The next few days passed in the familiar bustle of the caravan. After their night march, as Mart had called it — though he was reaching for the bottle less and less, perhaps because he was finally recovering from the stress of that long night with Cassara — the people had begun to calm down. They were already building their castles in the sky, dreaming of how they would profit from the materials harvested from the Wanderer.
They didn’t seem to care about the rain-soaked steppes or the fact that several wagons and a carriage had already gotten stuck in the sticky mud. Not to mention the fact that a few children had fallen ill after the storm. Ardi was just returning from checking on them.
Anton Tavskiy must have spread the word about who had helped his daughter, because in just two days, three families had approached Ardan. And all of them had children suffering from some sort of lung disease — whether from inhaling the cold air or failing to change out of their soaked clothes soon enough.
Ardi himself would not have refused to help the children, even if Anton hadn’t asked him to. After all, the laws of the hunt dictated that one must care for those who cannot care for themselves. Otherwise, the pack would not survive.
But the problem was that he was no more skilled in medicine than before. All he could offer were warming teas brewed from herbs and berries. Still, the anxious parents were grateful even for that much.
He sat down on a log placed a bit away from the campfire, where a pot hung, simmering audibly. Mart was tossing in some dried leaves, a couple of strips of cured meat, and a few fragrant roots. Ardan stretched out his legs and winced slightly — his right side still ached. Considering the seriousness of his wound, he would be lucky if the pain faded by the time they reached Presny.
"Why do you even bother with these northerners?" Mart snorted, stirring the brew with a tin ladle.
The sun shone above them, a playful breeze driving feathery clouds forward while rustling the tall grasses that covered the prairies. Nothing in the surrounding landscape hinted at the storm that had raged here not long ago, back when the skies had seemed to declare war on the ground itself.
Only the clumps of mud and the soft, waterlogged ground beneath their feet remained as evidence of the bad weather.
"It’s strange," Ardi groaned, "that you’re supposed to be the healer, yet it’s me running around camp with the herbs."
"Well, you’re doing it for free," shrugged the mage, pulling out another log to sit on beside him. He removed his hat, closed his eyes, and turned his face toward the almost-autumn sun. "If you asked for a few exes, maybe they wouldn’t pester you so much."
"A few exes?" Ardan nearly choked. "That’s just... just..."
"Don’t start with the robbery talk," Mart waved it off when Ardi couldn’t find the right words. "Do you know how much a doctor in the Metropolis charges if you don’t have insurance? A primary visit to a therapist is forty kso. Then you go to the attending doctor, which could cost from one to three exes. Medication is another fifty kso, and if you’re unlucky, there’s a follow-up appointment. All in all, you could be out five exes for something minor. That’s why most people either try not to get sick or stick to folk remedies."
"And insurance..."
"Insurance is a whole other beast. If you’re lucky enough to get a job where the employer provides it, that’s one thing. But if you’re buying it yourself... Well, you have to calculate what’s cheaper in the long run."
Ardan whistled and took off his hat too, using it to fan the fire, trying to make the stew — if you could call it that — boil faster. He hadn’t eaten since that morning...
"Which is why it’d be better if you introduced those poor souls to the reality of that wonderful, opportunity-filled, money-laden future they’re so eager to rush into."
"You don’t like the Metropolis?" Ardi asked.
"What’s there to like?" Mart smirked. "Stone jungles reeking of diesel, alcohol, manure, and idiots who think they’re kings of the world. And that’s in the nicer neighborhoods, big guy. In the working districts," he puffed out his cheeks like a disgruntled duck, "you have ethnic gangs, the riff-raff, the marginalized... You’ll see for yourself."
Ardan stirred the pot slowly, pondering what he’d just heard. As usual, he didn’t understand much of it.
One thing puzzled him more than anything else: "Why do people still want to go there so badly?"
"Because the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence," Mart replied, pulling a cigar from his pocket. "And to be fair, there really are more opportunities in the capital than in other cities. If you’re willing to claw your way to the top, of course. But not many are. Some don’t have the guts, others don’t have the luck, and some get put in their place. So, most people just scrape by. But I’ll tell you this much — in every corner of the world I’ve visited, it’s the same story. There are some slight variations, sure, but overall, it’s all the same."
