Sekant sipped from his glass and eyed the Gray Lands whiskey in his glass. The thinnest layer of it clung to the glass; he watched as it slowly receded back down the glass, running along the lines that had been blown into the glass upon its making. Horol, the night before he had become possessed, had mentioned to Sekant as he passed him three stamps for the room and board, that he could always be brought up something to drink, that each of the rooms had its own cooking pot and glassware, a rare luxury in these parts. The glasses themselves were evenly blown, with intricate rivets in them that seemed out of place in such a part of the country. Such glassware would even be expensive in the southwestern district of Erenamune; the elite and the wealthy held numerous parties throughout the year for days of harvest and celebration, and even they didn’t keep glassware so nice. Full of so many tricks, Sekant thought as he took another small sip. Gray Lands whiskey was a sickening mossy color, the liquid looking like a foul medicine rather than a luxurious spirit.
The harrowing events of the night before should have been able to be passed off as a dream or a nightmare, but he hadn’t slept through the night, and as much as he wished it to be true, for him to be able to open his eyes and find himself still having just arrived, he knew that the innkeeper, kind despite a desperately busy presence, was dead just down the stairs from the room. The drink helped with the feeling of contrition, however, even if only for a little while, and even if he would regret drinking on an empty stomach and without a wink of sleep.
The girl that had barged in, Lida, would likely become suspicious if he remained up here too long. She might still just be waiting to take a shot at me coming out of my room, he figured to himself. He pushed back from the small table and stood up from the creaking wooden chair, surveying the room. After the night of fighting, stumbling through ale-soaked floors, he figured it would behoove him to change. He removed his black jerkin and black tunic, revealing a wealth of scars, both from blades and burns, on a phantom-like pale body. His mop of white hair was stiff from the salty sweat, but he changed quickly. The pants would have to remain, as he unfortunately hadn’t thought of bringing a second pair for the journey. Into the dark gray pants, he tucked his new tunic, a dark gray linen. On top of the dark gray tunic, simple and creased from the folds of his travel pack, he wrapped tightly a starched white linen top robe-style garment that tucked into his pants as well. He had leather bracers on that went neatly from just below the elbow where his outer tunic reached to his wrists, for maximum coverage and flexibility. He grabbed the travel pack, making a note in his head to remember to wash the linens as soon as he was able to and reached over to the room’s fireplace mantle to grab the blade in its scabbard, hesitating as he reached for it over the smoldering embers.
“Master Sekant! Would you please call your sisters inside for dinner?” the servant shouted from the third floor’s drawing room balcony. He was a peculiar servant; when one was in the service of the most famous family of sellsword assassins in Dunyasik, one wasn’t built how you might imagine a servant. His body was lithe and graceful looking, though his snobbish upturned expression of dissatisfaction seemed to be one universally shared amongst serving staff. He even had a delightfully manicured combover.
“No!” Sekant shouted as he ran back toward the manse.
“Sekant! What have I told you about being polite to Mister Erahme?!” another voice, effeminate yet terrifying, said sternly from the back entrance door to the building. It froze Sekant mid-stride as he looked up from the gravel to see his mother. Any feelings were imperceptible on her face, as blank as a sheet of fresh linen. His mother was beautiful, hauntingly so. Her face was sleek, and her skin was dewy, with high-set cheekbones and a chin that came to a slight point. Her hair was tied into a neat, black bun, with a small needle, so thin it almost appeared to be invisible, holding the hair up tightly and pressed to her scalp. Her eyes were a beautiful baby blue, however, and betrayed the soft, tender love she felt for her children, even as she worked hard to sternly reprimand them. Sekant’s young shoulders slacked, as he turned around and walked back toward the small forest near the creek, half an acre away from the estate’s main grounds. Just ten years old, he was already beginning to pack on the sinewy lean muscle that lent itself to his swordplay lessons with his father, six hours a day, five days a week. “And don’t you dare sulk! I’ve made trussed wykan, your favorite!”
“That’s Sekzint’s favorite, mother!” the boy snapped back, irritated.
“And when have you ever not loved anything your brother loved?” she shot back with good nature. “And you better not tell Elliel and Yrilli that we ate without them again, they were a mess last time,” her shouts trailing off as he walked further away.
