Dark Age Year 871
Twentieth day of the Third month
It was a serene night in the village of Golden Apple, with the gentle glow of a waning gibbous moon and the twinkling stars in the clear sky. The only sights, sounds, and scents in the village were the dim candlelights and torches flickering through the windows of the homes. The aroma of cooking meats, vegetables, bread, and other foods mingled with the smoke from chimneys wafted through the air. Inside one of the larger houses in the village, Tharos sat in the dining room, examining a new dish with curiosity. It was a flatbread covered in a red paste, layered with cheese, and topped with various toppings like leaves or small cuts of meat. Nico called it pizza, an Invicti dish popular on the southern coast of Aria. However, even further inland, many people enjoyed pizza, even if they lacked most of the ingredients to make it themselves or to make it the traditional way. The traditional way to make pizza, for the staunchest of pizza traditionalists, included various types of fish, seafood, and other ingredients that were not easily found inland. Therefore, what they were eating was a modified inland variation. Tharos didn’t mind; this was his first time trying such a dish, and he decided to reserve judgment on the spirited debate among pizza enthusiasts until he had sampled more of what this pizza dish had to offer.
As Tharos held a slice of pizza, the flavours wafted up, filling his lungs with the tangy bitterness of tomato, the creamy richness of cheese, and the earthy blend of herbs and spices. Each bite was savoured, relishing the symphony of ingredients on his taste buds. Meanwhile, his companions tore into the pizzas like wild wolves, lacking table manners and appreciation for culinary nuances. Tharos observed that Wilders, including Cenric and Rayner, were known for many things, but not for their refined dining etiquette or taste for subtleties in cuisine.
It might be too late to teach Rayner basic table manners; he is too set in his ways. But perhaps, just maybe, there might be hope for Cenric yet. Tharos thought to himself. He decided to make a mental note to teach Cenric basic skills in table manners. It was just one more thing to add to the ever growing and expanding curriculum.
He no longer cared, having accepted that he was living in a less enlightened age than he was accustomed to. This world was no longer his; it belonged to them, and he was merely a passive observer until he chose to intervene. It appeared that their host, Nico, and his remaining family members living with him shared the same indifference. They seemed unfazed by any social blunders, choosing to ignore them, not caring, or keeping their judgments to themselves. This could be attributed to their open-mindedness or the practicality of avoiding conflict with armed individuals. He and Rayner could probably take on this entire village just the two of them and reduce the population of the village by a quarter even before they knew what hit them.
Tharos couldn’t help but think it was the latter. “A polite society is an armed society,” as the saying goes. Despite Nico and his family’s warm and friendly demeanour, Tharos sensed that some of it was not entirely genuine. He could discern this even without his abilities to read and feel the true hearts of man. However, he didn’t blame Nico, his family, or the villagers in Golden Apple for feeling that way. The truth was that their relationship was transactional in nature. It was akin to a king and his subjects, with the three of them being perceived as outsider mercenaries for hire. There was always the underlying concern that they could easily turn their swords on the villagers if the price was right. Tharos had no intention of betraying them unless there was a compelling reason to do so. However, Nico didn’t need to be aware of that.
As Tharos continued to eat his pizza slowly, he heard Cenric speak up from his left, his mouth almost full and tomato paste covering most of his face. Tharos felt a small smile forming on his lips as he tried to hold back the urge to laugh, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in quite some time. After swallowing the piece of pizza in his mouth, Cenric pointed to the pizza next to Tharos, which was topped with thin strips of bacon.
“Are you going to have that one, Tharos?” Cenric asked, pointing at the pizza. His bright green eyes flashed with youthful hunger, and his lips formed a faint pouting look as he eyed the pizza next to Tharos.
I hate it when he makes that face.
“No, I wasn’t. Help yourself,” Tharos replied. He didn’t mind. He didn’t need to eat or drink for good health, and Cenric was still growing. It would be unfair to deny him what he needed. In the few months they had been travelling together, Cenric had already experienced a growth spurt, gaining a few more inches with more to come. At this rate, he would soon be as tall as Tharos, maybe even a few inches taller.”
“Thanks,” Cenric said, reaching over and grabbing the pizza with both hands. He quickly tore it apart and devoured it hungrily. As Cenric ate, Rayner spoke.
“Oi was going to have that one, whelp,” his voice was deep and booming like thunder.
“First come, first serve,” Cenric replied with a small, cheeky smile on his face.
Rayner angrily snorted, “You’re too young and short to challenge me, whelp.” Before Cenric could respond and potentially escalate the situation by provoking Rayner’s temper, Nico intervened, hoping to defuse the tension before it escalated.
“Don’t worry, Master Rayner, there are plenty for everyone,” Nico said, his voice warm and friendly.
“There better be, you fat worm,” Rayner retorted, his irritation evident in his voice.
A back-and-forth ensued between Cenric and Rayner over something trivial. Tharos observed the scene with a sense of amusement and a creeping feeling of nostalgia. While this had become a common occurrence during their few weeks of stay, such moments reminded him of his friends back in Zarbar. Though most of them remained vague shadows in his mind, except for Vartark, Tharos could almost recall a similar situation. He would sit, enjoying his food, while his friends engaged in mischief and hi jinks at the dinner table. It was one of the rare pleasures
Though these memories blended together, he couldn’t distinguish where one moment began and the other ended.
