With the crest of a long and gradual rise approaching up ahead, Tarik slowed his mount to a walk, and the others followed his lead. Overhead, Essix gave a cry and came spiraling down to land on Rollan’s shoulder. Meilin wore Jhi on her hand, Tarik’s otter lay curled at the back of his saddle, and Briggan loped tirelessly alongside Conor.
From the top of the rise, Rollan looked down with the others at a rustic settlement. A few dirt streets crisscrossed the imperfect rows of adobe buildings. People bustled along with a few wagons, horses, and a handful of dogs. Despite the activity, the crowds were nothing compared to what Rollan was used to in Concorba. None of the buildings looked very large to him, and several of them were in shoddy condition. The low wall around the community was made of stacked stones, which Rollan found downright pathetic.
“Our first destination,” Tarik announced. “Boulder City.”
“ ‘Pebble Village’ would ring truer,” Rollan scoffed.
“It’s also called Sanabajari,” Tarik went on. “Nonnatives tend to prefer the nickname. The towns are small here in the far west of Amaya. Few care to brave the dangers beyond the more settled region of the continent. The folk who live here are from sturdy stock. It would be sensible to avoid a mocking tone.”
“I see why Amaya is dubbed the New Lands,” Meilin said. “No section of Zhong is this . . . uncivilized.”
“Zhong is known as the Walled Lands,” Tarik said. “The territory within the Wall is highly developed and well-tended. But I have seen corners of the continent beyond the Wall that make Boulder City appear refined.”
“This is where we’ll find the bear and the raccoon?” Conor asked.
“If Lenori and Olvan interpreted the vision properly,” Tarik said. “Barlow and Monte used to be Greencloaks at Sunset Tower. They broke their oaths to become explorers. They’ve spent the last fifteen years roaming the wilds of western Amaya. Few, if any, have traveled this continent as widely. I’ve not met them personally, but by reputation they’re expert outdoorsmen. Barlow’s companion is a bear, and Monte’s is a raccoon. Perhaps they’ve come across Arax in their wanderings. That’s the hope, at any rate.”
“How do we know they’ll be here?” Rollan asked.
“We don’t,” Tarik admitted. “Greencloaks try to stay aware of their own, present and former. Last we had word, Barlow and Monte had established a trading post in Boulder City. If they’re not here, we’ll pick up a trail.”
They rode down a slope, through a gap in the low stone wall, and onward into town. Rollan noticed the cold stares from people on the street and in doorways, most eyes dwelling on the green cloaks worn by the other members of the group. Nearly all of the people in view were men. The majority were hardy and weathered, with threadbare clothes and rough beards.
Tarik pulled up in front of the largest building in town, a dingy white two-story structure with an amber tiled roof. A covered wooden boardwalk wrapped around the establishment, and a sizable sign proclaimed it the trading post.
In a flash, Tarik’s otter became a design on his arm. “Send your falcon aloft,” the Greencloak suggested to Rollan. “Conor, leave Briggan outside.”
“Essix, take to the —” Rollan began, but his falcon sprang into flight before he could finish.
“Would you mind guarding the horses, Briggan?” Conor asked.
The wolf sniffed Conor’s mount, then sat nearby.
“Will there be trouble?” Rollan wondered. He wore a knife at his hip. Living on the streets, he had always carried a small blade of some sort, but the Greencloaks had supplied him with the finest he had ever owned. The weapon on his belt was a true dagger, well-made and keen, almost a short sword. He had a much smaller knife tucked in his boot.
“Perhaps,” Tarik said. “Some former Greencloaks hold grudges.”
“Interesting,” Rollan murmured.
“Should we take off our cloaks?” Conor asked.
“Never out of shame or to win favor,” Tarik said. “It sets a bad precedent. We must stand behind who we are and what we represent.”
But what do you really represent? Rollan wondered. He watched a group of surly, squinting men go out of their way to walk a wide circle around the Greencloaks. An older man leading a laden mule paused to consider them, one fist on his hip. Across the street, hesitant faces appeared in the windows.
“Everyone is staring,” Conor muttered.
“Then let’s give them something to watch,” Tarik said, leading the way into the trading post. He wore his sword strapped across his back. Meilin had brought her quarterstaff. Rollan noted that Conor left his ax back with his saddle.
Everything screeched to a halt in the trading post as they entered. Diners at the bar paused mid-bite, and trading at the general store came to a dead stop. In the silence, Rollan noticed plentiful animal hides on display, along with outdoor gear and row upon row of axes, swords, and other weapons.
Tarik strode over to the counter in the general store. Several big men made way for him, their gazes ranging from suspicion to outright hostility. Behind the counter a balding man with a mischievous face surveyed the newcomers.
“Greencloaks?” he groaned with a smirk. “Official business or just passing through?”
“I’m here to look in on two former colleagues, Barlow and Monte,” Tarik replied.
The man behind the counter looked perplexed for a moment, then gave a nod. “Been some time since those two wore much green. Can’t claim to have seen either of them lately.”
“That so?” Tarik asked. “Do they still own this trading post?”
“They do,” the man replied. “It’s the most successful emporium hereabouts, which frees them from minding the day-to-day operations.”
Rollan heard a brief uproar behind him. He pivoted to see Essix gliding toward him through the open door. The falcon landed on his shoulder. Forcing a smile, he stroked the bird with the back of one knuckle, trying to act as though the appearance had been expected. As usual, Essix was out to prove she could go where she wanted, when she wanted, regardless of instructions. Both Tarik and the man behind the counter stared at him. Rollan waved a hand. “Go ahead. Don’t mind us.”
Tarik turned back to face the shopkeeper. “How long would I need to wait for their return?”
