Matabar

When Ardi awoke, the first thing he did was check if the laces securing the "roof" to the frame of his tent had come loose. Of course, this contraption could hardly be called a "tent." It was just a small piece of canvas stitched for him by his mother, tied between two poles, with a bottom part staked to the ground through holes cut in it for that purpose.

It wasn’t like those large tents meant to shelter several people that cowboys set up when they camped. But even then, they rarely used those, preferring instead to sleep in their bedrolls by the fire, under the open sky.

Speaking of a bedroll — Ardan unwrapped the edge of his and stretched out to his full height, his fingers brushing against the fabric of his tent, which was still damp from the night’s drizzle. Then he swiftly rolled up his "bed" into a tight bundle, tied it with twine, set it aside, and crawled out.

With a couple of quick movements, he pulled up the stakes, untied the laces from the poles, shook the canvas free of dew, rolled it into a bundle, tied the poles to it, and wrapped everything up with twine, ready to-

"Young man, you don’t seem too observant in the mornings…"

"What did I tell you about unnecessary words, mage?"

Ardi dropped all his simple camping gear right where he stood. First, his tent fell on his bare toes, the poles painfully scraping his nails, and then his bedroll landed on top of it all.

His horse, grazing nearby, snorted in amusement.

"Ha. Laughter… and food," it said in broken animal speech, before returning to the engrossing task of nibbling on green grass.

Behind Ardi’s tent, a rather colorful pair had been sitting on the ground. It wasn’t that the young man hadn’t grown accustomed to Cassara over the past month. He’d even gotten used to how provocatively she dressed, revealing almost the entirety of her not-so-small chest. Not to mention the fact that her pants were so tight they could easily be mistaken for a second skin.

But at that moment, the vampire wasn’t alone. She sat with another person pressed against her chest, holding a long hunting knife to his throat. The blade was close enough to make the pulse in his artery visible, ready to cut through it at any moment.

"Good... morning?" Ardi greeted uncertainly, saying it as more of a question than a statement.

"As good as a morning can be, considering-" Mart began, but was cut off as Cassara shifted, pressing her knife’s tip even closer to his artery.

"Quiet," the vampire hissed.

Judging by the heavy bags under Mart’s eyes, his sweat-matted blond hair, and the dimmed blue of his eyes, the doctor hadn’t slept all night.

Ardi scratched his head awkwardly. He’d heard that vampires had rather peculiar, to say the least, mating rituals, but this… This was something else entirely.

"This isn’t what you think it is," Cassara’s crimson eyes flashed.

"I’m not thinking anything," Ardi shrugged, quickly gathering his belongings and moving toward his horse to secure his gear to the saddle, when-

"He was going to kill you."

Ardan nearly dropped his tent and bedroll again, which would have likely elicited a fit of laughter from his horse, who had been observing the scene all along.

Mart barely managed a hoarse whisper, "I already told you that-"

"Vampires aren’t known for their patience, mortal," Cassara clicked her fangs together.

Ardi started recalling a few particularly tricky math problems — something that always calmed him — and decided to tackle his problems one by one. He secured his bedroll and tent to his saddle with some straps, then opened his side bag and pulled out a metal cup, a small, bristly stick, and a tin box.

This splendid set was a toothbrush and tooth powder, a gift from Anna’s brother he’d received last year, brought all the way from Delpas. You wouldn’t be able to find such things in Evergale. It made dental care much easier and-

"Did you hear what I just said?"

Ardi turned to Cassara. If one could look at the situation objectively, the scene looked rather comical. There was a doctor with a knife to his throat, being held captive by a vampire who was sitting on the grass near a peacefully-sleeping mage’s tent. It sounded like the beginning of some ridiculous joke.

"Why would he want to kill me?" Ardi responded with a question of his own.

"That’s what I’d like to know too..." Another flick of her knife silenced Mart.

"You know so little, child," Cassara sighed, causing the doctor to grimace involuntarily. Vampires, after all, were dead, and their "breath" must have had a rather peculiar odor. "I bet this mortal got curious about what you so shamelessly displayed yesterday."

Ardi raised an eyebrow in confusion, then tilted his head and examined the pair’s rumpled clothes and the slight tremor in Mart’s bluish fingers.

Sighing heavily, almost as heavily as the vampire herself, Ardan returned to his horse, pulled a pot and flint from the saddlebag, a small folding tripod, untied a large flask, and from Gleb’s horse, which carried not only the mage’s belongings but also a sack of fuel, he retrieved a small log.