Mart was about to say more, but the water started bubbling. The mage jumped up, pulled out a small packet, and dumped its contents — salt, judging by the look of it — into the pot. He sniffed the aroma and waved his hand.
"Pass me your bowl, big guy."
Ardi handed over his tin dish and received a hefty portion of soup. Mart served himself much less.
He was probably a good man after all. Odd, self-centered, and likely a bit frail — certainly no less foul-mouthed than Yonatan — but good at heart.
Blowing on his spoon, Ardi tasted the broth, surprised at its passable flavor, and dug in. They ate in silence, taking turns tearing off chunks of bread, until both their bowls were empty and their bellies full.
"Ah..." The mage sighed dreamily, leaning back against the carriage. Shadows from the clouds above had kindly covered them, offering relief from the still-scorching sun. "What I wouldn’t give to be at the Poet’s Corner on Small Oboronny Street right now."
"Hmm?" Ardi mumbled in question.
"It’s a little restaurant," Mart explained, closing his eyes again, seemingly lost in some pleasant memory. "On a short street in the Trade District. It’s a bit pricey, but on third days, they serve duck with Forian peaches, smoked over coals. In the mornings on first days, you can have porridge with Kargaam’s pineapples. And if you’re lucky enough to have a spare ex on sixth days, you can listen to live music while enjoying a steak from the finest breeds of your Foothill Province."
Ardi knew the prices for meat in Evergale well. Even the choicest cuts from a bull’s back didn’t cost more than seventeen kso per kilogram.
Metropolis... What a strange place it was.
"So, you do have favorite spots in the capital?" He asked.
"Of course," Mart nodded immediately, "and many of them. But you know what’s funny? Every time I’m far from home, I dream about going back. Sitting in my dusty office at work, strolling along the embankments and bridges, visiting friends. We’d gather, have a good time in bars and restaurants... and after a month, I’d get bored, and my new research would call me back to the road. That’s how I live — perpetually torn like a rope. One part of me longs for the mountains and seas, the other for familiar streets."
Ardan remembered how, as a young hunter, he would gaze at the vast forests from the snowy trails, only to yearn for the mountains when he’d descended into the lowlands.
"And by the way, I’m not a doctor," Mart reminded him of their earlier conversation.
"Kal’dron still seems convinced otherwise."
"Well, demons take him," Mart waved it off. "Half the Empire’s citizens can barely write, despite all the education reforms. To them, your teas might as well be magic. Or high science. So, the little I learned from general lectures at the Grand... Oh, that’s what they call-"
"The Imperial Magical University," Ardi supplied. "I remember."
"You’ve got a good memory," Mart chuckled and continued. "Anyway, what I learned there is enough to pass for a doctor when necessary."
Ardan was tempted to ask why Mart ever needed to pretend to be anything other than a mage, but he sensed that a different question was more pressing.
"Will you tell me about the Grand University?"
Mart closed his eyes, a thin smile creeping onto his lips.
"Best six years of my life, big guy," he said dreamily, starting to clean his bowl with some grass. "Parties, friends, magical research, and... you know what, Ardi? I even miss that bastard, the dorm warden. He used to chase us off when we came back after curfew."
Mart smiled to himself as he cleaned up the last bits of food. Then, dipping a cloth in water, he washed his dish. The main rule of life on the road was to always keep your dishes clean. Forget a couple of times, and soon enough, your meal would be crawling with worms.
"What’s a dormitory?"
The mage choked in shock and looked at Ardi the way people in Evergale had sometimes looked at him when he hadn’t grasped something obvious.
"Eternal Angels, big guy... It’s like you fell from the moon," Mart shook his head, got up from the log, and went to the horses. He wiped down their necks and gave them water from a leather bag. "A dormitory is... How to explain this... You probably don’t even know what an apartment is, do you?"
Ardi shrugged.