The boy shook his head in annoyance as he took off at a jog toward the creek, though he gained speed as he went down the hill and began to laugh as he ran.
As Sekant sat himself at the table and adjusted himself in his seat, his father stared at him intently. “You need to cut your hair, Sekant,” he observed. “You look like I could pick you up and clean the floor with you.” His voice remained still, though his silvery eyes glinted with a hint of affection.
“Yes, father,” Sekant responded quickly. He resisted the urge to flip his messy white hair.
“What have you studied today? You haven’t had swordplay lessons, so I hope you’ve read well.” Ilant’s hands came to a relaxed pyramid in front of his face as he waited on the plate to be adjusted neatly in front of him at the table by one of the serving girls, his eyes still affixed on Sekant.
Sekant broke out in a cold sweat. “I, erm, yes, I had read…” his eyes darted around the dining hall as he tried to discreetly look for anything he could reference. In the corner of his eye, his mother pointed ever so delicately to her right. She was pruning and adjusting the floral arrangement, and Sekant beamed. “I read grandfather’s notes on the blue sun lily poisons,” Sekant stated with a false confidence.
“Good,” Ilant nodded, unfolding his hands as he tore into a leg piece of the wykan. “Poison, in the hands of a good assassin, is as valuable as an army of men, or a single good politician,” he said with wry humor. “And,” he said as he paused for a moment to chew through the first few bites, “I almost believed you. You’ve gotten much better at lying. But next time, don’t use your mother’s favorite flower. She’s not that good at hiding things,” he said with a loving wink, his attitude not showing any signs of disappointment.
“Blue sun lilies are beautiful,” his mother added warmly. “But they are not my favorite, my love.” She turned and sat herself at the table. “Ilant! Bad manners to start, your daughters haven’t even finished washing up, you couldn’t wait for them?”
“And I didn’t even wait for my eldest to come home, as eating is too important to wait on with small details like ‘manners,’ my dearest,” he retorted, though he did put the piece of half-eaten wykan back onto the intricately detailed porcelain plate. “And blue sun lilies aren’t your favorite? Since when? I bought you a dozen bouquets of them when I proposed!”
She smiled as she picked up a glass of wine, blown with a teal glass stain. “You think too much like your father. You love the practicality of a flower like the lily. You simply think it’s utilitarian to keep the lilies around. A flower so delicately beautiful that can be made into a frighteningly deadly poison? Well, let’s just say, you’re a romantic, but you’re an assassin, Ilant.”
“Then tell me,” he said, leaning forward now steepling his hands again with a full smile.
She turned her head as if amused, egging him on.
“Tell me what flower I could have gotten you instead.”
“I may have married you for your money, Ilant, but I like to stay close to my roots,” she coughed as she giggled awkwardly at her somewhat unintended pun, Sekant rolling his eyes. “violet fires will always have a place in my heart.”
“The weed?!” Ilant shot back playfully.
She shrugged as she took another sip, “I’ll always be a woman of the countryside, my dear.”
Ilant sat back, roaring with laughter as his shoulders loosened. A door slammed, however, and he sat himself up straight.
“Mother, you’ve certainly always had your oddities, but I must agree with father in this, a weed, truly?” a new voice added to the room. Sekant shot up with excitement from his seat, though a quick hand gesture from his father stopped him from leaving the table.
Sekzint walked into the room, quickly hugging his seated mother, who seemed tired suddenly. He looked over at Ilant, nodding. “Good evening father, I hate that I was late tonight, I hope you can forgive me.”
Ilant said nothing, returning to his meal in silence, his composure returning temporarily upon Sekzint’s arrival. Instead he nodded at the older boy, black hair clinging, as if wet, top his shoulders, gesturing for him to sit.
Sekzint spotted Sekant in the corner of his eye and winked, then sat himself at the table. The twin daughters, Elliel and Yrilli, came bounding into the room giggling, their black hair taking after Sekzint and their mother. They went everywhere together, attached at the hip and at the heart, it felt. They squealed with delight upon seeing their older brother and enveloped him in a hug before seating themselves at the table to join the family.
