The square, thatch-roofed tavern sat at the outskirts of town along the path. Sounds of the tavern drifted through its chimney and out into the open air. It was bitterly cold. Terragar would have such nights—whenever the sun descended below the horizon it would inevitably drop twenty degrees. The sun would arrive in the morning, eager to pour out its rays onto the orange sands of the infertile Terragar wasteland.

The air was thick inside the dirt-floored tavern. Candlelight and torches kept the room alight. Serving ladies tended to the needs of talkative men, a flurry of activity which left little room to maneuver around the floor. A serving lady dodged the flailing arms of a thick, dark-haired man. She sloshed ale across a table which soaked into the oakwood table. The men at the table took no notice, tossing small charms across the table as though they were dice and reacting noisily to every toss.

Canu sat closest the bartender, huddled over a large tankard of dark ale. His arms were swaddled in the thick arms of his overcoat. The insides of the sleeves were made of animal fur. A man sat beside him leaned in toward Canu, eager for Canu to hear his every word over the loud chatter. Canu sat carelessly, unbothered whether he could hear his friend. Instead, his eyes continually flickered towards a woman at the back of the tavern who had not paid him so much as a glance the entire night. Canu pulled his black, leather jerkin tight about his shoulders, shrugging off his friend who was growing more frustrated by the moment.

“How could you not be interested in this, Canu? You ask me constantly about this man and now that I have a report on him the only thing you worry about is who will get into your pants after this tavern closes.”

Canu sighed heavily, bringing the tankard to his mouth. He sloshed and missed his mouth when his friend tugged at his arm again. Canu put the tankard back on the table and shook his head. His black hair seemed lighter than usual due to the angle of the tavern’s lighting on his head.

“You’re repeating yourself, Emonu,” said Canu. “How many times must you tell me that his name is Maziq which means magic in their tongue which is ironic given the circumstances. I’ve heard of this Maziq far too often, you give me old news.”

Emonu shifted in his wooden stool. He lurched in front of Canu to get his attention, both arms leaning over the counter in front of Canu’s tankard. The bartender gave an irritated glance as he filled up another cup of ale for a new patron. Emonu was a stocky man. His legs did not come close to reaching the ground from where he was seated. Canu’s toes comfortably poked the ground from inside his black boots.

“Old news?” replied Emonu, astounded. “That’s not the point, Canu. Maziq is not a person, he is one of the gods of the pagans.”

“Supposedly,” replied Canu, maintaining his gaze straight ahead at the slaughtered animals which hung upon the wall overhead the bartender.

“No, we know this.” Emonu got closer now, his face blocking the route of Canu’s drink to his mouth.

“Would you move over?” said Canu, irritated more so than before.

“You’re not understanding—”

“—no, you’re not understanding. Any man can claim to be Maziq. These men have no more ability than an ordinary man such as me. It’s foolishness.” Canu waved the bartender over for more ale. His head swiveled back towards the woman again. She had blonde hair down to her shoulders and a finely jeweled fur coat. She had a man on either side who seemed disinterested in the woman besides the occasional arm upon her back as they conversated with the guests seated across from them.

“Stop looking at them,” accused Emonu. “She’s not worth your time. Canu, you must listen. This ale is distracting you.” Emonu snatched the tankard of ale from Canu’s hands. “Maziq is not some far-fetched tale anymore. Whoever he is, men have been committing abominable acts in his name throughout Bargetar. It is only a matter of time before he makes it here—to Terragar.”

The music of three musicians filled the tavern. The music changed from a melancholy droning tune into a more passionate anthem. Patrons began to take note and listen intently. One large bear of a man tossed a few coins into a hat at the sound of their song.

“Men don’t come to Terragar from Bargetar. Everything they need is there—in Bargetar. This is not of my concern,” said Canu.

“It will be your concern when Hyltir or one of the wealthy townsfolk comes to you with a hefty coin for the capture of one of these men,” replied Emonu. His furry eyebrows had gone straight up at Canu’s lack of interest. He was leaning into Canu’s personal space again and Canu pushed him away.

“Hyltir hasn’t contacted me in months. He’s moved on,” said Canu. His head started to turn again and Emonu yanked it toward him so that Canu finally had to look Emonu in the eyes for the first time that night.