Sitting down on the ground a bit away from the pair, Ardi quickly and skillfully built a hearth from turf (this was a cowboy trick), notched the log in several places with his knife, stuffed it with dry grass, and used the flint near it. Soon, a thin stream of whitish smoke rose into the air, and the pot, now full of clean water, was lightly shaking over the fire.

It was a pity, of course, to waste their limited supply of firewood. In the steppes and prairies, good fuel was scarce. Dry grass and shrubs were about the best you could hope for. Or, if you were lucky, you might find some reeds near a body of water. But only if the morning star of luck smiled upon you, which, naturally, only happened in other people’s drunken tales often told in saloons.

As the water boiled, Ardi sat across from Cassara and Mart.

"Did you spend the whole night here?" He asked.

"He came after you as soon as you went to bed," Cassara explained.

Ardi sighed again, took his brush and powder, and began brushing his teeth. Mart’s face darkened at the sight of his inhumanly sharp fangs.

"So, was the doctor planning to kill me or just discuss yesterday’s events?" Ardan clarified.

"Perhaps he intended to torture you, and after extracting all the information, he would have killed you."

"Ah, well, yes, that sounds logical," Ardi nodded, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

Vampires… After reading the stories about them in Atta’nha’s scrolls, the young man had hoped never to meet one. And yet, what a funny coincidence his life had presented him with.

"One final detail remains," Ardan spat out some frothy saliva, wiped his lips with a handkerchief, and put away the dental set. "Why would the doctor do all this?"

Mart opened his mouth, but quickly shut it as the knife pressed against his artery again.

"Because he’s not a doctor, you naive child," Cassara’s eyes gleamed red, "but a mage."

And with those words, everything Cassara had said before no longer seemed like the twisted, bloody logic of a living corpse that had existed for far too long in this world, and was now seeing everything only in graveyard hues.

The memory of Gleb’s bullet-riddled head flashed through Ardi’s mind again, and he tensed instinctively. But with each passing second, the tension eased.

Even if Mart really was a mage, he didn’t wear any regalia, didn’t have a staff, and didn’t seem to have any artifacts on him. So…

"Did you ask him anything?"

"No," the vampire snorted. "You can’t trust mages, child. He tried to tell me something, but I swiftly…" Cassara pressed her knife to his throat again "…cut short his attempts to cloud my mind."

Of course… Naturally…

Vampires…

Ardi glanced around. The dawn sun was already burning the sky with golden fire, and the camp was slowly waking up. They probably didn’t have much time before the shadows fully left the steppe and everyone noticed the peculiar situation on the outskirts.

By the way, that in itself was curious — how had the sentries of the camp not noticed them yet?

But Ardi would think about that later. For now:

"May I speak with him?" He asked the vampire.

Cassara squinted at him.

"You’re free to do as you wish, child. But remember, the consequences of your decisions will rest solely on your head," she said, flicking her knife again. "I would have simply slit his throat and thrown him over the nearest hill."

Ardi shuddered and pushed away the intrusive image of someone else’s brains splattered across the ground.

By this point, the water was boiling, and the young man, taking the pot off the fire, poured hot water into a cup, added some fragrant powder, and offered it to Mart.

The doctor… mage… or whatever he really was, stared at Ardi for a moment before reaching out with trembling hands to take the cup and drink from it greedily.

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It was clear that the brew burned his lips and throat, but Mart kept taking big gulps, grimacing all the while.

The deceptive steppe could heat up to the point where the ground scorched bare feet during the day, only to then have cold winds cut through your body at night, licking your bones with the icy tongues of encroaching frostbite.

Ardi didn’t even want to imagine what Mart had had to endure that night, sitting in the open air, in the steppe, in the embrace of a vampire.

"Thank you," he finally said, returning the cup.

Ardan nodded and asked his first question. "Are you really a mage?"

Mart responded with a firm nod. His Matabar’s intuition told Ardi that the man wasn’t lying, but he always tried to rely on his own reasoning as much as he did on the magical part of his blood.

"Were you planning to kill me?" Ardan asked.

"No," Mart said resolutely.