“You underestimate the beauty of a field of violet fires, dear. A sea of them can be breathtakingly beautiful, especially when you’re ten years old and a poor farmer’s daughter, rather than an assassin looking for the most effective poison to use.”
The whole table laughed, even the servant stationed in the corner of the room waiting for the next course to arrive had to stifle a giggle, no one laughing harder than Sekant. The boy was growing like a reed but was skinny, his hair a disheveled mop of silvery strands that glinted like moonlight on a clear evening. He was yet unburdened by the wars that ravaged the lands surrounding them, quixotic in the way that only a child or true fool could be. They ate without a word for a few minutes, happily lapping up green tomato soups, picking at foraged mushrooms spiced heavily with southern curry spice mixtures, and ripping the bones greedily from the trussed wykans (which Dayanik was particularly eager to tear into), all sipping on honey wine and tea, and it felt as if this would be every night, but the mood shifted as their eating pace slowed to a crawl and the final plates were carried away by the servants.
“Tomorrow, Sekant, is your final day of training before we must return. I’ve heard word from the Kutsalgoz: our presence is needed at Bridge; apparently, some young woman has stirred up trouble for trade routes and we are to rip her thorn out of the Council’s side. Have you packed what you need?”
“Yes, father,” Sekant replied obediently, his voice steady despite his mind wanting so desperately to falter and speak the truth.
“Must he go, dearest?” Sekant’s mother pleaded.
Nodding as he spoke, “the boy’s a prodigy, my love. He’s a better fighter than all but a handful of the sellswords the council has enlisted. He’s ready.”
“He’s ten,” she reminded Ilant.
“And at that age I’d killed dozens already. Three Hells, Ilant is a member of the Kutsalgoz, nigh on sixteen years old.”
Sekant remained silent, the tension in the air was palpable. The twins had already returned to their rooms, only Sekant, Sekzint, and their parents remained. Despite the respectful tone, anger was clearly welling within Ilant; though his words were, on their surface, praising in description if Sekzint, it seemed as if he couldn’t stand the boy’s presence, like buzzing flies on a hot summer picnic.
“Perhaps,” Sekzint cut through the silence with some measure of diplomacy, “mother would feel more at ease, knowing how well Sekant’s training has come along, father? Perhaps, before his departure, she could watch his final bit of swordplay training? I’m happy to help.”
Ilant’s eyes barely held a moment’s gaze at Sekzint. “Fine, tomorrow morning.”
Sekant sat silently through it all, though Sekzint gave him another reassuring wink.
The next morning, the two sons and their father went out to the front of the manse, all trailed by attendants carrying a variety of weapons. Their departure was delayed by a full hour for the display, though Sekant secretly relished the thought of staying a little longer. Springs in northern Dunyasik were mild, though his mother was typically ravaged by pollen in the air, her allergies exacerbated. Despite the frequent fits of sneezes and reddened eyes, she seemed to love nothing more than to tend to the gardens on the grounds of their estate.
Sekant loved the breezy gusts in the springtime, they kept one cool regardless of the temperatures outside, though this far north in Dunyasik, it never quite reached the balmy, sticky spring heatwaves of the south. Once, when he was only six or seven, his father brought him to observe one of the battles that their clan had been contracted by the Council to oversee and command. More than the shrieks of pain, more than the countless men whose death rattles seemed to last for hours of suffering, even more than the searing memory of watching his father, the venerable Ilant Hazar, decapitate the heads of the Ginlesi officers who had offered surrender, Sekant remembered the heat. The endless, sweltering heat that clung to the clothes of each of the men before the initial charge. He remembered how abrasive the sweaty clothes stuck to his skin felt, the chafing and rashes he could already imagine happening in just a few hours. How the men who were fighting and dying in this battle had complained in unison with him about having to wear the same clothes the past two weeks without a bath and the stink it was causing from the heat. As he walked amongst the bodies, his father listening to reports from a clerk as they navigated the morass of leather and metal, he could still feel the heat from that day.
