by Jayden Woods
*
The path to Dearen required a steep trek down the cliffs of Vikand, and for the sake of appearing inconspicuous, Sean chose not to climb as he would in different circumstances. A normal man would not climb down the rocks with his bare hands. A normal man would take one of the rope lifts or ride a steed down Krieger’s Path to the beautiful Dearen valley below.
Sean wanted to act like a normal man.
As he pondered this, he spent several days walking on foot through the scrub-lands to the outskirts of Vikand. He did not know when he would next have the chance to be alone, nor without some influence of magical dusts or potions in his system. He wished he did not have to take Discipline. With a such a drug in his bloodstream, he could neither enjoy nor dislike anything. And he wondered whether he would enjoy being someone new or not. He might never know, if he used Discipline regularly.
As he walked over rocky paths or slept under a velvet blue sky, he wondered what sort of man he should pretend to be. In the past he had learned to play quick tricks on people, but he had also been able to kill anyone as soon as they discovered the illusion. If he would establish trust with the princess, then he could not kill casually. This was something new: something beyond the scope of his father’s lessons. He would have to figure this out on his own.
He wondered how he might establish her trust in the first place. Should he become a palace servant? Or better yet, a palace guard? There seemed to be no alternative.
When he finally reached Yohag, a town on the outskirts of Vikand and near the edge of the great cliffs, he decided he did not not want to take the rope-lift down. When he imagined standing in close quarters with many other travelers, swinging and swaying over a tremendous height, staking his life on the durability of a flimsy rope, he realized he might as well sign up for sheer torture. So he began shopping for a proper steed.
First, he scouted the large rams and mountain goats so skilled at traversing rocky slopes. Such beasts were suitable for the Vikand cliff ahead. But they stank, were ill-tempered, and Sean did not trust them in the least. He found himself scowling as he watched a group of them shuffle around in the mud of their pen.
“Where are you traveling then, friend?”
Sean turned to look at the goat-keeper who spoke. He expected the man to stiffen and draw back, as most people did when they noticed his red eyes. But this man did not. Belatedly, Sean remembered his brown lenses made him look to this man like any other customer. He flapped his mouth a moment, finding himself at a loss. Then he finally said, “T-to Dearen.”
“Where in Dearen?”
“To the city of Dearen. To the royal palace itself.”
“To the palace, eh?” The goat-keeper chuckled. “You’re not one of them suitors, are you?”
“Suitors?”
“Sure. Looking to marry the Dearen princess, eh?” His chuckle became an all-out cackle. “I’ve probably seen a hundred of them ever since that princess sent an open invitation to men of all the Three Nations. And I thought I’d seen ‘em all, but you must be the most pathetic one yet! Look at yourself, kid. You don’t stand a chance.”
Shocked, Sean took a moment to look down at himself. He wore a rough wool tunic and leather boots. He chose them because he wanted to look plain and unassuming. He had not shaven recently, so his chin was gruff and shadowed with hair. He rubbed it self-consciously.
“Tell you what,” laughed the goat-keeper. “Take that little goat over there—I’ll sell it for one goldon—and ride your ass back home.”
Sean walked away, his cheeks flushed with shame. The man’s laughter haunted him as it faded in the distance. Suitor? Sean had never considered such a ruse. Most pathetic one yet? Sean couldn’t really blame the goat-keeper for thinking so.
He checked the satchel on his back, which was huge and bulging with supplies. No doubt he looked ridiculous with it, and most men would have sagged by now under its weight. But it carried his Wolven suit, his weaponry, his precious supplies from the Merchant, and—most importantly—gold. He took out a handful of goldons and wondered what to do with them.
A few hours later, he returned to the task of purchasing a steed. This time, he wore soft linen trousers and leather boots laced with golden thread and rimmed with bear-fur. His shirt was white and frilled in the Yamairan fashion with gold buttons up the middle. His ear-length hair was combed back, held in place by aromatic oils. A short mantle of Draga wool wrapped his shoulders and fastened to one side with a glittering fibula. A sturdy belt beset with jewels strapped a simple dagger and pouch to his hips. And as for his large bag, a young man carried it for him: some poor slave with good enough looks and manners to suit Sean’s purposes.
Throwing back his cloak, Sean returned to the rude goat-keeper.
“Er, may I help you, sir … ?” Whether the man recognized him or not, Sean couldn’t say and didn’t care.
“That’s Chief,” he said, “and yes you may. Do you have any mountain stock better than this?”
“Well, er, I have one Draga ram, but—”
“I want an animal that’s versatile,” said Sean. “One suited to both rocks and grass.”
The man considered this a moment, then clapped his hands decisively. “I know of a mountain horse. It will climb rocks almost as well as any goat. But it’s very expensive—fifty goldons—and—”
“I’ll take it,” said Sean, “and I’ll take your second-best horse as well, for my slave.”
“Well.” The goat-keeper blinked in a state of ongoing bafflement. “If it pleases you, Chief.”