And Ardi’s reasoning suggested that if this man had truly harbored ill intentions, he wouldn’t have helped Tavskiy’s daughter the previous day. What would have been the point? Moreover, considering that Andrew Kal’dron had introduced Ardi as one of the "Cloaks," who were stationed only a couple hundred meters away, it would’ve been suicidal to try anything. Unless Mart was an exceptionally powerful and experienced mage.

Ardi didn’t know what such a mage would look like, but he doubted it would be someone like Mart.

"Cassara, can you put the knife away?" Ardi asked, adding, "Please."

"Are you sure?"

Ardi nodded.

The vampire glanced at him, then at Mart.

"Your choice," she said, flipping the knife in her hand and, with a swift, unseen motion, she stowed it somewhere under her cloak. She pushed the mage away, rose effortlessly to her feet, and loomed over Ardi like a cold shadow.

"I’m going to go see Yonatan," she said in a dry tone. "If this mage does kill you, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself."

With that, she strode away, her catlike gait carrying her to the other side of the camp. Her strange, black horse, unlike the others, had not even touched the grass and simply followed her silently.

In the end, Ardi and Mart were left alone.

"Rest. Food. Dew. Good," Ardi’s mare muttered, catching his quick glance.

Well, they were not entirely alone — there was the horse, too.

"That was my first time meeting a vampire," Mart said, rubbing his neck where a few scratches had left red marks. "And I’m not eager to repeat the experience."

"Are there no vampires in the Metropolis?" Ardi asked, surprised.

Mart jerked his head, looking at the young man with a new, almost appraising gaze, as if he were seeing something in him he hadn’t noticed before.

"How did you know I’m from the Metropolis?"

"By your eyes," Ardan replied. "You have the eyes of someone returning home. All the other settlers have a very different expression."

Mart chuckled.

"You’re observant, aren’t you?"

Ardi shrugged. It was a survival skill. In the forest flows and on the mountain paths, an inattentive hunter was a dead hunter — or a starving one. Which, in the end, was the same thing.

"Can you help me up?" Mart asked, extending a hand. "My legs swelled up during the night. I’m not sure I can manage on my own."

Ardan stood up and helped the man to his feet. Mart’s knees wobbled, and he almost fell, surprising the young man with how light the mage was.

Once upright, Mart stretched and closed his eyes in pleasure.

"For a moment there, I really thought I would die. Right here on the steppe. Far from home. Not the most poetic way to go, is it…"

"You’re lying," Ardan frowned. "If Cassara had really wanted to kill you, she would have done it immediately. And you know that perfectly well."

Mart looked at him with that same piercing gaze again.

"You’ll have a hard time in civilised society, young man," he said deliberately. "Sometimes, it’s better to keep such thoughts to yourself."

They were silent for a while, standing there as cool winds blew past them and the first rays of the rising sun warmed their skin.

"If you’re a mage, then-"

"De jure, the law prohibits using Star Magic without all the regalia, but it doesn’t outright ban not wearing it. In court, of course, this nuance has never helped anyone before, but out here in the wilderness, no one usually cares," Mart explained. He pulled away from Ardi, swaying slightly, but still refused any further assistance and stood on his own. "My wagon is over there," Mart pointed to a small, nondescript cart covered with a tattered tarp in places. "Inside, you’ll find my regalia, grimoire, staff, and, if nothing’s changed overnight, a couple of artifacts as well. One’s even from the Principality of Scaldavin."

After saying this, Mart fell silent, looking expectantly at Ardi. The young man was so taken aback by this sudden admission that he glanced around, not understanding what was expected of him.

"By the Eternal Angels," Mart sighed, rubbing his brow, leaving dark streaks from the dirt clinging to his hands. "You’re a very strange young man, Ard."

Ardi almost said that he hadn’t introduced himself yet, but then he remembered that Andrew had mentioned his name when he’d brought him to see the Tavskiy family.

"Why?"

"Because any other mage, upon hearing those words, would have at least shown some interest. And considering the situation, the more reckless ones might have even called Cassara back to let her finish the job."

"Why?"

Instead of answering him, Mart nodded toward his wagon.

"Because, even without considering my grimoire, an artifact from Scaldavin would definitely be of interest to them."

"Why?"

Mart squinted at him, trying to decide if he was being mocked or if Ardi was genuinely curious.

"Because there have been sightings of dragons in Scaldavin, creatures that haven’t been seen for at least three centuries, if not more. This has had the magical community buzzing for the last ten years at least. Three international expeditions have already been sent to the Ahruhm Mountains, all of them unsuccessful. No dragons were found. But some returned with artifacts of ancient magic, which only fueled the excitement."

