Dark Age Year 871
Twentieth day of the Third month
It was a calm and quiet night in the village of Golden Apple, with the soft glow of a waning gibbous moon and the twinkling stars in the clear night sky. The only sights, sounds, and smells in the village were the dim candle lights and torches flickering through the windows of the homesteads. The aroma of cooking meats, vegetables, bread, and other foods mixed with the smoke from chimneys filled 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 Invictus dish popular on the southern coast of Aria. However, even farther inland, many people enjoyed pizza, even if they lacked most of the ingredients to make it themselves, or at least make it the proper way. The traditional way to make pizza for the staunchest of pizza traditionalists included various types of fish, seafood, and other ingredients that weren’t easily found inland, so what they were eating was a more inland variation. Tharos didn’t mind; this was the first time he had ever eaten such a dish, and he wasn’t going to weigh in on the spirited debate among pizza enthusiasts until he had a sample size of what this dish called pizza could offer.
As Tharos held a slice of pizza in his hands, the flavours wafted up into his nostrils and filled his lungs. The tangy bitterness of the tomato, the creamy richness of the cheese, and the earthy blend of herbs and spices created a symphony of flavours that made his mouth water in anticipation of the first bite. He savoured each bite, relishing the combination of ingredients that danced on his taste buds. While Tharos was enjoying the rich subtleties of the cuisine, his travelling companions, on the other hand, were tearing into several pizzas laid out before them on the table like wild and hungry wolves stumbling upon a fresh carcass. Tharos realised at this point that Wilders, the race to which Cenric and Rayner belonged, were known for many things, but table manners and appreciating the rich subtleties and nuances of cuisine were sadly not among them.
“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 curriculum.
Not that he really cared or minded at this point, he had already accepted and resigned himself to the fact that he was currently living through a less enlightened age than what he was used to. This was no longer his world; it was their world, not his, and he was but a passive observer until he felt the need to step in. It seemed like their host, Nico, and the few members of his family who still lived with him didn’t care or mind either. Regardless of any social faux pas that any of them committed, they either ignored it, didn’t care, or kept their judgments to themselves. Maybe out of a certain level of open-mindedness on their part, or perhaps the practical reality of not making people armed with swords angry at you. Tharos couldn’t help but think it was the latter. A polite society is an armed society as the saying goes. As warm and friendly as Nico and his family were to them, some of it wasn’t always genuine. Tharos could tell even without his abilities. Not that he faulted Nico, his family, or any of the villagers in Golden Apple for feeling that way. The simple fact is you catch more flies with honey than manure, for this relationship was a transactional one. A relationship between an employee and employer, and as far as they knew, the three of them were a bunch of outsider mercenaries for hire who could just as easily turn their swords on them if the price was right. Not that Tharos would do such a thing, unless he had a good reason to do so. But Nico didn’t need to know that.
As Tharos continued to slowly eat his pizza, he heard Cenric speak up to him from his left, his mouth almost full and tomato paste covering most of the bottom part of his face. Tharos could feel a small smile forming on his lips as he tried not to laugh. After swallowing the piece of pizza in his mouth, Cenric pointed to the pizza next to Tharos, which was covered with thin strips of bacon.
“Are you going to have that one, Tharos?” Cenric asked, pointing at the pizza, his bright green eyes flashing with the light of youthful hunger.
“No, I wasn’t. Go help yourself,” Tharos replied. He didn’t mind. He didn’t have to eat or drink to maintain good health, and Cenric was a growing boy. It would be rather unfair to deny him what he needs. In the few months they spent travelling together, Cenric was already going through a growth spurt and had shot up a few more inches, with more to go. At the rate he was going, he would be around Tharos’ own height, perhaps a few inches taller.
“Thanks,” Cenric said as he reached over, grabbing the pizza with both hands. Within a few seconds, he was already ripping it apart and consuming it with vigorous hunger. As Cenric was eating his pizza, Rayner spoke.
“Hey, well, I was going to have that one.”
“First come, first serve.” Cenric replied with a small, cheeky smile on his face.
Rayner gave an angry snort, but before he could say anything in response, Nico spoke up. “Don’t worry, Master Rayner, there are more of those on the way.”
“There better be,” Rayner responded, the irritation clear in his voice.
A back-and-forth then started between Cenric and Rayner over something trivial. Tharos watched the scene with a sense of amusement and a creeping feeling of nostalgia. While this had become a common sight during the few weeks they had been staying there, moments like these reminded him of his friends back in Zarbar. Although most of them were still vague, formless shadows in his mind, aside from Vartark, Tharos could almost recall a similar situation happening. He would sit there, enjoying his food, while his friends got up to mischief and hi-jinks. Although all these moments blended together, he couldn’t recall where one moment started 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. Dinner passed without any more highlights, and after a few hours, when everyone else had gone to bed or was going to retire for the night, Tharos took Nico aside to talk to him about what he had been told while he was on the road patrolling with Rayner and told him about his plans.