The demonstration began. Ilant leapt at Sekant first; he equipped himself with dueling twin scimitars, lengthy blades that glowed from blue moonstone worked into the metal. He feinted low with a shallow swing at Sekant’s legs, immediately moving into a somersault-like motion where he rained down both blades directly at Sekant’s head. Sekant mostly ignored the blow at his legs, leaping backwards into a backflip, planting his free hand into the dirt to push himself away as the blades rained down comfortably at a distance. As he moved into a crouched stance landing from the dodge, he flung a small knife from his belt at his father. It connected, burying itself an inch below his collarbone. But Ilant felt no need to slow down, thrusting forward with his left hand in an aggressive stance. Sekant fell for the bait, spinning toward Ilant as he parried the overextended blade, grabbing another small knife to bring to his father’s exposed throat. Sekzint, however, was waiting. Sekant’s brother grabbed his wrist slamming him hard to the ground with one hand as he kicked down at Sekant’s kneecap, hyperextending the leg and causing Sekant to crumple to the ground.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
“No fair!” Sekant shouted, limping up to his feet. “You never said I would have to fight both of you!”
“Do you think war is made up of individual battles of honor, little brother?” Ilant said, helping his younger sibling up. Though Sekant was slender, Ilant looked practically emaciated in comparison. His arms were gaunt, and he had a sickly appearance, though he always seemed cheery. Ilant was equally as adept a fighter as Sekant, though neither boy could match the physical prowess of their father. They gained slight builds from their mother, her petite and slender frame so gentle to look at. “Again, and this time be prepared. I didn’t even have a weapon on me that time,” Sekzint barked the order.
The elder brother and father dashed in together this time, their movements entirely in sync without a word being spoken. Sekzint had unsheathed a long, slender dagger made of a dark ferrous alloy that nearly looked like it was made of obsidian, leaping in the air at Sekant in a clear attempt to make him duck. Sekant obliged, though farther than what Ilant had anticipated; he had clearly worked under Sekzint’s attack from above with a slashing motion crisscrossing both scimitar blades at where he had thought Sekant would duck to. Instead, Sekant slid fully into a prone position, using his momentum to take him between his father’s legs. He had stuck two needles with a mild neurotoxin into his father’s ankle. Though their family had spent an ample amount of time training their body to survive the lethality of most poisons, they could suffer the numbing or painful effects, and the deadlier poisons such as from blue sun lilies were still deadly in appropriate dosages. The neurotoxin was mild but did its job, quickly dropping Ilant to one knee as Sekant slid through, kicking his father in the rear to knock him prone. His hands now free, Sekant pushed with both hands against the ground behind his head, launching himself feet first into the air, both feet aimed straight up to kick at Sekzint, who seemed to still be floating down to earth. Sekzint was prepared, however, grasping the spindly ankle and throwing Sekant by using his momentum and gravity.
As Sekant landed on the ground, gracefully this time as he grew accustomed to his brother’s strategies and movements, he dashed forward in a flash, with Sekzint mirroring his movements. The brothers leapt at one another, their blades glinting in the bright light of the suns. Sekant’s training sword was short and straight, but not too narrow like the sword his brother had grown fond of using in battles, never more than three or four centimeters in depth. Sekant, as his father had professed, was prodigious in his skills for his age. His brother, however, was faster and, despite barely being thicker than him even as he dwarfed him greatly in height, far stronger than him. As Sekant went in with a lunging motion to stab at the torso, utilizing his low center of gravity and smaller frame to get underneath Sekzint’s gangly arms, Sekzint brought his elbow down expertly across Sekant’s wrist as he contorted his frame to sidestep the stab, narrowly missing the blade glancing against his ribs and without bringing it down so early as to mistakenly hit his elbow against the sword either. Sekant lost the blade to the ground and fell to one knee from the force of the blow, his wrist nearly broken. He looked up, Sekzint’s blade at his chin.
“Excellent work. To be able to disarm me and force Sekzint into a final flurry of moves, truly excellent work, son,” Ilant walked over, his leg barely even showing signs of the neurotoxin as his adapted body quickly worked to flush out the effects of the poison. Ilant grasped Sekant firmly on his shoulder.
“But I lost,” Sekant said glumly.