"Well, a dormitory is like a building with many rooms, but you only get a bed. When I was in school, each floor had a kitchen and a bathroom with sinks and toilets. Nowadays, they say that they even have showers. That’s practically nobility-level luxury right there — we had to use public baths."
Ardan, who had grown up valuing his personal space and had spent five years as a snow leopard, where having your own territory was nearly a necessity for survival, shuddered slightly at the thought.
"I was lucky with my roommates," Mart continued. "We were all freshmen, and we all ended up in the same Magic History faculty. So, the four of us-"
"Four in one room?" Ardan interrupted, unable to help himself.
Mart laughed.
"Listen to you, big guy! Someone might think you’ve come from a noble mansion where ten servants wiped your ass for you. Let me tell you, most of the Metropolis population lives in conditions worse than what the Grand University dorms offer. Five people can easily live in an eighteen-square-meter room, in a shared apartment with more families just like them. Then there’s the rats and cockroaches, the broken plumbing... But, like I said, you’ll see it all for yourself."
The mage stroked the horses, checked their reins, made sure the wagon was in order, then returned to sit beside Ardi again.
"Of course, if you live in a decent district and don’t venture into the working or poor neighborhoods, it’s a little different. People have their own apartments, or they rent them. There’s warm water, the trams are always on time, there’s trash cans on every corner, so no dirt or litter on the streets. The guards patrol the parks and squares. And if you have enough coin, you can even buy a small house. Two, maybe even three stories tall. Some places already have Ley cables. Flip a switch, and the lights come on. Turn a dial, and the stove works, no wood required. Plus, you might rub elbows with the rich folks. Cigars in salons, fancy conversations in clubs. Mornings with the wife, afternoons with the mistress, evenings with a prostitute in an expensive brothel. Even the laundry there smells of luxury pus-"
A settler woman passed by, carrying a child in her arms, and Mart fell silent, catching himself just in time.
"Not that I’ve met many of those types," he added, blowing a puff of foul-smelling smoke. Ardi coughed and turned away, still baffled by why anyone would willingly inhale such filth. "In the minds of regular people, being a Star Mage who’s graduated from the Grand University guarantees one a golden road to an easy life."
"But that’s not true?"
Mart snorted and flicked ash onto the ground.
"I could answer you in rhyme, but I’d have to spend too long explaining the words," he said. "Let’s just break it down. Suppose you’re lucky enough to get a state-funded spot, so you don’t pay for school. They even give you a stipend, which is seven or eight exes."
Ardi nearly choked again. A stipend larger than what most people in Evergale earned? And Mart was still complaining?
"But now, let’s subtract," Mart began counting on his fingers. "You have to pay for your textbooks. Pay for your supplies. Pay for all your extra lectures and electives. Pay for your dorm bed. You get sick? Pay out of your own pocket. And you still have to eat. Oh, and if the seals provided by the state aren’t enough for your research? You’ll need to buy more. A good seal of even the Red Star variety costs a dozen kso per ray on the market. And for a Green Star? Multiply that by three. So yeah..."
Ardi wanted to calculate it all, but he had no idea what values to start from.
"Most students work part time. And when you’re in lectures all morning and afternoon, then breaking your back somewhere in the evening, well..." Mart waved it all off. "Not everyone manages to become top-tier specialists under those circumstances. And if you’re studying on the crown’s dime, then for the first five years after graduation, you work wherever the state sends you. And the competition to land a decent job, or at least stay in the Metropolis, is so fierce that even the Angels weep bloody tears at the insanity of it all."
Ardan listened carefully, memorizing everything. If Cassara was to be believed — and Ardi had no reason to doubt the vampire, at least for now — his life in the Metropolis would be far from peaceful, unlike that of his family back in Delpas.
It didn’t scare him, though. If anything, he was glad that his mother and brother wouldn’t have to face such hardships.
And as for him... Well, he would be ashamed to face his mentors if he balked at a few difficulties.
"But what if you weren’t lucky enough to get a state-funded spot and had to take out a loan for school?" Mart’s face suddenly aged several years. "I graduated from the Grand University, big guy, almost twenty-four years ago. And I paid off that loan... let me think... about nine or ten years ago."
