So similar.

The innkeeper turned towards him again, this time with a little more stoic expression. “Well, if you’re alone, that would be sixty-eight shells for a night, good sir,” he said.

Erhan raised an eyebrow. “That’s almost twice as expensive as the last time I came.”

“What are you talking about.” The innkeeper frowned. “We have only increased three shells in the last ten years.”

numbers flew inside Erhan's head as he considered the information. It was a miscalculation on his part. He only considered the prices he was used to in the mining town and completely disregarded the regional price changes. rooky mistake. Well, not like that would’ve helped much. The caravan wouldn’t have waited for him to earn enough. It just meant he had to give up some of the things he considered buying.

“Well, hurry up, friend. I haven’t got all day” the innkeeper said as he clapped softly, not wanting a recurrence of the previous blunder. If this bearded, messy looking man couldn’t afford the prices of his inn, he’d recommend him to a good, cheap one further east where the slums lay.

Erhan let out a long breath. For old times sake. “make it for one night for now,” he said as he took out a talent from the pocket on the inside of his cloak and handed it to the muscular man.

The man nodded and said, “Please come with me, good sir. I’ll give you your changes.” he turned around and headed to the counter.

As Erhan arrived at the counter, he remembered something. “Oh yeah,” he said, calling out to the innkeeper, “and please prepare a bath for me.”

“Of course,” the innkeeper said, “that would be twenty more shells then.” He turned his head and hollered, “Kavi, lad, come here.”

One of the three teens serving people food and drinks glanced up. “Coming!” he said and jogged towards them.

The innkeeper clapped the boy on his back. “Show this good sir to room twenty-three, would you?” He turned to Erhan, handing him his change of twelve shells. “We will inform you when your bath is ready, sir,” he said with a smile.

“Thank you, Mr Kooper,” Erhan nodded and turned around.

“You’re welc—” He stopped speaking and frowned. He scratched his head with a puzzled expression. Had he introduced himself to this guest before? He wanted to ask him, but the man had already left for his room.

Fire burning in the hearth filled the small room with the smell of smoked maple. Erhan put his leather satchel bloated with contents on the wooden chest in one corner. He took off his cloak and took the small pouch from within it. He weighed it once, spreading his cloak on the wood floor, he unfastened the string of the pouch and poured its contents on the cloak. Coins clinked as they clashed, coming together in a small heap. He counted them. Thirty-five talents and about fifty shells. Would that be enough? Well, he certainly won’t be able to buy a horse as he was hoping, but most of the others he should manage.

The sound of knocking came from the door. Erhan gathered the cloak together around the coins and got up. Time to get the travel grime off of him.

The jarring crow of a rooster announced the dawn to the sleeping residents of the inn. Erhan broke his meditation and opened his eyes. Four hours of sleep had been more than enough for him. But waking the rusty cogs and wheels of his druidic arts from long years of sleep would take practice. Long and gruelling practice.

He climbed down from his bed and walked towards the stone basin at one side and washed his face. From the satchel, he took out a new set of clothes and put them on. He took his staff and wrapped the cloak around him, he opened left the room. He came down the stairs looking down and considering what to do next. He could skip breakfast. That’d save some money. Right now he needed to buy an important piece of equipment.

“You’re also staying here?” a familiar voice broke him out of his musings. Sena stood at the counter before the innkeeper. As usual, her knights surrounded her. Five of them. Gregor was back, and another, a middle-aged knight with a built athletic body also stood there with them. The middle-aged man gave him a look of consideration and a certain amount of… respect.

As Erhan raised his hand in greeting, Sena waved him over. Erhan hesitated a bit before walking over to them.

“This is my uncle, Corvin Moras. He came here to ascertain the incident at White weasel,” Sena said, pointing at the older knight. “Uncle, this is the man I was talking about. He…” she leaned towards him and lowered her voice, “he said he was grandma’s friend.” she ended in a doubtful tone.

Corvin bowed before Erhan. “Greetings sir Erhan. My mother told me many stories about you.” he smiled politely. “I‘ve heard about it from my mother, but it’s hard to believe how little you’ve aged.”

Somewhat embarrassed, Erhan ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know what to say to that. Even the other young knights were giving him funny looks. He managed to ask, “How… is Arya doing?”

A look of grief passed through Corvin’s eyes. He took a deep breath and said in a sombre voice, “she has passed away. The plague took her.”

Erhan jolted in shock. His knuckles turned white around his staff. “Fade…” a pained, low growl passed his teeth. The grimace of grief and fury on his face and the maddening fire in his eyes lasted only for a moment. the hair and beard framing his face made him look like a wounded black lion.

He breathed and ran his hand over his face. “please excuse me,” he said as he whirled around, heading back towards his room. A storm raged inside him and set his mind afire. He needed to calm it down.

Sena stared at his back. What happened to him? His face... it was so frightening. The depressing feeling suddenly disappeared and the whole tavern filled with a loud hissing sound as everyone let out the breath they had been holding. Sena ran her hand over her forehead. It was soaked in sweat, she realized, and not only her, everyone in the tavern had tiny beads of perspiration on their faces.

“What was that?” she whispered.

Corvin shook his head. “I don’t know, but probably…” he paused as his forehead creased in thought, after a moment he said with some certainty, “he must have lost someone to the Fade. someone dear to his heart.”

Erhan sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, his body stiff and eyes pinched shut as he tried to regain his tranquillity through meditation. The withering faces of Leah and Ellie flashed in his mind like lightning in stormy skies. Their last moments, their suffering, their Fading burned like an old festering wound in his mind. The tranquillity he sought had seldom been so hard to reach.

He stood up, Walked towards the basin and took the jug of cold water and poured all of it over his head. Water ran down his hair, his beard, his clothes. The frigid streames liquid froze the storm in his mind for a moment.

A memory from long ago resurfaced. A memory of him sitting in a cave on the snow-covered cape of mount Eldrish. An old man with a tiger skin wrapped around him had been toing and froing in front of him. His snow-white hair tied in a knot over his head, his beard reaching below his waist like flowing white river. His body was thin as if a breeze might blow him away. An ancient man who looked like he stood at the edge of his grave. But his eyes were sharp and full of life. When he talked, the jungle of beard his lips had lost themselves on fluttered. It was an amusing sight. He was the head of Erhan’s teachers, also the leader of the sadhus. Sir Aravegh.

“You are the most talented individual we have taught. Do not make such a blunder.” Sir Aravegh’s scolding vibrated through the air in a low hum. “You are leaving your training incomplete for a mundane woman. We have taught you, give up the mundane and you will reach the eternal spirit. Women, family, love... they are fragile. Those heretic kapalics have led you astray. If only we had found you sooner,” He gave a regretful sigh as he stopped to peer down at Erhan. “Those worldly shackles would only tie you down to the mundane. They would bring you endless suffering!”

Endless suffering! Erhan clenched his teeth.

He must be gloating now, that old man, wherever he is. Erhan had searched for him in his quest to cure his wife and daughter but hadn’t found him. That old man had left for a pilgrimage, his other teachers had said and they had been unable to answer his pleas, incapable of finding a cure.

None of them had said, “We told you so.” and had only shown the utmost desire to help him, but Erhan could feel that phrase radiating from them.

He hadn’t cared then, desperate to save his family, but did he care now?

If he could choose again would he choose to go down a different path? He had asked himself that question countless times. Maybe he had no answer, or maybe he did.