“Yes, and if this was a real battle, you would be dead. However, that is what makes this training so invaluable. Winning a battle does nothing but inflate your ego and trick you into feeling invincible. I want you to use this as a reminder. There is always someone capable of killing you in a battle, whether it be a stray arrow finding a fortunate path through the air to a vital organ, a mistake leaving you open to a blow from behind, or even simply being outclassed. Learn from this battle, son. You may not have any scars from this encounter, and you should consider yourself lucky for that, but you should focus more so on the fortune you gain in learning from your mistakes.”
“You did quite well, little brother. Perhaps you’ll join me in the Kutsalgoz someday,” Sekzint added with admiration.
“Yes, well, for now, grab your things and say your goodbyes. We must be off,” Ilant seemed to wish to ignore Sekzint’s role in the conversation.
Sekant was about to bound away, bouncy from the praise, but his father motioned for him to wait. “I almost forgot,” he snapped his fingers and the attendant who had carried his packs came over. “To mark what should be considered a very special occasion. I know you don’t wish to leave your mother, but we have jobs to do, all of us,” as he spared a sharp momentary glance at Sekzint, who seemed to be drifting off in reverie. As the attendant drew close, Ilant pulled a blade out from under an indigo wrapping cloth. The blade was long and glinted silver, a black hexagonal cross guard connecting the hilt in a simple fashion, though it looked like it was meant for a fully grown adult.
“Is that one of the Six Blades of Heaven?!” Sekant cried out with fear and joy.
Ilant roared with laughter, his head tilting back as he let out a cacophony of joy. “Son, if I had one of the Six in my possession, I certainly wouldn’t be handing it to a child,” his eyes flashing a moment of seriousness before he returned to a genuine expression of happiness and pride. “This blade is still quite special, however,” hoping to ease the disappointment. “It belonged to my father before me, and his father before him. It isn’t quite an ancestral blade, however, it’s close enough. This is a Ha clan heirloom, meant for a rightful member of the head family. However, I never quite liked the style of the blade. It’s far too dainty,” he said with a chuckle, handing it over to Sekant. Ilant knelt as he brought himself to eye level with Sekant. Sekant’s eyes seemed to sparkle as he adored the beauty of the blade. “Some blades are adorned with powers from the Fourteen Gods of Eil; some are cloaked in Darkness, and others can be used to level armies. All blades are dangerous, however, when in the hands of a dangerous man. Remember, when you fight and use this blade, Sekant, that you are using it to take a life, protect a life, and to move forward. All any man can hope to do is fight to pursue what’s in front of him.”
Sekant’s reverie was broken as he heard a shouting of voices below, and he shot down the stairs, his shirt untucked and his hair a floppy mess.
“How?! When did you get back?!”
“I tried to come last night, but after I left old man Karif’s house, there were shouts, fires, and I thought it best to come off the road. What has been happening?! You’re covered in blood, Lida! Are you okay?!”
Sekant stood at the bottom of the stairs, his eyebrow arched, and lips pursed in confusion. Next to Lida and Reya, a young boy stood, a hair shorter than the dark-haired girl, though a touch taller than the barmaid. He wore the traditional priest-in-training get-up, a pressed and clean white dress shirt that was a size too large, and brown britches; he wasn’t wearing a potona, so he was clearly still far from acting and operating as an independent priest of Amune. He had a forgettable, meek face, one with an expression of anxiety and fear, though his jade green eyes shined without being teary. His dark brown mop of hair was not unlike Sekant’s in its unkempt nature, he thought, aimlessly twirling his own. He couldn’t be older than thirteen based on his size, Sekant figured to himself.
“Who is he?!” the youth shouted at Sekant’s general direction, and his jaw went slightly slack as he assessed the threat to be minimal from this boy.
“It’s…complicated. But you! When did you come back, and why didn’t you write me before?”
The boy shuffled his feet and ruffled the back of his hair in embarrassment. “I was granted a year to come down here by the Council before I make it to my posting, I figured I would come and surprise you and Alya. I…I heard about your father. Karif had told me. But I wanted to see you all, to thank you all.”