“What is your problem, Canu? People will come asking for you. Your men will expect to fight for you. To plunder for you. To thieve for you. This man called Maziq—he is not like the other men we have heard of. The stories of this man go back to the beginnings of time itself.” Emonu’s eyes had grown so wide that Canu allowed a chuckle.

“I love tall tales. This tavern is where fables come from. At the end of the day, Maziq is just another man like you and I that has a talent for using words. Men are fools,” said Canu. His dark eyes locked with Emonu, before returning to his ale which, to his dismay, was already half gone.

“Do you wish to hear what Maziq’s men have done?”

“I’d love to,” said Canu, gently tapping his boots to the tune of the music.

Emonu pretended not to be distracted by Canu’s lack of interest. “They made the City of Sins look like a city for saints. They ransacked the town of Masgurd and hung the heads of each household on a spear outside their home. They flayed—”

“—They flayed the women and placed the children on skiffs in chains so that they will drift out to sea—likely swallowed by the mighty current of the Arrabin Sea and never to be heard of again. The only problem with that fable is that Bargetar is nowhere near the sea.”

A man had interjected and placed himself on a stool beside Emonu. He had long waves of curly blonde hair and a toothy grin that revealed rotted teeth and a missing chunk of cartilage from his snarling nose. He introduced himself, holding out a hand to Emonu, “Murith of Heurad.”

“We know who you are,” replied Canu. “Not open for business at the moment.”

“You speak of Maziq’s men. I could hear you two speaking over the music from over there.” Murith nodded his head vaguely which could have included the entire left side of the tavern.

“That was my friend here. It was not meant as an invitation,” said Canu, coldly.

Murith disregarded Emonu, directing his stare at Canu. “I have an offer for you, Canu, great slayer of traitors and thieves.”

“Did you not hear me?” asked Canu. A few heads began turning. “Men know not to approach me with an ale in my hand. I don’t do business here.”

“This cannot wait, my friend,” said Murith. His teeth were slimed over with green ooze. Emonu felt his own tongue wander over his teeth, disgusted. Murith’s mint green coat had silver buttons that gleamed in the candlelight of the tavern. The quality of his coat gave away his thievery. It was rare a man of Terragar owned possessions that weren’t stolen from another. Thievery ran rampant in these parts, being on the outskirts of the wealthy city of Heurad.

Canu allowed him to continue. His jaw was set, and his fists clenched tightly under the counter. Murith did not seem bothered by Canu’s apprehension. A vein ran through the side of Canu’s yellow skin from his clenched jaw.

“It is Ahod’s men,” said Murith. The whole tavern went quiet at the mention of Ahod. Despite speaking in a lowered voice, even the men playing instruments had stopped. The three men put down their instruments and moved toward the door. A couple of patrons walked out. Others pretended to continue in hushed discussion. The woman with shoulder-length blonde hair looked at Canu for the first time that evening.

“What of them?” asked Canu. His eyes were black as pitch. Murith delighted in Canu’s intrigue.

“You’re not going to like this,” teased Murith.

“Oh, shut up with that,” said Canu in a whiny voice. He downed a gulp of ale and slammed the tankard down on the counter. Even Emonu appeared unsettled now at the mention of Ahod. “Tell me and be done with it.”

“It’s not that simple, Canu,” replied Murith.

“Why? Ahod is not a simple man, obviously. What did he do? Steal your horses? Piss in your stable?” Canu was sputtering drunkenly.

Murith’s lips formed a shushing shape, holding his hand out to quiet Canu. “Shhh, Canu, please.”

“What? What did Ahod do?” demanded Canu, bellowing loudly now.

Emonu tugged at Canu’s arm. Canu obliged, lowering his voice for fear of the tavern overhearing their entire conversation. The bartender was nowhere to be seen. A few more had since left. A couple unknowing locals wandered inside the tavern—freezing just inside the door. They eyed the tavern wearily, sensing the tension in the air. Canu watched them take a seat nearby where the blonde woman with hair to her shoulders sat. Canu’s eyes met her own and then shifted casually across the room.

“You must understand, Canu...you are the justice of the people here, in this town. Am I wrong?” asked Murith.

Canu motioned for Murith to continue, choosing not to use words.

“You repay thievery with thievery. Killing with killing.”

“Get on with it, Murith,” said Canu.

“And you work for Hyltir Hasamon—the One-Eye,” said Murith, eyeing Canu very intently now.