"And what’s so special about these artifacts?"

Mart cursed quite profanely. But Ardi had heard worse from the cowboys.

"Angels and demons," the mage muttered. "Do you know nothing at all?"

Ardi had heard similar accusations from the she-wolf before. But since then, he had learned a lot. It was just that, apparently, his knowledge lay in a different realm than what Mart was referring to.

So, the young man just shrugged and, not wasting time, returned to the fire. He poured more water into the pot, placed it over the flames, and took out a couple of strips of dried meat and a can of beans from his bag.

A rumbling sound came from someone else’s stomach.

Ardi pulled out a few more strips.

"Sit down," he invited the mage. "I think we have time for breakfast before Yonatan arrives."

"I’d rather stand," Mart replied, "I’ve had enough of sitting for a while."

They fell silent again. The water, already hot from before, boiled quickly, and soon, they were eating the rehydrated meat — completely tasteless but filling — and chasing it down with beans that smelled of cheap oil.

Judging by Mart’s grimace, he found the food unpleasant, but not unfamiliar.

"Go ahead and ask," the mage said, breaking the silence. "I can see you have more questions than I can count."

Ardi poured himself a cup of hot water and mixed it with the same herbs he had offered Mart earlier.

He really did have a thousand questions for the mage, like how he’d used to bombard his great-grandfather with them long ago. It wasn’t that Mart was the first Star Mage Ardi had met on his journey, it was just that… his interaction with Gleb hadn’t exactly gone well.

And yet, despite everything, Ardi felt compelled to ask something else.

"Why did you tell me about the grimoire and the artifacts if they’re so valuable?"

Mart blinked a few times, then smiled. It was a broad, genuine smile, not to be mistaken for a smirk.

"You’re sharp… Though, with your build, ’sharp’ doesn’t seem quite right. Orc blood?"

Ardi remained silent.

"So, a Matabar," Mart nodded to himself. "I thought they were all wiped out…"

Ardi stayed silent again. He still wasn’t sure whether he liked Mart or not.

"Let’s just say, young man," Mart continued, stretching before slowly squatting and twisting his torso, his joints cracking as he did so. "That I’ve seen many herbalists and village healers at work, and I’ve even spoken with a couple of elven healers. And I can tell you honestly that any one of them could have handled what you did yesterday."

Ardi was well aware of this. He had gleaned some useful knowledge about healing from Atta’nha’s scrolls, but they’d mentioned it only superficially. They’d mainly focused on a very different kind of potion and elixir.

"But," Mart added, "none of them were as young as you. The youngest herbalist I ever met was from the northern part of Selcado, from a small town on the coast of the Anachreon Sea. Very pleasant people, actually, who prepare fish deliciously. Just a bit too talkative, is all."

The northern region of the Selcado League. Ardi recalled the world map they’d used during geography lessons. The country Mart had just mentioned was almost on the other side of the world from them.

"And she was around forty. How old are you? Twenty-five? Twenty-seven?"

"Seventeen."

Mart cursed again. He wasn’t shy about his language, it seemed.

"Seventeen," Mart repeated. "Well… Let me tell you something, young man. When you find yourself in the Metropolis, keep your knowledge of the Fae arts as close to your chest as possible and as far away from others as you can. If you value your life."

"And how did you-"

"Only someone connected to the art of the Oan’Ane-"

"The Aean’Hane," Ardan corrected him automatically.

Mart gave him a look that clearly said, ’That’s what I’m talking about.’

"Exactly," Mart clicked his tongue. "The fact that you weren’t interested in my artifacts and grimoire, and the way you’re brewing potions at seventeen that most have never even heard of… I don’t need to be an investigator to figure things out, Ard. It’s pretty clear."

And at that moment, Ardi understood why Cassara had really wanted to kill Mart. Because the vampire had figured it out, too.

She’d wanted to keep her charge’s secret.

"You-"

"Would you really believe me if I promised not to tell anyone?"

Ardi looked into Mart’s eyes, as deeply as he could. All he saw there was a burning curiosity — an intense one, yes, but not malicious or greedy.

Mart was an explorer, not someone who would break his word for personal gain.

"I believe you…"

"Damn it," the mage turned away, shaking his head. "I only read about this in books… Is that the Witch’s Gaze?"