Lida hugged him, embracing him tightly as tears flowed easily down her cheeks. She hadn’t seen her childhood friend in six years, and yet his scent smelled the same as it did when he’d left all those years ago. He smelled of wildflowers and elderberries, his favorite bathtime tincture. When they pulled away, she grasped his face, distorting his delicate features as his eyes grew wide with confusion. She beamed; though her mouth was closed she smiled widely, tears still welling in her eyes and a few curled strands of hair falling in front of her face from the untidy bun she had pulled the rest up into.
“Day, it’s so…so good to have you home.”
Sekant, rather than clearing his throat or waiting for introduction, sat himself at the bar, navigating shattered glass that remained strewn across the top, grabbing a bottle of Brimriver. Uncorking the bottle, he poured the clear liquor into a small wide glass that had been sheltered from the worst of the damage last night. Brimriver came from far to the east, so it didn’t shelter behind honey sweeteners like those preferred in Dunyasik. Instead, its nearly perfectly clear appearance was only slightly clouded by an opaque, shimmering rainbow appearance, appearing in a way one might imagine an opal would look if it could be melted and retain its iridescence. Sekant eyed the bottle after he took his first sip, burning as he felt it travel down to his empty stomach. “Where on Eil did your father get this bottle, Reya?”
The barmaid was behaving in a way that belied her true sadness. She was cleaning up the mess that Sekant’s destructive battle had left, huffing as she moved frantically from one spot of broken glass and splintered wood to the next. She puffed out some air to blow a loose strand up to her head. In the daylight, the red seemed more muted by the natural shine of the suns than it did in the fire and lamp light. “Father had…he had run into some good fortunes recently. He told me about it last week, that he had gotten lucky on a few deals and shipments from traveling merchants. I suppose that must be where he…” she trailed off, sobbing quietly for a moment as she held a hand up to her aching temple.
Lida walked over, her gloved hand rubbing the barmaid’s back. “Day, you remember Reya, right?” She said in a matter of invitation.
The well-groomed boy walked over, his face turning beet-red with embarrassment and nervousness. Sekant remembered Reya well. She was the same age as Lida and the three had all gone to lessons at the village school together. He had just now remembered in this moment that, prior to his departure, he had made a grand gesture of pronouncing his love for her, albeit privately. He had had an obsessive crush on the girl; he remembered that her auburn hair was a sight to behold in these parts, and he was pleasantly surprised to find that her beauty had only grown as she had reached adulthood, but he was inexperienced with speaking so freely with girls, especially those he had confessed his feelings to.
“Hi, I erm…it’s me. Dayanik.”
Reya giggled as the tears began to try, hugging Dayanik as his face seemed to turn so red he looked as if he had replaced his face with a tomato. “It’s been so long, Day. I’m glad you’re back.”
Sekant partially stifled a belch, though more to suppress the acid reflux of such a stinging liquid on an empty stomach, rather than decorum. The three youths looked at him with stinging glares. “I’d best be on my way then,” he said drowsily, and stood up from the bar. He grabbed a long, slender needle from his boot, sticking it in his mouth as one would a toothpick. As he picked up his satchel and strode to the door, his hands behind his head, Lida stepped in front of him. Her menacing figure, though far shorter than Sekant, emitted an aura of rancor.
“Where do you think you’re going?” She said, crossing her arms in a manner that she must have thought looked defiant but instead came across as petulantly childish.
“Back to the capital, if you truly think it’s your business to know.”
“You think you can just come to our village, tear up Reya’s home, and leave? Without telling us what happened? Reya told me, you know, about the Darkness, how it knew you.”
Sekant’s eyes drifted lazily. An empty stomach won’t do me any good. That Brimriver might put me to sleep rather than wake me up if I’m not careful. He reaffixed his gaze as Lida poked his chest, which was nearly at eye level with her as he towered a full head above her. “It sounds to me like Reya already told you what you need to know.”
“The Darkness?!” the youth, Dayanik, interjected. “The Darkness was here? But…how?!”
Sekant gestured at Dayanik. “See, tell him the story. That’s not my job.”
A flash of movement saw a blade at Sekant’s neck. Lida looked at him without murderous intent, but she had moved with the dexterity of one trained well with the knife. “You’ll stay…you deserve to at least tell your side of the story, wouldn’t you say?” She smiled at him as he rolled his eyes.
