Early in the morning, the gates creaked open slowly. The guards in chainmail over black cloaks stepped out. Behind them, the watch commander emerged with dignity: a sergeant with bold mustaches, a scribe in a smudged ink-stained robe, and a tax collector in a crimson turban.
The warriors formed a semicircle. Two guards brought out rough stools and a small table. The tax collector and the scribe sat down to record visitors and the taxes paid.
Amon and the mercenary quickly ate some dry bread and made their way to the city entrance.
"State your names, foreigners," the sergeant commanded.
While waiting for an answer, the scribe dipped his quill into the ink and scratched his nose.
"My name is Amon, and this is Alexandra," the warrior answered briefly.
"Why have you come to El-Farrah?"
"On business, esteemed sir," the mercenary interjected. "We wish to visit the Mage Academy. We are neither merchants, spies, nor bandits."
"On business, then," the sergeant said with doubt.
The scribe scratched his quill, forming intricate symbols. To his surprise, Amon realized he understood their meaning.
"Is there anyone who can vouch for you?"
Amon stepped forward.
"We are warriors from afar. No one knows us in this city, but I give you my word—we come with peaceful intentions. Hearing of the great El-Farrah, we traveled a long way to touch upon your wisdom and righteousness," the sorcerer said in a grand tone.
"Warriors," the scribe diligently wrote.
"Both?" the sergeant asked skeptically, nodding toward the woman. "Even her?"
"Yes," Alexandra replied angrily, slapping her thigh. "Do you see the sword?"
"And what is this?" the commander pointed at the bundle behind the mercenary.
"The second sword, for special monsters," Alexandra answered without blinking.
The scribe hesitantly spat into his hand. The tax collector snickered, and the sergeant burst out laughing, nearly doubling over with mirth.
"I swear by the Prophet and the Goddess, peace be upon them, this is the funniest thing I've heard!" he said, wiping his tears. "A woman warrior! Who's ever heard of a woman fighting monsters?!"
The sergeant was about to say more, but upon meeting Amon's gaze, he choked on his laughter, coughed, and fell silent.
"Thank the Goddess, the Prophet, and your Emir," Amon intoned, leaning slightly forward, "that your situation is not as desperate as it is in her lands, where even women had to take up arms! And if you have even a shred of compassion for others' misfortunes—do not speak disdainfully of my companion!"
"Don't worry," Alexandra whispered into the knight's ear. "Show some restraint."
Amon stared intently at the sergeant. The guard nervously swallowed. His proud mustaches drooped. He took a step back, then another, and his hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his yatagan, trembling and weak in front of this unyielding wall—a fight would be useless, but perhaps it was necessary—and that would be the end...
"And now, if you have no further questions, let us into the city," Amon said sternly, looking away, as if giving the sergeant a chance to preserve his life and dignity.
The sergeant took a deep breath. He had children, a wife, and he loved sitting in tea houses with his friends. He didn't want to lose his life. And he seized the opportunity given.
"Let them through," the sergeant said curtly, trying to hide the sticky fear behind his impassive expression.
He almost succeeded.
***
El-Farrah greeted the knight with a bustle of activity and mudbrick houses. Water carriers rushed about with large jugs on their calloused shoulders. Women shuffled along, dressed in black, impenetrable robes, concealing their faces and bodies from prying eyes. Camels and donkeys bellowed as they carried heavy packs of goods on their backs.
"Thank you for stepping in," Alexandra looked at Amon gratefully. "And how beautifully you said, 'Do not speak disdainfully of my companion!' I got goosebumps. That's what respect means," she added with a smile.
"It's nothing. We're a team," Amon replied distractedly, scanning the surroundings. "You take care of the monsters, and I'll deal with the people."
The mercenary and the knight passed through the artisan quarters, walked along markets where slaves with soldierly posture were sold—still unbroken by the whip and hunger—and then deepened into the guest rows.
"Did you see the slaves?" the woman stayed close to the knight. "Those are the Justiciar soldiers. They're always numerous—pirates often bring them to Suddimi, and from there, they're driven like cattle to El-Farrah."
Amon nodded.
"Ugly sight," the girl continued, trying to keep the knight's attention. "Don't look at them too much. You might feel unwell again."
"Thanks for the concern," Amon replied with a slight smile.
Alexandra sighed almost imperceptibly. Throughout the journey, she threw sidelong glances at the knight, but he either didn't notice or ignored them. She wanted to think he didn't notice...
Last evening, Alexandra had clearly realized that she had always dreamed of someone like Amon. A noble and confident knight made her heart flutter with tenderness.
But how could she get close to him? To her shame, Alexandra didn't know how to express her feelings and didn't know how to go about it. At just under twenty-nine, when it came to love, she was still like a teenager, just emerging from childhood.
No, she had fully experienced physical pleasures! There were always charming young men willing to do anything for gold. But the last time... yes, about a year ago... But with a knight, such tricks wouldn't work!
'I'm unattractive,' the girl thought glumly, trying to walk closer to Amon. 'And I have scars! Would he look at someone like me? He needs some princess or, at worst, a countess. And me? Oh, I need to act accordingly, or with my manners...'
At the same time, Alexandra remembered Amon's gaze when he told a story in the flickering light of the campfire. And he gave her, however faint, some hope.
Before noon, they searched for a suitable place to rest. But as luck would have it, the inns were fully booked, and the tea houses with smoking copper kettles were not to the knight's liking.
"I want to think in peace and quiet," he said evenly. "And in there, people are only divided by curtains. No, we need something more expensive."
"Yes," the mercenary added obsequiously. "And somewhere we can wash!"
Eventually, they found what they were looking for. Closer to the city center, where the governor's palace loomed, stood a tall three-story house made of expensive marble. At first, the girl thought it was the residence of some nobleman, but the absence of guards at the gate and the low stone fence convinced her otherwise.
After tying their donkey in the yard, they entered inside.