"The Witch’s Gaze?" Ardi echoed.

"Yes," Mart coughed, rubbing his eyes. "The old tales say you shouldn’t look witches directly in the eye because they can see straight into your soul… Ard, never do that again."

Ardi had never…

"Ordinary people won’t understand it," Mart shook his head, "but even the weakest Star Mage will immediately sense the intrusion into their mind."

So that’s what it was… All those times Ardi had looked into people’s eyes and read their emotions, he had been intruding into their minds without permission?

That seemed improper, and even dishonorable.

Ergar wouldn’t approve.

Unlike Skusty.

And… that little squirrel was the one who’d taught Ardi how to look into others’ eyes!

"What’s so unusual about Aean’Hane magic?" The young man asked.

"What’s so unusual about it?" Mart nearly jumped. "Almost everything! It was never outright banned, but the Firstborn have always guarded it more jealously than governments guard their national secrets of Star Magic. And after the Dark Lord’s rebellion and the unofficial persecution of old magic practitioners, the country was almost entirely rid of those who knew it. And those few who survived and didn’t flee aren’t exactly advertising their knowledge."

Ardi remembered the she-wolf’s library. Apparently, all that knowledge would be seen as a treasure by many, while to a young hunter at the time, it had just been an interesting pastime.

"And all I wanted to ask you about last evening," Mart involuntarily touched his neck again, "was where you got all this knowledge from."

"No," Ardi replied firmly and without a hint of hesitation.

He’d expected a bunch of possible reactions to his words, from anger to attempts at bargaining, but…

"Well, it was worth a shot," Mart shrugged carelessly, as if he had already known the answer. "Don’t be surprised, young man. In all my years of research and expeditions, I’ve never heard a different answer. And all the bits of knowledge I’ve managed to gather have been acquired either by chance or by…" Mart paused, glanced at Ardi, and decided not to finish his thought. "Anyway, if I had tried to force the information out every time, I doubt I’d still be alive today."

Ardan didn’t mention the fact that Mart had clearly survived all this time more due to luck than prudence.

But, regardless, the mage had been honest with him. And that deserved a bit of reciprocity.

"Your grimoire," Ardi said, "I’m very curious about it, but I think I’ll never take someone else’s book."

Mart squinted.

"Has someone ever taken-"

"D-Davos," Ardan stammered, suddenly realizing how difficult it was to say the name. "Gleb Davos. He took my staff and grimoire."

"Your staff and grimoire?" The mage’s eyes widened. "You know Star Magic?"

"A little."

"By the Face of Light, young man! Let’s go!"

And Mart practically dragged Ardi with him. The young man didn’t sense any aggression or threat from the mage, so he stomped out the fire, packed his things into his travel bag, told his horse to follow him, and headed after Mart.

"Was that you talking to her?" Mart’s eyes grew even wider. "In the language of animals?"

"Yeah."

The mage cursed again and muttered something about how surprising it was that such a giant had managed to survive to seventeen by sheer luck.

They crossed the camp that seemed to be waking up. People were beginning to harness their horses, wash their children, and prepare for the journey. Along the way, Ardi caught the eye of Anton Tavskiy, who was busy with the wheels of his wagon, but for some reason, the man looked away, as if he were ashamed.

A few minutes later, they reached Mart’s modest abode, as he called it. He climbed into the cart, rummaged among the bundles, and then pulled out an old book, which had clearly come from a printed edition.

Dusting it off with a smack to the side of the cart, Mart handed the tome to Ardi.

"Here. It’s a standard school textbook on Star Magic at the Red Star level. It just has the basics, with the most general concepts of the theory."

Ardi accepted the textbook gratefully but didn’t open it. He knew that if he started reading, he wouldn’t stop until he was too tired to keep his eyes open.

"And if you ever run into Cloaks who are overly curious about how a half-blood… Excuse me… how a half-Firstborn like you knows about Star Magic, considering where you grew up, just say you were given the book by settlers who have since moved on, and…" Mart trailed off.

He looked at Ardi, then at the marshals and Cloaks who were gathered around a map, discussing something. Then he looked back at Ardi.

Mart swayed, grabbed the side of his cart, then slumped down, his legs dangling over the edge, and buried his head in his hands.

"What have I gotten myself into… What have I, oh Face of Light, gotten myself into?" He lamented.

Ardi couldn’t understand what had caused such a sudden shift in his mood.