“Yes, I do…”

“Well…you work for Ahod now,” said Murith, standing from his stool. Canu turned to face Murith, nearly falling from his stool.

“What do you mean? I swore a blood oath to Hyltir. I can’t work for Ahod.”

“Hyltir is dead,” said Murith, calmly at first. “The pirate is dead. Hyltir…is dead!” shouted Murith for all the tavern to hear.

Emonu was incredulous. He looked around for someone to share in his disbelief. Canu shook his head.

“It is not possible. How did you hear of this?” asked Canu.

“I did not hear it, I saw it with my own eyes,” said Murith.

The bartender came back from behind the bar with the innkeeper, whose face gave away that his slumber had been interrupted. The innkeeper was quickly approaching the three men now. Canu and Murith paused their conversation, seeing the innkeeper come towards them. To their surprise, he scuffled past them and made his way to the front of the tavern to where the four men sat around the blonde-haired woman. The innkeeper pulled up a chair and whispered to the blonde-haired woman and the man beside her who had his arm around her.

There were patrons seated between Canu and the innkeeper, making it hard for him to spot the interaction but they were certainly talking about him. The blonde woman nodded her head continually, staring at Canu as the innkeeper spoke to her. Suddenly, the four men hurried the woman up out of her chair. Dressing her in an oversized dark green cloak, they escorted her out of the tavern. Her green eyes followed Canu the whole way out. Canu stood from his chair.

“What are you doing? You don’t know her, and this clearly reeks of trouble, Canu.” Emonu had his arm wrapped around Canu. Murith pulled his other arm down to stop him from leaving. Canu ripped his arm away from Murith.

“Don’t touch me, foreigner. You’re not from Heurad,” said Canu. His attention was still diverted to the creaky tavern door which had slammed shut behind the blonde woman.

“What? Don’t you see my necklace? It is only sold in Heurad—” Murith was cut off but a hand to the throat. Canu’s arm swept an ale glass of the counter. It shattered noisily onto the floor.

“—you’re not from Heurad. What do you want from me? Ahod sent you to mess with me, didn’t he?”

Murith croacked from the pressure of Canu’s grip on his neck.

“Speak,” demanded Canu.

Murith tapped Canu’s arm, desperate for him to remove his grip. Emonu grabbed Canu’s arm, loosening Canu’s grip on Murith’s neck. Canu knew that Hyltir was not dead. He also knew that Ahod had a reputation for gaining favors by screwing others. Canu released his grip on Murith’s throat, throwing him to the ground. Murith gasped for air, slowly finding his feet.

The innkeeper had tried to sneak by the scene going unnoticed. He slid by and made his way into the commons that were hidden down a couple stairs and behind a curtain. Canu reeled out of his stool and made a break for the curtain. He grabbed the innkeeper by the shoulder and yanked him back. The innkeeper was breathing nervously and had sweat trickling down his forehead.

“Who are you? And I don’t mean names,” said Canu.

“What do you want? I’m just the innkeeper,” he replied. Canu tightened his grip on the innkeeper’s collar.

“You were talking about me. You shepherded those customers out the door. You told them, didn’t you?” enquired Canu. “Didn’t you!” Canu was shouting now, spittle flying out of his mouth.

“Tell them what?” asked the innkeeper ignorantly. His false ignorance showed through, angering Canu even further.

“That I’m looking for a woman. A woman in her early thirties. A woman with shoulder length, blonde hair in the company of men who work for Ahod. A woman who has been stolen from her father and held for ransom. That’s who,” said Canu.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied the innkeeper.

“I wish you hadn’t said that” said Canu. He landed a harsh hooked punch to the innkeeper’s jaw. Canu reached into the innkeeper’s leather vest and grabbed a small dirk. “Is this really all you have?” Canu asked to an unconscious innkeeper. Canu left the body at the bottom of the stairs on the other side of the curtain. Canu heard loud crashes and yelling coming from the other side of the curtain. Canu pulled the leave of the innkeeper’s left arm up to find the marking of Ahod’s men on his wrist. Canu gave a humph of frustration.

Canu returned to the tavern floor to find the scene had drastically changed. Tables were overturned and splintered planks of wood left the ground a torn battlefield. Dirk in hand, he scanned the room. Five men, all armed with daggers, were scattered throughout the tavern. All patrons had left, leaving the room all but deserted except for the two men he had been drinking with.

