The first trip was the easiest one. Mahon and Jorik were fresh enough that they had no issue running all day long. They took regular breaks, to make sure they wouldn’t crumble out of exhaustion before reaching their next destination, but actually they were both eager to run again each time they stopped.

They also realized the Flat Fields were actually very boring without Zanorin comments and stories. It was just an endless monotonous flat landscape with very few things to see. The two men didn’t despair, though, and they naturally turned their boring journey into something they both excelled at.

Training.

They could have trained for hours, repeating the same moves over and over, and never find it boring. And thus that’s what they did. They started to run for hours without pause. They didn’t talk to the few passersby that watched them pass with a puzzled look. They simply ran.

Sometimes, they Flowed and tried to synchronize their rhythms. When they succeeded, it was a sight few had ever seen. Their Flow melted into one, and their paces were absolutely identical. It was like watching the same scene twice.

Their strides were of the same length and frequency. Their inspirations happened at the same time, for the same duration. Their eyes were unwavering, fixed on the horizon. Their arms accompanied their motions with a perfectly synchronized back-and-forth. They even had the same clothes and backpacks.

In fact, their minor physical differences almost disappeared, and they seemed so alike as they ran side by side. The only thing that could differentiate them was their eyes.

Two blue ones for Jorik. Focused, icy, determined, calculating.

One blue, one green for Mahon. Attentive, intense, calm, hopeful.

They reached the next inn in the afternoon, exhausted, but they could have continued further. Mahon was almost surprised they were here so soon. They had run in less than a day what would have taken three or four days of walk.

The innkeeper looked quite similar to Simon in that he was very friendly and laughed often and loud. They informed him of his compatriot’s assassination without telling him all the details about their own implication, and the man said he would relay the information so that the inn wouldn’t stay empty long.

He also thanked them profusely for burying them and offered them dinner and bed for free. Mahon and Jorik didn’t refuse, and spent their time before dinner stretching and resting. They slept early, woke up even earlier and started their training-journey again.

The days passed quickly, and the two men never faltered. What should have been a two-month trip took them three weeks. The first of which was spent with Zanorin walking. When an innkeeper finally told them the Silent Bow Clan was just in front of them, near the mountains, Mahon and Jorik paused to think for the first time since they had started running.

It was like they had stopped using their brain for two weeks, simply focused on the physical effort and nothing else. Maybe it was their way of coping with what had happened at Simon’s inn. And now that they were almost at the Silent Bow Clan, they raised their head and focused again, because now came the tricky part.

Zanorin had been clear enough that the mountains were both the most hospitable and dangerous place of the Notitia Region. Because food was easier to find there, most of the tribes lived at the bottom of the mountains. And now that they were left without a guide, they couldn’t move recklessly just like they did previously.

They spent an extra day resting in the inn, asking the innkeeper but also the guides that stopped for the night about the Silent Bow Clan and the other mountain tribes.

“The Silent Bow Clan is special. They live much higher than the rest.” An old guide told them at dinner. “I don’t know what they found so attractive on that mountain, but they sure cherish it more than their own wives.”

“How do we find them, then?” Jorik asked while handing the guide a beer.

“You know how to talk to people.” The guide laughed happily. “Wait a second, I’ll grab my map and show you.”

The man left to his room and came back shortly after with a map carefully folded in a waterproof bag. He unfolded and manipulated it until he managed to get the area he wanted to show them.

“We’re here.” He pointed to the name of their inn, close to a vertical line representing the main road crossing the entire Flat Fields. “The Silent Bow Clan is on this peak.” He showed one of the closest mountains to their location. “But the direct route is kind of hard and dangerous. The Silent Bow Clan people usually move around like this when they need to trade for specific items.”

The man paused and seemed to remember something. “We actually met one of their carts not that long ago. Given its speed, you might even be able to catch up to it before it goes around. It’ll help you a lot if you don’t have to try every possible path blindly.”

They continued their discussion for a bit, and Mahon and Jorik asked for more details in case they wouldn’t be able to catch up to the cart. Satisfied with their enquiries and thanking their luck for meeting this guide they went to sleep, ready to run again in the morning.

Again, they left before sunrise, determined to catch up to the cart as fast as possible. They couldn’t go thoughtlessly, however, or they would risk attracting the attention of unwanted people. Even though Mahon and Jorik were pretty sure they could get out of any dangerous situation with their fighting skills and running abilities, it was best not to push their luck too far.

As such, they ran shorter distances before taking breaks, and they made sure at every stop that there was no trouble ahead. They managed to locate the cart just before they arrived at the mountains and the landscape started to change.

The Flat Fields ended abruptly, and a gigantic wall of stones and snow barred their way. The cart seemed minuscule in comparison to those natural giants. The people attacking the cart were even smaller, but it was them that alerted Mahon and Jorik.

