Date: April 7, 541, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored
Evening descended on Ligra suddenly, as if someone had thrown a heavy woolen blanket over the city. The cubbyhole above the tannery was filled with thick shadows, only slightly dispersed by the weak flame of an oil lamp standing on the rickety table. The smell of old cured leather, which permeated the whole building, mixed here, upstairs, with the scent of dried herbs and the cold metal of weapons.
Dur sat on the edge of his bunk, methodically rubbing his bowstring with wax. His movements were mechanical, but his gaze remained sharp and focused. Opposite him, at the table, Maël was laying out their meager possessions like pieces on a chessboard. On the uneven wooden surface, stamped silver glinted dully—those five bonus coins and the remainder of his pay. Beside them lay the copper token with the soaring eagle, which in this half-light seemed less an honorable badge and more a brand.
"Let's do some simple arithmetic, forest man," said Maël. On his lips played the usual, slightly sly smile, but in his eyes was frozen the cold clarity Dur only saw in moments of real danger. "What do we have as of today?"
Maël folded one finger.
"First: we have money. Eight silver coins—that's more than any craftsman in this quarter has. We won't starve, and that's our main resource. Second: we have official status. Your 'Shadow of the Eagle' token is a shield that protects us from the small fry in the patrols. Third: we have information. We know we're being followed, and we know the trackers from the 'Inner Circle' only suspect, they're not sure yet."
Maël paused and looked at Dur. His optimism always had a calming effect on Dur, but today behind this cheerfulness lay something else. Maël was intelligent—perhaps the most intelligent and cunning person Dur had ever met. His ability to smile in the face of danger and sidestep conflicts was an art in itself.
"And now the other side of the ledger," Maël continued, his voice becoming serious. "We're trapped in Ligra. Ligra is a fortress, but it's also a cage. And the worst part, Dur, is that it's a tiny cage. I've read a lot and heard from those who've traveled deep into Agrim lands. Ligra is just an outpost on the edge. A small town the Agrim family keeps only to watch the border. If the accounting system is like this here, if the Whisperers work this cleanly here… imagine what it's like in the Capital. The web there is so thick you couldn't breathe without touching a strand."
Dur put down his bow and looked up. His forest logic had always been simple: there is a wolf, and there is a hunter. In Ligra, these roles constantly switched.
"In the forest, it's always clear who your enemy is," Dur said quietly. "If you see a wolf—it's an enemy. If you see a bear—it's danger. Here, the enemy is a shadow with no face. It's a sheet of paper in an archive. It's the gaze of a woman in the corner of a tavern. Maël, I don't know how to fight something I can't touch or shoot."
Maël chuckled softly, and there was no mockery in his laugh.
"That's the whole point, my friend! You know how to survive where others break. You took down the cat that all the northern shepherds feared. Speaking of the cat…"
Maël leaned forward, his face lit by the lamp flame.
"You handled him easily because he was an ordinary beast. Strong, but predictable. But remember: in this world, there are magical creatures. Beings that have their own Spirit, like people do. I've heard legends of beasts that can summon fog or turn their hide to stone. If you meet one of those… the skills Torm gave you might not be enough. You'd defeat the weakest of them, but at what cost? Wounded, on the verge of death? You need to become stronger, Dur. Not just physically."
Dur clenched his fists. He remembered his training. He felt strength within himself, felt his body growing stronger every day, but it still wasn't enough.
"I know," Dur replied dully. "But strength doesn't come on command. Torm said: 'A tree grows as long as it's meant to.'"
Maël nodded, looking closely at his friend. He valued Dur for his straightforwardness and honesty—qualities Maël himself often lacked in his world of eternal intrigue and half-truths. Maël always tried to be as honest with Dur as possible, but he couldn't tell him everything.
"Listen," Maël smiled again, and this time his smile was almost carefree. "We're in a stalemate, but we have time. Horn considers you his best acquisition. As long as you deliver results, he'll be your patron. And I'll be your shield in the city. We'll play their game until we find a way out."
Maël stood and began gathering the coins into a purse.
"The arithmetic is simple: we need two silver for new clothes—the kind that blends in with the laborers of Grumbler's Street. Another one to bribe the assistant archivist, I need to know when 'Shadow-3' files her next report. The rest goes into savings. And most importantly…"
Maël went to the window and opened it a crack. Cool night air rushed in, smelling of smoke and dust.
"We need to stop being afraid, like you said. We're not victims, Dur. We're an unpredictable variable in their perfect equation. And systems hate variables."
Dur walked over and stood beside him. He looked down at the dark streets of Ligra. Somewhere down there, in the depths of the stone labyrinths, sat people who were writing his name into folders. Somewhere down there was the Whisperer who had memorized his gaze. But here, in this attic, next to the clever, smiling Maël, Dur felt not fear for the first time in a long while, but confidence.
"Tomorrow I'll go to Horn," said Dur. "I need a new assignment. If I'm visible as an employee, they'll look less for hidden motives in my personal affairs."
"Smart move," Maël approved, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "And I'll take a walk around the market. They say a merchant from the central provinces has appeared with some very interesting… rumors."
They sat in the dark for a long time, discussing the details of their cover. Dur listened to Maël, amazed at his ability to calculate moves ahead. He didn't yet know what dream lived in his heart, he wasn't yet ready to admit even to himself why he was going East, but he knew for sure: without this clever guy, his path would have ended in Ligra's first sewer ditch.
And Maël, looking at Dur, thought about how strangely fate had turned out. He had fled from the Agrim family, from their cold order, to end up in the company of a savage who had become closer to him than all his brothers.
Ligra slept, unaware that in one of its dusty attics, two young men had just finished counting not only money, but also their chances of one day becoming stronger than this vast, soulless system.