"Harsh," Ardan agreed.
"That’s putting it lightly," Mart exhaled. But then he smiled again, as if it were nothing. "Of course, some people get lucky. They sign contracts with a Guild or a noble house. Or with the military. But that’s a whole other story."
Ardan didn’t press for details about that "other story." He didn’t want to risk souring Mart’s good mood. Too many questions might wear the mage out, and then he’d either retreat to sleep, drink, or bury himself in his maps and books.
"And of course," Mart continued, "there are those born with a silver spoon in their mouth and blue blood in their veins. But if that were either of us, we wouldn’t be sitting here in this Face of Light-forgotten dump, talking about how empty our pockets are."
For a moment, they both fell silent, watching the camp from their small rise — a hill long worn down by wind and rain. Women were putting out the fires and gathering the carefree children back into the wagons and carriages. Men were harnessing the horses, patching up any damaged wheels and axles, and of course, cleaning their weapons.
The marshals and Cloaks stood apart, while Cassara remained separate from everyone altogether. She was the only one who almost never dismounted, always staying in the saddle unless children managed to coax her down for a conversation or playtime.
In those rare moments, her usually doll-like, expressionless face would soften, showing faint traces of emotion.
"Will you show me a seal?" Mart asked after a few minutes.
A couple of days ago, Mart had asked to see any of the seals Ardan had learned from the Star Magic book he was studying.
Ardan was beginning to grasp the structure of the magical community, so Mart’s request, which might have seemed trivial to a layman, held significant value.
Curiously, Ardan had found himself writing letters to his brother and mother almost every day over the past few weeks, always finding the words to say. But when it came to...
Ardi pulled a sheet of paper from one of his pockets. It had been folded and refolded so many times it was close to tearing along the creases. Only a couple of words were written on it, scrawled in pencil:
"Hello, Anna..." And nothing more.
He still hadn’t found the right words to convey all that occasionally gnawed at his mind. How they had come together, how they had parted, how...
He sighed, sinking into memories of the riverbank and the warmth of a woman’s body pressed against his, trembling lightly in the night air.
Ardan opened his eyes and looked ahead of him — the camp was nearly ready to move out again, leaving him no more time to reflect on the letter. Or was he just convincing himself of that?
As Ergar had taught him, these were thoughts for another day.
He stomped out the remnants of the fire, put the tripod and pot back inside the wagon, and then mounted his horse, riding toward the Cloaks.
Gleb Davos’ former ride snorted lightly, but obeyed. Even though Ardan not only knew the language of beasts but was also skilled with horses, he and this stubborn mule hadn’t yet established proper trust between them over the past few days.
Soon enough, the camp was moving again, stretching out in a long line as they resumed their journey. They traveled near the river to stay close enough to be able to water their horses and replenish their supplies.
It was a bit risky since animals and bandits often came to the water’s edge, but this was their last chance to enjoy the proximity to the river. In a few days, they would turn eastward, heading into the wide steppes where water would be scarce, except for the occasional bit of rain.
Ardan pulled out the Stranger’s textbook from his saddlebags and pondered for a moment about who could have written it. If Mart had been right about the Shield Seal being revolutionary for its time, who must have created this work?
He hadn’t found anything of interest in the school textbook Mart had so generously given him early in their acquaintance. It had simply explained concepts that Atta’nha had covered in their first week of learning, but in far less depth.
Lacking any other options, he opened the next chapter and resumed his reading.
***
The caravan moved at a steady pace until dusk, only stopping when it became too dark to travel safely on the muddy roads. Ardi, used to the saddle, had spent most of the day reading.
When the time came to set up camp, Yonatan rode up to him and assigned him the first three hours of guard duty.
Since they needed to start fires to warm themselves and cook food with, watchmen were essential for their survival. The light from the fires could be seen for miles away on such moonless nights — good for keeping wild animals away, but a beacon for bandits.
"Keep your eyes open," Yonatan ordered, his tone more serious than usual.