Murith was armed with a dagger and was digging through a satchel that had been left behind which contained coin and jewels. Emonu’s body lay unconscious across a table. His clothes had been stripped from him and a gag within his mouth. Murith wandered over to the body of Emonu at the sight of his companion, Canu. Emonu coughed a sickly cough. He spluttered out a black liquid that turned to foam as it oozed out of him.

Canu grimaced, clenching his teeth. “You gave him poison. Coward.”

“Are you upset, Canu? I know he was your friend. He’s not dead yet. We can give him a bigger dose if you think that’d be more painless.” Murith gave a toothy grin of rotted teeth. Canu despised Murith smiley face. His features appeared shrinken in the middle of his big head. His hair was stringy and greasy. His men continued beating in walls and flipping tables, ransacking the tavern.

Canu felt the grip of his dirk in his hand. His sleeve concealed the blade. “Emonu did nothing to you. Why would you poison my friend? Only a fool would provoke me,” said Canu. He began edging his way around the outside of the tavern. He knocked a candle to the ground with his free hand. The flames licked hungrily at the floor where spilled liquor had made a fine catalyst for the starving flames. “I’m getting the girl. I know who she is.”

“I think she’s in good hands for now. Ahod would prefer that you leave her be. That’s why he sent us. He knew you’d be here tonight, Canu.” Murith’s eyes lit up at the sight of the flame which was steadily growing bigger.

“Leave Emonu, and I will spare you and your men this night,” said Canu.

“Oh, so we’re bartering now. I told you already, you work for Ahod now. And since that’s true, you work for me. This is a different conversation than earlier, Canu.”

“I’ll work for Ahod if you spare Emonu,” Canu said. His pupils were the same color as his eyes, making them black, piercing circles. He slowly approached Murith. His men began to enclose on Canu, hoods raised over their heads to conceal their identities.

“And what if I don’t spare your friend here? He’s already dying out. He’ll need a sorcerer to rid him of the poison in his blood,” said Murith.

“I know a sorcerer,” replied Canu. “Move away from Emonu.”

“Just one thing, Canu,” Murith feinted another question, before driving his dagger through Emonu’s chest.

The dirk flew from Canu’s sleeved hand at a blinding speed. The dirk spun through the air making a crisp whizzing noise. The tip of the blade embed itself in Murith’s forehead. The man nearest to Canu trembled. He took a step back, tripping over a table he had torn apart himself. The flames caught onto a curtain that hung from the walls of the tavern. Canu shoved one of the hooded men from his stance. He clattered into one of the other hooded men. Canu snatched the dagger from Murith’s dead grip and slammed the blade into the clumsy man’s wrist just as he caught himself. The dagger pinned his wrist against the dulled wood of the table. He shrieked a cry of agony.

Canu landed harsh blows to the fifth man who approached him. His strikes feinted at his head but struck the man in his ribs, cracking the ribs so that it was audible. Noiseless pain sent the man reeling to the ground. Canu withdrew rope, tying three men together at the ankles after landed hard blows to their gut with his boot. Tying them to the tables, the flames began to quickly approach. The tavern was cackling with fire, hot as a furnace. Sweat rolled down Canu’s face busily. He threw Emonu’s body over his shoulder, sprinting to the door before the flames could block his path—barely in the nick of time.

His boot busted down the door. He untethered a horse, slinging Emonu’s body across the back. He saddled in and slammed on the reins. They neighed anxiously, desperate to be away from the fire that blazed behind them. The remote inn along the path became a ball of flame and eventually a distant blur behind them as Canu took them east along the yellow dirt path. Canu led his horse along the path until it branched off into a thickly wooded forest. The horse hurdled over fallen logs and branches until twigs and branches had hashed at Canu’s body enough to tatter his clothes.

The horse whinnied as Canu slowed it, guiding it into a clearing just beyond the forest. The night stars lit the up the midnight air. Four stars shone brightly in a diamond overhead. Canu lowered his hood and dismounted from his mare. Emonu’s body was limp, and his eyes glazed over. He was dead.

Up ahead, a remote hut sat within the nook of a large outcropping of boulders. The hut was easy to miss, disguised by the surrounding rock formation. Light was showing through the gaps in the hut’s door and walls. Smoke emanated through the gaps in the roof, drifting up into the night sky—the only sign besides the light that suggested someone lived inside.