The man folded his hands on the countertop. “They own property all over. They don’t share their schedules with me, and it isn’t my place to ask. Depending on the season, the two of them can be absent for months at a time.”
From the top of the rise, Rollan looked down with the others at a rustic settlement. A few dirt streets crisscrossed the imperfect rows of adobe buildings. People bustled along with a few wagons, horses, and a handful of dogs. Despite the activity, the crowds were nothing compared to what Rollan was used to in Concorba. None of the buildings looked very large to him, and several of them were in shoddy condition. The low wall around the community was made of stacked stones, which Rollan found downright pathetic.
“Our first destination,” Tarik announced. “Boulder City.”
“ ‘Pebble Village’ would ring truer,” Rollan scoffed.
“It’s also called Sanabajari,” Tarik went on. “Nonnatives tend to prefer the nickname. The towns are small here in the far west of Amaya. Few care to brave the dangers beyond the more settled region of the continent. The folk who live here are from sturdy stock. It would be sensible to avoid a mocking tone.”
“I see why Amaya is dubbed the New Lands,” Meilin said. “No section of Zhong is this . . . uncivilized.”
“Zhong is known as the Walled Lands,” Tarik said. “The territory within the Wall is highly developed and well-tended. But I have seen corners of the continent beyond the Wall that make Boulder City appear refined.”
“This is where we’ll find the bear and the raccoon?” Conor asked.
“If Lenori and Olvan interpreted the vision properly,” Tarik said. “Barlow and Monte used to be Greencloaks at Sunset Tower. They broke their oaths to become explorers. They’ve spent the last fifteen years roaming the wilds of western Amaya. Few, if any, have traveled this continent as widely. I’ve not met them personally, but by reputation they’re expert outdoorsmen. Barlow’s companion is a bear, and Monte’s is a raccoon. Perhaps they’ve come across Arax in their wanderings. That’s the hope, at any rate.”
“How do we know they’ll be here?” Rollan asked.
“We don’t,” Tarik admitted. “Greencloaks try to stay aware of their own, present and former. Last we had word, Barlow and Monte had established a trading post in Boulder City. If they’re not here, we’ll pick up a trail.”
They rode down a slope, through a gap in the low stone wall, and onward into town. Rollan noticed the cold stares from people on the street and in doorways, most eyes dwelling on the green cloaks worn by the other members of the group. Nearly all of the people in view were men. The majority were hardy and weathered, with threadbare clothes and rough beards.
Tarik pulled up in front of the largest building in town, a dingy white two-story structure with an amber tiled roof. A covered wooden boardwalk wrapped around the establishment, and a sizable sign proclaimed it the trading post.
In a flash, Tarik’s otter became a design on his arm. “Send your falcon aloft,” the Greencloak suggested to Rollan. “Conor, leave Briggan outside.”
“Essix, take to the —” Rollan began, but his falcon sprang into flight before he could finish.
“Would you mind guarding the horses, Briggan?” Conor asked.
The wolf sniffed Conor’s mount, then sat nearby.
“Will there be trouble?” Rollan wondered. He wore a knife at his hip. Living on the streets, he had always carried a small blade of some sort, but the Greencloaks had supplied him with the finest he had ever owned. The weapon on his belt was a true dagger, well-made and keen, almost a short sword. He had a much smaller knife tucked in his boot.
“Perhaps,” Tarik said. “Some former Greencloaks hold grudges.”
“Interesting,” Rollan murmured.
“Should we take off our cloaks?” Conor asked.
“Never out of shame or to win favor,” Tarik said. “It sets a bad precedent. We must stand behind who we are and what we represent.”
But what do you really represent? Rollan wondered. He watched a group of surly, squinting men go out of their way to walk a wide circle around the Greencloaks. An older man leading a laden mule paused to consider them, one fist on his hip. Across the street, hesitant faces appeared in the windows.
“Everyone is staring,” Conor muttered.
“Then let’s give them something to watch,” Tarik said, leading the way into the trading post. He wore his sword strapped across his back. Meilin had brought her quarterstaff. Rollan noted that Conor left his ax back with his saddle.
Everything screeched to a halt in the trading post as they entered. Diners at the bar paused mid-bite, and trading at the general store came to a dead stop. In the silence, Rollan noticed plentiful animal hides on display, along with outdoor gear and row upon row of axes, swords, and other weapons.
Tarik strode over to the counter in the general store. Several big men made way for him, their gazes ranging from suspicion to outright hostility. Behind the counter a balding man with a mischievous face surveyed the newcomers.
“Greencloaks?” he groaned with a smirk. “Official business or just passing through?”
“I’m here to look in on two former colleagues, Barlow and Monte,” Tarik replied.
The man behind the counter looked perplexed for a moment, then gave a nod. “Been some time since those two wore much green. Can’t claim to have seen either of them lately.”
“That so?” Tarik asked. “Do they still own this trading post?”
“They do,” the man replied. “It’s the most successful emporium hereabouts, which frees them from minding the day-to-day operations.”
Rollan heard a brief uproar behind him. He pivoted to see Essix gliding toward him through the open door. The falcon landed on his shoulder. Forcing a smile, he stroked the bird with the back of one knuckle, trying to act as though the appearance had been expected. As usual, Essix was out to prove she could go where she wanted, when she wanted, regardless of instructions. Both Tarik and the man behind the counter stared at him. Rollan waved a hand. “Go ahead. Don’t mind us.”
Tarik turned back to face the shopkeeper. “How long would I need to wait for their return?”
The man folded his hands on the countertop. “They own property all over. They don’t share their schedules with me, and it isn’t my place to ask. Depending on the season, the two of them can be absent for months at a time.”