“A necromancer this close. Are you sure?” Nico said, looking shocked, his face soon becoming flushed and pale with a cold sweat, braking out on his brow.
“Yes, that is what current evidence suggest, however I would like to go and investigate in person. To make sure it isn’t a necromancer or worse.”
“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 remain 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 humour me.”
“What is your question?”
“How many people, including yourself, have any knowledge about magic or the arcane arts?” Tharos felt he knew what the answer to the question was, but he just wanted to see if he could be proven wrong.
“No, no… no one in this village would ever engage in such witchcraft or associate with anyone involved in it,” Nico said firmly, waving his hands in a fan-like motion to emphasise his point. However, as he spoke, Tharos sensed something was off. He detected a lie, but the question for Tharos was what exactly Nico was lying about.
“Should I call him out on his lie or see where this goes?” Tharos pondered to himself. Tharos 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 felt his eyebrows starting to furrow slightly as he responded, “So, how would these people know what to look for when it comes to witchcraft, as you call it?” Tharos’s tone switched from formal and polite to something a bit more accusatory. Nico didn’t respond for a few moments that felt like an eternity, but his silence conveyed what Tharos needed to know. The man standing before him knew nothing about magic or the arcane arts; all he knew was superstition that, for the most part, had no basis in reality. It was rather ironic, considering that the study of magic is and always has been an esoteric art. Even Tharos, who had only studied the basics, knew that he had barely scratched the surface. Before Nico could come up with a reply, Tharos cut him off.
“Allow me to restate my question, Nico. Do any of them know how to differentiate classifications of mages or 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. In fact, it had been so long that he had almost forgotten the feeling. It was anger. It wasn’t a burning anger like a raging inferno, nor was it an anger that ebbed and flowed like a raging tide at sea. This type of anger was controlled, focused, and precise, like a strong gust of wind. The man’s ignorance made him angry. However, Tharos wouldn’t let this new surging emotion affect the direction of the conversation. He would then still his thoughts and continue, not letting such feelings control him or the conversation.
“Not all magic or spells are witchcraft, as you call it. What you are referring to as witchcraft are curses and hexes, which only certain types of mages specialise in, such as witches or warlocks,” Tharos explained, ensuring a firm yet respectful tone this time, unlike the accusatory one he had used earlier. “My point is that the individuals you would send wouldn’t know what to look for, and even if they did, there’s nothing stopping them from vanishing without a trace.”
“I see, but we need you three to stay here. Surely you wouldn’t want to breach your contract with me or this village.”
Tharos narrowed his eyes and gazed at Nico for a brief moment before responding, “The contract specifies that I must do everything in my power to protect the village until the agreed-upon time. Investigating a potential threat to the village falls within the scope of the contract.” Tharos sighed, crossing his arms. “Consider it this way: would you rather confirm today that it’s nothing or have a necromancer appear at your doorstep tomorrow?”
Nico sighed, clearly realising that he wasn’t going to get his way in this conversation. He would have to concede the point, as he didn’t have many cards to play. He couldn’t argue with the points Tharos made. When Tharos accepted the deal, he made sure to word things in a very specific manner, so situations like this would arise. Situations he could turn to his benefit.
“Every well, do as you wish. Just make sure you’re not gone for too long; there is no telling what could happen in your absence.”
“Well, lucky for you, we shouldn’t be gone for too long, but I am going to need something from you to make that possible.”
“What is it?” Nico asked with a sigh.
“I am going to have to borrow a few of the horses here in the village. If we walk on foot, we won’t be back until late afternoon, perhaps even nightfall. By horseback, we can cover more ground.” Nico nodded, “I will make sure you have a few horses ready for you, but these are workhorses and we don’t have many to spare, so please be careful with them.”
“Don’t worry, Nico, they will be in good hands,” Tharos assured. Tharos and Nico spent the next few minutes discussing the details of what Tharos needed and what Nico could do while they were away. After wishing each other a good night, they retired for the night. However, Tharos headed up to the top floor and climbed to the roof, gazing 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 thought that no matter what happened, the sky and the stars above, the burning bright jewels in the night sky, would remain eternal. They would serve as a near-constant companion for him, as they had done for any stargazer. As Tharos kept staring at the stars, he had a feeling that he was going to have work cut out for him.