Canu knocked on the door with his fist. Blood trickled down his arm from branches that snapped at him as he rode through the forest. A man answered the door. His face was gaunt and thin. He had a bald head, hairless all over his face except for his eyebrows. He had large bags under his eyes and a baggy cloak which was a few sizes too large for him. He saw Emonu and waved Canu inside. Canu ducked his head to enter. He laid Emonu’s body down on a table.

“Mota, can you heal him?” asked Canu. His voice sounded brave, but his face betrayed him. Mota got to work studying Emonu’s body. He yanked the blade from Emonu’s chest. Laying a finger on the inside of Emonu’s cheek, he withdrew his finger and examined the ink-like poison.

“It will be difficult. This poison requires the work of a Floweress. This is beyond my expertise,” sighed Mota, dismayed. Canu searched the room. There was countless shelves of poisons, ointments, potions, and herbs. The hut was only one room, small enough to be a bedroom. A small layout of blankets and linen sheets were laid out in a corner as a bed.

“There is nothing here for him, Mota? You must have something.”

“I can use Floqseed in the meantime, which will keep him alive. But to survive longer than a fortnight, he will need the hands of Floweress which can heal better than anything I have here.”

Canu pressed a finger to his lips, thinking. His mind flickered back to the tavern. The blonde-haired woman.

“You didn’t destroy another brothel, did you?” asked a concerned Mota. His weathered eyes looked to Canu with great dismay.

“Not a brothel. An inn. A tavern, really.” Canu dropped a hand to his side. He stared at his dying friend. He was dead. Mota dipped his hand in a jar and spread Floqseed over Emonu’s body.

“What trouble did you find at the tavern? This man used a dark recipe of poison. I have not seen this poison in this region for a very long time, Canu,” said Mota.

“A man who claims Hyltir Hasamon is dead. He claimed to work for Ahod. He wanted me to pledge my services to Ahod, thinking I’d believe that Hyltir is dead,” said Canu. He seated himself on the ground against a wall. A cauldron of fire kept the room warm and alight. “I killed him.”

“There have been whispers of Hyltir’s death. I hear that he is rather mourning and in hiding over the disappearance of someone he holds dear to him.

“That was all? What did he want with you?” asked Mota.

“I don’t know. There was a woman in there that I was tracking. She was captured by bad men, and I think they may have been Ahod’s men as well. They snuck out before I could get to them.”

“Blonde hair? And what of the eyes?” asked Mota.

“You know whom I speak of?” asked Canu.

“Yes, that really is quite ironic, actually,” said Mota.

“Why ironic? Who is she?”

“She’s the missing Floweress. Hytlir Hasamon’s Floweress.” Mota had stopped rubbing Floqseed on Emonu. His chest slowly began to rise and fall. Mota closed Emonu’s eyelids.

“His what? His Floweress?” said Canu, incredulously.

“Do you still work for Hyltir?” asked Mota. Canu was already gathering his things and making for the door.

“I’m not sure. I hadn’t heard from him for weeks. I still have my men. We leave in the morning to find this Floweress. She can heal Emonu and then I will take her to Hyltir.”

Mota seemed to have known this would happen. He gave a smug smile, nodding his head knowingly. “Bring her to me when you find her. But be warned, she can be used for powerful things. Ahod’s men will not give her up easy. Once they take her to Ahod’s lair, it will not be easy to extract her.”

Canu gave a curt nod, and then left without another word. He must heal Emonu. He’d seen too many men close to him die. His horse trotted across the landscape until sunrise. Canu would not sleep this night. He arrived at the two-story home of his company of men. The door was slammed open. Crisp, winter air was shoved through the door by the night wind. Men jarred from their sleep.

Canu’s dark eyes scanned the room. A few men didn’t stir from their positions. Those who did wake stared confusedly at Canu. His breathing was heavy and loud enough to startle someone across the room.

“What’s going on, Canu?” asked a bleary-eyed man who was closest to Canu. Another emerged from upstairs with an unkept black beard and ambitious eyes.

“Wake up!” shouted Canu. “I said everybody up!”

Everyone was awake now. Four men followed slowly behind the man with the beard and ambitious eyes.

“Emonu is dying,” said Canu.

Men stared, still half-asleep. The man with the beard ran a hand through his jet-black hair.

“Emonu is dying. Gather your things, we’re going to save him.”