"Is something wrong?" Ardan asked, sensing his tension.
The Cloak simply spat, tugged on his reins, and rode off without another word.
Ardi climbed a small earthen rise (the caravan always tried to camp near a hill or mound to gain a tactical advantage) and watched as Yonatan placed guards around the perimeter of the camp, not only deploying Cloaks and marshals, but also settlers who had proven themselves during the hunt for the Wanderer.
The guards spread out in pairs or trios, leaving five hundred meters or more between them. Ardan was the only one left standing alone when...
"Nice evening, huh, kid?"
He turned and saw Tevona approaching on her horse. Even though Ardan’s eyes weren’t as sharp as a snow leopard’s or a pureblooded Matabar’s, he could still see well enough in the dark to notice something odd about her.
Under the bright stars, in the shifting silver light of the full moon as it slipped in and out of the clouds, Tevona looked... strange. She had harsh features, scars, weathered skin, and a somewhat boyish figure with no noticeable hips, her chest well hidden beneath a thick jacket.
And yet, there was something intoxicating about her. She was like a breath of fresh air after being in a stifling room for too long. Strong. Fearless. In some ways, she reminded Ardan of Shali.
"Yonatan’s on edge about something?" He asked as they rode side by side.
Tevona shrugged. "I haven’t known him as long as you have," she replied. Ardan didn’t bother pointing out the fact that he’d only known Yonatan for a month longer than she had. "But it seems like he’s always on edge about something. Probably a good trait for a Cloak, but if you’re constantly on your toes out here in the prairie, you might lose your mind."
She looked calm and relaxed. Too calm and relaxed for someone who had fastened her holsters tightly and had just cleaned her rifle, securing it in a way that made it easy to draw with either hand.
"You’re on edge, too," Ardan observed.
Tevona glanced at him, her steel-gray eyes flashing in the darkness.
"Sometimes, you creep me out, kid," she said softly. "It’s like you can read minds."
"Sorry..." Ardan apologized, genuinely meaning it.
He knew how his habit of picking up on details often unsettled people.
The marshal smiled, and the scars on her neck and cheeks stood out even more clearly.
"I wonder," she mused, "if the lady you’re always writing to is lucky to have you or not. On the one hand, sex with someone who sees right through you must be quite the experience. But on the other... you’re robbing a woman of her greatest weapon, kid."
"What weapon?" Ardan asked, puzzled.
Tevona just smiled mysteriously.
They fell into silence, listening to the quiet of the steppe. Unlike the forest, it really was silent out here. There were no birds singing, no crickets chirping, no trees creaking. Just the wind and the sound of their own hearts beating.
"I’m writing to my mother," Ardan said, not sure why he felt compelled to share. "But to her... I just can’t seem to."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted saying them. Why would someone like her, this marshal who had likely seen all manner of things in her life, want to listen to his personal struggles? If it were anyone else...
"Was she your first?" Tevona asked, her tone shockingly sincere and devoid of mockery.
"Yes," Ardan nodded.
"I see," she exhaled. "When I was sixteen... Eternal Angels, that was already eight years ago... Anyway," she cleared her throat, obviously searching for the right words, "there was this guy in our village. The son of the local doctor. A couple of years older than me. A miner... Handsome, smart, tall — he had it all. And I fell for him. So did about ten other girls. But he didn’t mess around. Didn’t even hold hands with anyone. So, I circled around him like a hawk. He was a decent guy. Not a player, hardworking, good with his hands. Reliable. I thought I loved him. He made my head spin. I couldn’t think about anything else. Didn’t care about my parents’ warnings or marriage or anything... I believed him. And I was so happy when we ended up in bed together. Eternal Angels... And then, a week later, I found out I wasn’t the only one."
She fell silent. It didn’t seem to hurt her anymore. She was just recounting a story, almost as if it had happened to someone else. "I was the sixth that month alone. I cried, and he just smiled like usual and invited me to spend another nice night together. As if he didn’t know what awaited girls in the north who..." Tevona trailed off, turning her face away.