Will I one day forget them too, and moments like this, just like my friends back in Zarbar? Will they also become formless shadows that dance in my mind like an unknown enigma? It was a creeping fear that gnawed at the back of his mind, a fear that he would have to accept one day soon, just as he accepted it now. He didn’t want to forget Vartark, but he only had the briefest of glimpses. He didn’t want to forget Arasha or Zahmesh. But they were formless shadows now.
Wait, Arasha and Zahmesh, those were names, names of some of his friends.
In the sea of his memories, some of the formless shadows were starting to take shape. Now, he could see them, picture them again in his mind, and recall some things. Basic things. Arasha was a high-spirited and cheeky woman, and Zahmesh was a serious and grim man, but he couldn’t recall anything else about them.
Dinner passed uneventfully, and later that night, when everyone else had retired, Tharos pulled Nico aside to discuss the information he had gathered while patrolling with Rayner. Tharos shared his concerns and plans with Nico.
“A necromancer nearby? Are you certain?” Nico asked, his expression shifting from shock to fear, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow.
“Yes, the evidence points in that direction. I want to investigate further to confirm if it is indeed a necromancer or something even more dangerous,” Tharos replied.
“I understand your concern, but we need you here. I can send some capable men from the village to investigate in your place while you stay here,” he said in a warm and reassuring tone. It seemed more for his own comfort than for Tharos, who was not one to easily embrace optimism, especially in this situation.
“I have a question, if you’re willing to indulge me.”
“What is your question?” Nico asked, his deep brown eyes narrowed.
“How many people, including yourself, have any knowledge of magic or the arcane arts?” Tharos inquired, already suspecting the answer but curious to see if he could be mistaken.
“No one in this village would ever practice witchcraft or have any association with it,” Nico asserted firmly, gesturing with his hands to emphasise his point. Despite his confident denial, Tharos sensed deception in Nico’s words, prompting him to wonder what exactly Nico was hiding.
Should I call him out on his lie or see where this goes?
Tharos pondered to himself. He lacked sufficient evidence to confront Nico at the moment, and he didn’t have a compelling reason to do so, aside from his dislike of being lied to. Confronting him about the lie so soon seemed tactless, so Tharos decided to let it go until he had more context.
Tharos’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as he asked, “How would these people recognise witchcraft, as you call it?” His tone now shifted from formal to accusatory.
Nico stayed silent, seemingly caught off guard by the reaction, which only confirmed to Tharos that Nico lacked understanding of the arcane arts. Tharos recognised that Nico’s beliefs were rooted in superstition rather than reality. The study of magic is intricate and mysterious, and even with his limited knowledge, Tharos grasped this. Before Nico could reply, Tharos interjected.
“Let me rephrase my question, Nico. Can any of them distinguish between different types of mages or how to identify them?”
“No, Master Tharos. I didn’t even know there were different types. Witchcraft is just Witchcraft to us out here on the frontiers.”
Upon hearing that, Tharos felt an emotion he hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was anger. Not a fiery rage of a burning inferno or a fluctuating fury of a storm at sea, but a controlled, focused anger, like a strong gust of wind. The man’s ignorance angered him, but Tharos remained composed. He would not let this emotion steer the conversation. He stilled his thoughts and continued, determined not to let his feelings dictate the course of their discussion.
“Not all magic or spells constitute witchcraft. What you’re referring to as witchcraft are curses and hexes, which are specialities of certain mages,” Tharos clarified, adopting a firm yet respectful tone this time.
“The concern is that the people you send may not be equipped to identify such threats, and even if they do, they could disappear without a trace. Mage or no mage.”
“I understand, but we require you three to remain here. It wouldn’t be wise to violate your contract with me or the village,” Nico asserted.
Tharos scrutinised Nico briefly before replying, “The contract mandates that I must do everything in my power to safeguard the village until the agreed-upon time. Investigating potential threats falls within that scope.” He sighed, crossing his arms. “Think of it this way: would you prefer to confirm today that there’s no danger or risk facing a necromancer at our doorstep tomorrow?”
Nico sighed, realising he wouldn’t win this conversation. He had to concede as he had few options. He couldn’t dispute Tharos’ points. When Tharos agreed to the deal, he carefully worded it to his advantage, anticipating situations like this.
“Very well, do as you please. Just don’t be away too long; who knows what could happen in your absence.”
“Well, fortunately, we won’t be away for too long. However, I will need your help to make it happen,”
“What do you need?” Nico inquired, feeling a bit resigned.
“I’ll need to borrow a few horses from the village. Walking on foot will take us too long, but with horses, we can move faster,” Tharos explained.
Nico agreed, “I’ll prepare some horses for you, but please be mindful as these are workhorses and we don’t have many of them.”
“Don’t worry, Nico, they will be in good hands,” Tharos assured. They spent the next few minutes discussing the details of Tharos’s needs. After wishing each other a good night, they retired. Tharos then headed up to the top floor, climbed to the roof, and gazed out at the clear night sky.
Even though so much has changed, everything still remains the same under the stars.
There was something almost comforting about the idea that no matter what happened, the sky and the stars above, the bright jewels in the night sky, would remain eternal. They would be a constant companion for him, as they were for any stargazer. As Tharos continued to gaze at the stars, he had a sense that he had his work cut out for him.
