Half an hour later, we were enjoying some delicious tarketan stew by the fire of the hearth in the common room. It was a little stringy (in my defense, it was the first time I had ever made stew out of such a beast) but it was still robust and flavorful. I would’ve preferred something more normal, like venison, but when you live the merc life, you take your meal ticket when you can get it. As we ate, I brought up the issue that I had been thinking about for some time.

“So, Alverd, I guess I’d better mention something…”

My friend paused in the middle of a large bite of the meat in his stew. He set his bowl down and crossed his arms. “I’m all ears, friend. Speak your mind.”

“We haven’t really had a chance to slow down and talk about our plan. We really need to figure out how we’re going to cross through Ishmar safely.” My friend’s face turned dark when I mentioned that name. I didn’t blame him. I could feel my own voice grow spiteful at the mere mention of it. And we both knew why.

Ishmar. Dragon country. A land ruled by barbarians who raised, bred and tamed dragons for everyday use. A land of warmongers who struck fear into the hearts of every other country in the world due to their military prowess and bloodlust. A place that we two were quite familiar with, even if we had never set foot on its soil, for a reason that still haunted my darkest nightmares.

No matter what corner of Selarune you called home, you could ask any stranger you met on the street about Ishmar, and they’d tell you the same stories. They’d tell you about the limitless legions of black-armored soldiers goose-stepping across the blackened wastelands, of the ruthless riders who could darken the skies like plagues of locusts, and of their fanatical desire to dominate all of Selarune through the rule of the strong. As far as anyone was concerned, Ishmarians weren’t people. They were monsters. I was inclined to agree.

“So, what are you trying to say, Kuro?” Uncrossing his arms, Alverd took another bite of his stew.

“Now that we don’t have to worry about the Guilfordians following us, we need to consider our options. Fleeing to Ishmar was the only option we had at the time, but I don’t know if illegally entering a country full of angry dragon tamers is the smartest thing to do. The way I see it, we’ve only got two options.” I held up my hand, extending two fingers to emphasize my point.

“First option: we go back to Guilford, and take our chances.” I put one finger down. “Granted, it’ll take us at least eight days to get from the foot of the pass to the Guilfordian border by gridaban convoy…if we’re lucky enough to find one, and if we avoid any cities.”

I paused to take another bite of stew. “On foot, it could take anywhere from three and a half to four weeks, and we’d still have to avoid populated areas. And even then, I’m sure the Border Guard will know our faces by now, so they’ll stop us immediately.”

I took a short swig of my soup before I continued, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “The second option,” I said as I put my last finger down, “is we continue forward into Ishmar and enter the country illegally. We find the nearest town or village, find out where we are, and make for the border as quickly as possible while attracting as little attention as possible. Even if Ishmar doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Guilford,” I gestured at both of us, “you and I both know we have plenty of reasons for not wanting to get caught by those lizard-riding murderers.”

We both had no love for that country. It had taken a great deal from us. But desperate times, as they say, call for desperate measures. Fleeing to Ishmar was a lot less riskier than going back to a country where everyone already knew who we were.

On the other hand, there wasn’t a great deal of support as to why we should take our chances with Ishmar either. Ishmar wasn’t exactly known for its good neighbor policies. That tended to happen when your military might was made up of mostly dragon-riding soldiers that could swoop down from the skies breathing fire on your troops. As such, Ishmarians didn’t take kindly to heavily armed people attempting to illegally cross the border, going in or going out.

Another wrinkle in that plan was that mages weren’t welcome in Ishmar under any circumstances. Dragons were known for their hard scales that could break steel weapons. But a mage could turn a dragon into a giant ice sculpture with a simple gesture and a quick incantation. As a result Ishmar’s eastern neighbor, Algrustos, the supposed “birthplace of magic”, was always at odds with them. There were politics involved, of course, but at the end of the day, it boiled down to “Ishmarians hate magic” and “Algrustrians hate uncultured barbarians.”

Stories of Ishmarian brutality were a gold coin a dozen, but I believed every one of them. I’d seen it for myself. They were merciless, monstrous. There were even rumors that the Ishmarian King even condoned “witch hunts” to find children born with the talent for magic, only to slaughter them without pity or remorse. Supposedly, people who found mages or turned in children who showed any sign of having magical ability were not only rewarded, but praised for doing what was considered “a patriotic duty.”

It made me sick to my stomach. Being hunted for something you were born with, something that was out of one’s control…I could imagine the confused look on a child’s face as some unfeeling zealot prepared to end their life. I shook my head violently to shake the thought from my mind. Better to focus on our own problems now. If Alverd and I were caught, the Ishmarian Border Guard would execute me on the spot.

That is, if they discovered that I was a mage.

After all, I didn’t look much like a mage. I didn’t have the pointy hat, my staff looked more like a short walking stick and I didn’t wear a traditional robe. The Ishmarians wouldn’t mind Alverd. They’d see him as some merc who polished his armor too much. Considering the alternative, I guessed that we had a real shot at making it into the country and fleeing across the border before anyone was the wiser. It beat the noose waiting for us back in the Guilfordian capital.

When I thought about it, mages like me weren’t welcome anywhere, really. Just like the people back in Guilford, the people of Ishmar would treat me like the spawn of evil. Most people were only familiar with the helpful applications of magic, such as healing and communication. Those peasants had seen raw elemancy, the power of the elements, which only had one real application.

Combat.

I didn’t blame them for their reaction. It was a harsh wake-up call to the even harsher realities of life. But while the peasantry of Guilford would shrink from me in fear, I would receive no such treatment in Ishmar. Man, woman and child would pick up torch and pitchfork to lynch me on a tree if they caught me practicing any form of magic. And that was if the rabble caught me. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I was apprehended by actual soldiers.

I didn’t think we’d ever go to Ishmar. Not taking our history into account, anyway. But as I said before, desperate times call for desperate measures. Our lives were on the line, and we needed to make ourselves scarce. As long as we didn’t go too far into the country, we would be fine. Alverd and I knew quite a few things about laying low.

Maybe, if I had more time, I could’ve come up with something else. Maybe if I was a better mage, I could find a different solution. But those were just what ifs. Our backs were against a wall and it was time to just own up to the only logical course of action we had left. We were just two men against the world. And there were worse ways to go than dying while flinging lightning at some smug son-of-a-bitch who thought riding a dragon made him the deadliest thing in the world.

“Well. We’ve done dumber things,” I muttered. “I guess we’re heading to dragon country.” I slurped down the last of my soup and placed my bowl back on the floor, stoking the fire while I watched for Alverd’s reaction. My lifelong friend smiled again. Gods, how I hate it when he does that, I thought.

He gets all the girls when he smiles.