Ardan looked at her pale hair, glowing faintly in the moonlight.
"I didn’t realize you were from the north," he said, surprised.
"I’m from the town of Parerst," she replied.
" Never heard of it."
"Not surprising," she shrugged. "It’s far up north. A couple of days from the Great Glacier."
Ardan’s eyebrows shot up. The Great Glacier was a natural anomaly of the continent. A massive block of ice. Not a mountain cap or a floating iceberg, but an enormous glacier, inexplicably formed and preserved there somehow.
It was almost as large as the Principality of Fatia, with most of it lying within the borders of the Kingdom of N’gia. But what was truly mysterious about it was that the glacier rose nearly a kilometer and a half above sea level, with sheer cliffs instead of gradual slopes. It was a massive, icy fortress, surrounded by coniferous forests and rocky peaks, right in the heart of the continent.
"And this," she touched the tips of her pale hair, which shimmered faintly in the dark, "came from my mother. She was from the Tazidahian Brotherhood."
Ardan didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet.
"I had a friend, Ardi," Tevona continued. "We lived next door to each other. Grew up together... like sisters. Only she was smart, but not pretty. And her father was the village head. And so, somehow — don’t ask me how — word spread about this handsome miner and the beautiful girls of the village... Can you guess what happened next?"
Ardan shook his head.
"It turned out that the miner had supposedly loved my friend all his life, and the other girls had seduced him with potions they’d bought from the Firstborn living in neighboring provinces."
Ardan knew that the provinces of the Firstborn were at least a week’s journey from the Great Glacier. And unlike the Alcade borderlands, they didn’t have railroads.
"It sounds ridiculous, but..." Tevona spread her arms out, "I wasn’t about to repent and accept the Light’s judgment. I took my father’s revolvers," she patted the ones on her belt, "said goodbye to my mother, hopped on a horse, and rode wherever my eyes took me. And it just so happened that they were looking toward the Imperial Army recruiting station. I spent three years as a medic on the Fatia border, got a few injuries and a couple of worthless medals, and here I am now. Five years later, I’m a Marshal."
She tapped the marshal’s badge pinned to her jacket. For a moment, she was silent, then gave Ardan a strange look.
"How do you do it?" She asked.
"Do what?"
"This," she gestured between them. "Make me feel so at ease. Make me trust you... In all these years, you’re only the second person I’ve ever told that story to."
Ardan met her eyes. Not the way Skusty had taught him, but just... He just looked at her.
"I’m sorry," he said softly.
Tevona clenched her jaw but then relaxed.
"If I thought for a second you were just being polite, I’d punch you in the face," said the petite marshal, and Ardan believed she might have actually tried. "But what I’m trying to say, Ardi... I’m sure you’ve been through some crap in your life. And who hasn’t? But try not to let your crap, or the crap that happened because of you, become someone else’s burden."
Ardan pulled out the piece of paper and looked at the few words he had written there.
"I should apologize," he whispered. "For not being able to stay. And say that I lov-"
"You don’t love her," Tevona interjected firmly. "Maybe you don’t realize it yet, but whoever you’re writing to — you don’t love her. It’s an infatuation brought on by young blood, nothing more. I’ve seen the eyes of men at the border who were writing to the women they loved. And they didn’t look like yours."
The conversation fizzled out after that, and they continued scanning the thick darkness in silence.
Hours passed.
The stars danced above them, nagging at Ardan, reminding him that among them, he could easily chart his way back. The moon played hide and seek with the clouds, bathing the vast plains in liquid silver.
When it came time for the second shift to relieve them, Ardan tugged on his reins to head back. For some reason, he doubted they would ever have such a conversation again.
"Hey, kid, I probably shouldn’t have said that, and-"
He turned toward her but never got to hear the rest. Tevona’s head exploded like an overripe melon, spraying the night sky with a fountain of blood that gleamed under the stars.
"Orak Han-da!" Roared a voice from the darkness.
Ardan’s heart skipped a beat. He knew that battle cry. It still haunted his nightmares.
It was the war cry of the Shanti’Ra orc gang.