“Let’s go, Neel,” he said, coaxing the bandy awake.
As he walked through the silent hall lit by the warm glow of Magic Lamps with Neel, he realized he wasn’t alone. Riyan stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the front door.
How long has he been standing there? Vir wondered.
“I see you are ready,” the big man boomed. “Have you packed enough provisions?”
“All the essentials, plus my weapons and my paint kit, of course.”
Vir’s training had shifted to focus less on combat and more on mastering the art of deception through face painting, body language, and speech. He now rivaled even Maiya in that area.
“Yes, about that,” Riyan said, picking up a cloth-wrapped package by his feet. “Take this.”
Vir carefully unfolded the cloth, revealing a gleaming steel katar within a leather holster. While it looked well used, sporting knicks on the hilt, its blade was pristine, with no signs of rust at all.
“My old katar. While basic, its steel blade is sharp and sturdy. This weapon has served me well. May it aid you in your endeavor.”
“T-thanks,” Vir said, tying the holster around his right hip. Now he had katars on both sides of his waist. Three iron chakrams were draped around his neck, with a half dozen chakris worn as bracelets on each arm. He was as armed as he’d ever been.
The only thing he lacked was armor. His fabric trousers, white full-arm, and woolen jacket wouldn’t do much to protect him in combat. While his agility-based fighting style didn’t really require armor, he was planning on buying something light at Daha. Once he could afford it, of course.
“Would you, uh, be able to spare any coin? I’ll need a place to stay for a few days before I can find a means to earn for myself.”
Riyan threw Vir a scowl. “What of all the coin you’ve stashed in those caves? I’d imagine you would have more than enough to cover costs, wouldn’t you?”
He did know! Vir did his best to hide his surprise, but failed.
“Come now, did you really think I wouldn’t notice coin and supplies disappearing from my own home? You steal from me, and now you ask for coin?” he roared. “No. I will not punish you for this, but you will have to fend for yourself. I think you are more than up to the task.”
Vir pursed his lips and nodded, shameful for stealing from Riyan, and grateful that the man let him off so easily. Then again, taking action against Vir would only hurt his own goals, so his hands were tied.
He swept one last gaze across the home. Though he’d only spent half a year here, it had felt like so much longer. He’d experienced so many memories here, with Maiya, with Neel, and even Riyan. The journey to Saran, to Brij, these were memories he’d cherish for the rest of his life.
Burning every last detail of the home into memory, he stepped outside with his trusty friend in tow. He doubted he would ever return.
“I guess this is it, then,” Vir said as he mounted Bumpy. Neel hopped up onto the rear passenger’s saddle and made himself at home.
“Goodbye, Vir. May Vera be with you.”
Riyan’s prayer surprised Vir. The man had long ago given up his faith in the gods, after all.
The sky was just beginning to glow as he set out, bound for the caves to the south of the abode. Riyan had been exactly right. Over the past year, Vir and Maiya had both snuck supplies and coin out to the cave stash. They thought they’d been discreet, but clearly not discreet enough to avoid Riyan’s hawk-like attention.
“C’mon, boy,” he said. Neel hopped down and nuzzled his shin.
Vir walked into the cave, Prana Vision guiding his steps. Neel stuck close. The bandy was nearly blind in this pitch-darkness, but Vir hadn’t been idle these past few months. He’d trained Neel to the level of those attack bandies in the Godshollow. Part of that training was operating in darkness. So long as his body brushed up against Vir’s legs, Neel could navigate well enough.
Arriving at the cache, Vir moved the rock that covered their hidey hole.
Of the single Imperium silver and forty coppers they’d appropriated from the Saran trip, Vir took the silver, leaving all the coppers, placing them in a fabric sack. He also took Rudvik’s twenty coppers, more for sentimental value, keeping them in a separate sack right up against his body.
He wouldn’t spend that money unless his life depended on it—and maybe not even then. The money and the charcoal sketch were his only memento of his father. He treasured them as much as his own life.
He left behind the rest of the Saran money, along with the blanket, sacks of nuts, dried fruit, and some clothes. For Maiya, in case she ever came back and needed it.
Still, a single silver wouldn’t go very far in the capital. If he wanted to stay there for any length of time, he’d need to find a job, and fast.
Vir swore under his breath that Riyan would get what was coming to him. He held mixed feelings, since the man had saved his and Maiya’s life, and had indeed housed, protected, and taught them. Without him, Vir would be as weak and vulnerable as he was previously.
The two of them returned to Bumpy and struck east. Neel slept while Vir lost himself in his thoughts. The desert chill turned pleasantly warm, then unbearably hot in less than an hour, forcing Vir to shed his jacket.
No pirates accosted him, and no one heckled him, because he was utterly alone out in the desert. But that brought with it its own set of concerns. A single heading miscalculation could send him in entirely the wrong direction. Many travelers perished in such a way.
Luckily, the Saran-Daha highway ran mostly north-south. So as long as he traveled in an easterly direction, he’d hit it.
Sure enough, the packed dirt road came into view in a few scant hours, right before the sun reached its zenith.
Turning south, Vir sped up, the deep sand no longer there to hamper Bumpy. It wasn’t long before he caught sight of other travelers, bound north to Saran, and slower caravans headed to Daha. Those, he overtook.
Desert gave way to endless plains, and just when Vir thought it best to take a break, he hit trouble.
Ever since he was young, Vir had heard of stories of highwaymen accosting travelers. But he’d stopped believing in them when every single tale was nearly identical.
Surely, they must be making this up? They’re just copying each other!
And yet, before his very eyes, a scene from those tales played out.
A group of four ruffians had waylaid and surrounded a wagon driven by a man and his wife. Except, unlike the tales, there were no threats of death here. No tension at all. In fact, all parties seemed quite relaxed.
“Give us yer coin, and we’ll be on our way,” one of them said in a bored voice. He hadn’t even unsheathed his talwar.
To Vir’s surprise, the wagoner didn’t even resist. He reached for his coin, as if paying a merchant and not a bandit out to kill him.
“Neel,” Vir muttered. The bandy immediately perked up. “Sic ’em.”
With a single command, Neel jumped off Bumpy and sailed through the air, laying his fangs into the nearest bandit. The man went down, clutching his neck, crying out in pain.
The other three looked on with shock for several seconds before reacting. It was a fatal mistake.
Bumpy charged the other man, who stood frozen in shock. The Ash’va’s head collided with him and tossed him aside like a rag-doll.
Vir leaped off Bumpy, tackling the third man. He didn’t even need to attack—the man’s head hit the dirt, sending him straight to the land of the unconscious.
Vir stood up to find Neel’s prey still clutching his neck. A strike with the flat of his katar sent the man joining his friends on the ground.