“But…the Darkness returning? It can’t be possible.”
“As I’ve said a dozen times in a dozen different ways, it appears that it is not only possible for the Darkness to return, but that he has already.”
“What could have triggered such an occurrence?” the youth questioned rhetorically.
Sekant shrugged as he chewed on a dry biscuit. Better to soak up all of that alcohol you owe me for now, Reya had scoffed at him. You’d think saving her life would be enough, he thought to himself. “After millennia of war, hatred, death, destruction, it’s genuinely more surprising his return didn’t come earlier. Usurped monarchies, bloody rebellions, genocidal warlords. This world has allowed hate to proliferate and dominate. The Darkness feeds off of and fuels that hate. It’s no surprise that it has come to a head.” He continued to chew at the bread nonchalantly, wishing he had more of the Brimriver, or even water, to at least help him swallow the stale crumbs.
“And you said you were going to the capital?” Lida answered before Dayanik could respond. “Why?”
“I have someone I need to speak to.”
“Who?” She answered.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Is it about the Darkness returning?”
“No,” he responded curtly. This drew a glare from the girl.
“Th-then…I s-should go with you. The Council must be told about this. I’m…not sure what to make of the notion that the Darkness has returned. B-but someone must tell them, they’ll know what to do.”
“No,” Sekant made zero eye contact with the boy. Reya had come back with butter for the biscuits, as he thanked the gods above for the boon. “I can leave a message while I’m in the city, but I’m not bringing you along.”
“W-what? Why not?” the boy looked incredulous and embarrassed.
Sekant paused to chew the mouthful, closing his eyes blissfully for a moment. “Do I look like I’d like to be a babysitter for you?”
“He came here all by himself from the capital! How can you say that he can’t go where he pleases?” Lida shot back.
“He can damn-well go wherever he pleases. I’m simply saying he’s not coming with me,” Sekant responded, his eyes meeting Lida’s in a dead stare.
Dayanik shuffled his feet as he looked down at the mug of water Reya had brought him. He was nervous around this stranger, but with Lida around, he felt a bit more confident. “Please, Lord Sekant, I-” he started.
“Not a lord,” Sekant cut him off. “Believe me, it’s nothing personal. I’m sure you can take care of yourself, despite…your appearance. But I’m not taking care of you. I’m not taking the Merchant’s Road anyways, and the path will be dangerous even for me.” This last statement had Lida and Dayanik both caught off guard.
“Why wouldn’t you take the Merchant’s Road?” Dayanik asked meekly. The Merchant’s Road, which stretched all the way from Bridge in northern Dunyasik to the Frostgrave Pass that “welcomed” travelers to Tas Utul, was the main road through the center of the country. It even splintered off into several smaller roads into small towns and villages such as Dayanik’s home.
Sekant finished chewing and shifted his dead stare to the boy. “Do you think with a threat so grave appearing in front of us, we can afford to just waste six months north up that road to tell people?”
“You just said you don’t even care about the Darkness!” Lida snorted.
He held up a finger, “I said no such thing, I simply said that’s not why I’m heading to the capital. Ulterior motivation does not take away from the fact that I can tell when something bad is happening. I’m selfish, not stupid. Either way, I’m not taking a boy through the Azure Desert. King scorpions would have you by the end of the first night.”
Dayanik looked down at the water, swirling the water around the mug nervously. “But I-” he started again, only to be cut off by Lida.
“You won’t have to watch his back. I will,” Lida stated matter-of-factly.
“Wait, what?” Dayanik stared at his friend.
“Yeah, I’m with him, what?” Sekant added.
She folded her arms in her…imposing manner, again. “I promise, you won’t have to take care of Day, so long as I’m around.”
Sekant’s eyes drooped as he felt all his energy drained. He wanted to push back, but he was exhausted, and the day had just started. Fighting the girl on this would be more pain than just letting them follow him, he figured to himself. “Great, guess I’ll have the company of two brats instead of one, thank Amune for this blessing,” and he gestured, looking mockingly up at the ceiling, feigning prayer.