"Cloaks, vampires, half-bloods of the extinct Matabar race… Even when the tribes of Makingia wanted to eat me, I still felt safer than I do now."

"Do cannibals really live there?" Ardi asked, remembering the tales he’d heard about the island nation west of the Kingdom of Kargaam.

"Oh, believe me, you don’t want to know the answer to that question, young man. Just as I don’t want to know the answer to why you’re already among Cloaks who seem not to care that they’re traveling with an unregistered mage, one who was trained illegally and by who knows whom or how in Star Magic. And one who also knows the ancient arts."

Well, yes, when you looked at it from that angle, a reasonable person would have quite a few questions. And a wise one would develop a strong reluctance to getting any answers. Mart’s behavior made it clear that he was one of the wise ones.

The mage suddenly hiccupped.

"Davos…" He whispered. "You said Gleb Davos? That arrogant noble with gray in his temples?"

"Well, yes. He was slightly gray."

"Damn it all to…" Mart coughed, swallowing the last word of his curse.

Ardi tilted his head in curiosity.

"What’s wrong with him?"

Mart ducked back into his wagon and returned with a bottle. The label was written in Forian, a country known for its vineyards, if Ardi wasn’t mistaken.

The mage uncorked the bottle, first offering it to Ardi, then waving him off and taking a swig himself. After a few noisy gulps, he coughed again and set the fragrant, tangy wine down beside him.

"There’s nothing wrong with Gleb himself," Mart ground out. "He’s the disgraced son of a baron. About twenty years ago, when he was in his third year at the Grand, he showed great promise."

"The Grand?"

"That’s what they call the Imperial Magical University in Metropolis," Mart explained. "Though, more likely, it wasn’t so much that he showed promise, but that the public hoped Gleb would follow in the footsteps of his older brothers, Arkady and Saimon Davos. Prominent mages, both of them. The eldest, Arkady, is a major researcher in magical engineering, and he already has a few decent patents that support the entire family. Saimon has published several treatises on the application of the Dragon’s Tail Shield Seal. It seemed like he was aiming for a career in the military."

Ardi remembered the magical shield that had resembled snake scales. Was that what the shield Gleb had surrounded himself with during their duel was called?

"Until he drank himself into oblivion," Mart continued. "Bars, brothels and social events — no matter how enjoyable — lead to nothing good. Remember that, young man."

Ardan nodded, and the mage took another swig from his bottle.

"I don’t even want to know what happened to Gleb. I’ve had enough trouble with nobles."

"But aren’t all mages granted a noble title?"

"Are you talking about the title of etid?" The man smirked. "It holds as much weight as the paper it’s written on, and it’s used exclusively in legal contexts. If you ask me in what ways it’s used there, I’ll tell you right now that I have no idea. I’ve never been much for legalese. In any case, no one really considers etids to be true nobles."

That wasn’t something they taught in civics class. Then again, as Ardan had come to understand, most of what they taught in school wasn’t very useful when it came to real life situations.

"Though, it’s quite ironic," Mart mused, taking another drink. "First, he supported Theia Emergold, and then-"

"Theia Emergold?" Ardi interrupted without thinking.

Mart looked at him as if he were an idiot at first, then caught himself.

"Right… You don’t know a damn thing…" He muttered, cracking his neck. "In short, not everyone in Metropolis agrees with the obligation to wear all the regalia required of mages. That ’not everyone’ part particularly refers to all sorts of fashionistas, and some of the noble brats. And about eight years ago, at the annual New Year’s ball, Theia Emergold, a prominent researcher of Ley Lines, saw the daughter of some Great Prince or Duke casting magic without her regalia, and no one even commented on it, let alone called the authorities. That’s when Emergold’s protest began, and she refused to wear regalia while casting spells. And within a couple of days, a handful of other naive mages joined her. Naturally, it all ended the way such foolishness always ends."

Ardi waited in silence. Mart smiled sadly and tapped the bottle’s neck, making it emit a melodic ring.

"Everyone who protested was fined. Those who weren’t born nobles or didn’t have deep pockets were thrown in jail for a couple of months to cool their heads. And then they were exiled from the capital. And the highborn and the wealthy… Well, they just kept doing whatever they wanted."