A dozen people were targeting the cart from behind a rock near the road. The two people who were leading the cart had taken cover behind it, and both groups were firing arrows at each other. At two versus twelve, however, the fight was clearly at the disadvantage of the Silent Bow Clan, and their attackers seized the opportunity to approach them carefully from other directions.

Mahon and Jorik didn’t stay idle. They sprinted towards the scene, praying they would arrive in time to save the Silent Bow Clan people. Actually, the desertic path leading to the mountain and the slow pace of the bow battle played in their favor as the two sides weren’t committing all their troops in one go.

When the attackers saw Mahon and Jorik coming, they fired a few arrows in front of them to deter them from coming closer, but it didn’t even slow the two men. Instead, they sped up after that first warning and took cover behind the cart while the attackers were reloading.

The two people from the Silent Bow Clan watched them arrive with puzzled faces. Mahon spoke before they could utter a word.

“Are you by any chance from the Silent Bow Clan?” He asked.

“Yes…?” One of the two men answered with a hesitant voice.

“Perfect!” Jorik smiled widely. “We’re just in time then.”

“I would say it’s a rather unfortunate time.” The second, older man retorted while releasing an arrow that took down one attacker. “If you haven’t noticed yet, we’re under attack and you fucking jumped right in the fight!” He almost screamed the end.

“Yeah. We noticed.” Mahon answered.

“That’s why we said we arrived just in time.” Jorik completed with a devilish smile.

Without explaining further they stood up out of the cart’s cover. Barely a second later, a couple of arrows fused at them. Jorik raised his sword and parried while Mahon simply turned his head, letting the arrow fly harmlessly past him.

The next instant, they were rushing at their opponents. Jorik charged at the group trying to circle them while Mahon went for the main group still hidden behind their rock. Arrows rained on him as he moved closer to them, but they were too slow for his Flow’s absolute perception and his enhanced reflexes.

He zigzagged between the projectiles while putting to shame the efforts of his attackers. No arrow managed to graze him, and he didn’t even have to draw any of his weapons. He simply wasn’t on the arrows’s trajectory anymore the instant it was fired. It was like he could predict when and where they would shoot. And he kind of did.

The closer he approached, the more panicked the men were, and instead of increasing the difficulty of dodging because of the shorter reaction time, it actually became easier to move forward.

When he reached them, Mahon glanced at the seven men.

They are no warriors.

He didn’t bother to draw his weapons. His Flow perceived how desperate and weak they were. When he moved close enough to punch them in the face, they dropped their bows and drew daggers. Or rather, they tried.

Mahon took down three of them before they could even grab their weapons. Two more joined the unconscious pack as they were drawing them. The last two did end with their daggers in hand, but they quickly realized it meant nothing in front of Mahon. A low kick and two punches on the temple sent them to the ground.

On the other side of the battlefield, Jorik finished handling his own group. Just like Mahon, he didn’t kill anyone and simply disabled them using both his fists and sword’s handle.

Mahon and Jorik then came back leisurely to the two shocked men from the Silent Bow Clan. Before the duo could actually walk back to them, the older one drew his bow and aimed at Mahon.

“Freeze!” He ordered.

Having been in a similar situation previously, Mahon knew he shouldn’t undermine the man’s confidence and so he stopped. He had clearly shown he wasn’t afraid of bows as seven men had shot at him an instant ago without any success. But he remained silent and looked back at the man instead.

He was in his sixties, in human standard, but he didn’t seem that old. His body wasn’t one of a decrepit elder, but of a man used to live a harsh life that had sculpted him. His arms weren’t trembling as he held his bow drawn, and his look didn’t show any fear. Just confusion.

“Who are you? What do you want? Why are you looking for the Silent Bow Clan?”

“We’ve no ill intentions.” Jorik assured. “I’m Jorik, and this is my friend, Mahon. We’re from the Finem Kingdom, a country beyond the Linpool Sea. We came here because we learnt you could get us across those.” He pointed to the domineering mountains at their side.

The man eyed them without saying anything, but he slowly released the tension of his bow until it wasn’t drawn anymore.

“And you hope that saving us will give you the right to ask for that favor?”

“No.” Jorik shook his head. “We just wanted to travel with you up to your clan and ask you directly. We’re ready to pay.” He added while taking a pouch out of his backpack.

The old man seemed surprised but pleased with Jorik’s answer and honesty, and he placed his arrow back in his quiver and started going over his cart, making sure nothing had been damaged during the battle.

“We’re not really interested in your gold.” He spoke. “We prefer to trade.”

“And what are you looking for exactly?” Jorik asked.

The man stopped rummaging through his goods and stared at Mahon and Jorik with an interested expression.

“If you tell us the secrets of dodging arrows, then we can tell you the secrets of passing through the mountains.”

A smile appeared on Mahon’s face. “There is no secret. It’s more something that needs to be taught and then practiced.”

The old man mimicked Mahon’s smile. “There is no secret either about passing through. You will need to practice as well.”

Mahon’s smile grew even larger. “Then it’s a deal.”