"But Gleb-"

"To hell with Gleb," Mart waved dismissively, his words beginning to slur slightly. This had surely been caused by a combination of alcohol, stress, and spending a sleepless night in the company of a vampire, which could also be considered stressful. "His tongue was always loose. And his hands itched constantly. When the Guard, along with the Cloaks, arrived to break up the protest, Davos Jr. thought it would be a brilliant idea to start a brawl with them. As a result, he sent a Major of the Guard to the Eternal Angels. For that, he should have either been sent to the border with Fatia to eat dirt and wash with filth, or locked up for a couple of decades. But his brothers and father pulled some strings and got him a position in the Second Chancery’s opeeerations depaaaartment insteeeeeead…"

As Mart finished his story, he started stretching out his words more and more and speaking increasingly slowly. Then he looked once again at Ardi, then at the Cloaks and marshals, who were wrapping up their business, and took another swig from his bottle.

"Well, that explains why he took your staff and grimoire," Mart chuckled. "He couldn’t resist because his brothers’ fame must have been gnawing at him. He probably thought he’d find something worth a treatise there, or at least an article. And maybe, just maybe, the Guild would be inclined to pull some strings and bring such a valuable asset back to the capital."

"The Guild?"

"For heaven’s sake, young man!" Mart nearly groaned. "The Mage’s Guild. Just like the Builder’s Guild, or, I don’t know, the Guild of Dockworkers, for example."

"That sounds-"

"It sounds just fine," Mart interrupted him pointedly. "For a couple of years now, the Parliament has been discussing the idea of renaming them to unions. You know, since it sounds more progressive. But I think it’s just because the Minister of Economy used to be an ambassador in the Confederation of Free Cities. He’s been dragging all sorts of foreign novelties into our home. But as far as I’m concerned, young man, it doesn’t matter what you call these bigwigs — their essence won’t change with a new label."

None of this meant anything to Ardi, and…

The young man paused, looking at Mart as he swirled his wine bottle and muttered something under his breath, and then turned to the Alcade. Back in that small town, where cowboys, lumberjacks, and miners made up most of the population, his biggest concerns had been how to earn a few exes, how to avoid getting into fights with drunken saloon patrons, and… Anna.

He hadn’t been concerned with dragons in the Scaldavin mountains, vampires traveling with Cloaks from the Second Chancery, or the Metropolis. Everyone in his old home had always referred to it as "the Capital", and it had felt like something even more distant and grandiose than Delpas, which itself had already seemed far away and enormous.

But now…

Now everything felt so close and so real. Here was a mage sitting beside him, talking about countries whose names Ardi had only ever seen on a map in a dusty schoolroom. Mart was drinking wine from somewhere in the heart of the world and lamenting that he hadn’t managed to bed a beauty from the opposite side of it. And this wasn’t some magical, fairy-tale story from his grandfather — it was the stark reality.

Ardan turned to the southeast.

Somewhere beyond those hills and wide steppes, there was a whole world that wasn’t limited to the foothills of the Alcade, no matter how dear and beloved they were to him.

And for the first time in his life, Ardi felt curious not only about what was on the next page of a book or a treatise, but also about what lay beyond the hill. Beyond the crossroad. Beyond the river bend. Beyond the forest and-

"I hope my humble mortal presence isn’t disrupting the plans of your highness, oh great mage," a voice chimed in, startlingly close. Yonatan had approached without a sound and was now offering him an exaggerated bow, even doffing his hat with a flourish. "We’re about to set off, you see, but only if you grant us the privilege. Alas, I’m afraid…" The man shifted his cloak aside, patting the handle of his revolver, "that you don’t have a choice but to agree."

Ardi turned to where Mart had been, but he only saw his wagon’s curtains swaying gently, and the sound of someone moving around sluggishly could be heard coming from inside the wagon itself.

"Yes, of cour-"

Yonatan moved so close that Ardi nearly bumped his chin on the man’s forehead.

"Try arguing with me in front of my subordinates one more time, and I’ll shoot you in the knee. Maybe I’ll aim even higher, around the thigh. You know, where your balls are. And they must be huge, given how brave you are."

Ardi nodded silently. He didn’t need to look into the strange man’s eyes to know that he wasn’t joking.

"Excellent," Yonatan grinned, spinning on his heel and taking a step, then freezing in place.

"You managed to help the girl?" He asked without turning around.

"Yes."

The Cloak put his hat back on and smoothed down the brim.

"I respect that," he said quietly, and then, more loudly, he added, "but your balls are still in danger."