Date: March 24, 541, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored
The "Old Boar" inside was exactly as Maël had described it—smoke-filled, noisy, and dangerous. A low ceiling, walls long unwhitewashed, heavy oak tables stained with beer and who knows what else. In the corners, oil lamps smoked, casting flickering light on weathered faces, calloused hands, and weapons that no one here bothered to hide.
Dur and Maël settled in a corner from which the whole hall and the entrance were visible. Maël ordered two mugs of beer—just for show, barely touching his own. Dur didn't touch his, remembering Torm's tales about how alcohol dulls the senses.
"Watch and remember," Maël said quietly, leaning over the table. His voice was pitched so only Dur could hear. "Those by the counter, in the dark aprons—they're buyers. Work for the merchants' guild, drive down prices for hunters. They have an arrangement with the guard: they don't ask where the game comes from, and the guard turns a blind eye to petty poaching. Better not to deal with them if you don't want to get shortchanged."
"And those in the corner?" Dur nodded imperceptibly towards a group of four men sitting in the darkest corner. They spoke quietly but gestured actively, glancing frequently at the door.
"Trackers. Work for the eastern patrol, but freelance, not official. Know the forest well, but don't like city rules. If something goes wrong in the forest, they're the first to know. If someone disappears, they're called to search. But they charge an arm and a leg."
Dur studied them. All had weathered faces, ingrained grime, hands covered in calluses and scars. Forest people. These he understood.
"And that one by the door with the mug," Maël continued, "an informer. Works for the city guard, gathers information. Everyone knows him, but no one touches him—it's more trouble than it's worth. If you want to get something to the guard without sticking your neck out, tell him. For a couple of coppers, he'll pass it on."
"And if you want to hide something?"
"Then keep your mouth shut and don't look his way. He remembers faces."
They sat like that for about an hour, listening to the conversations. The hum of voices merged into a continuous noise, but Dur's ears, accustomed to picking out specific sounds in the forest, gradually began to separate individual threads of talk.
"...prices on grain raised again, soon there'll be nothing to eat..."
"...then don't eat, join the patrol, they feed you there..."
"...no fools, in the patrol now it's just cannon fodder..."
"...heard, on the eastern side three more went missing..."
"...the forest eats..."
Dur tensed. The forest eats. He knew the forest could be cruel, but people disappearing regularly—that was no longer mere chance.
Maël noticed his reaction and said quietly:
"I heard it too. Rumors have been going around for two weeks now. Patrols go into the forest and don't come back. The guard kept quiet at first, but now everyone knows."
"What's out there?"
"No one knows. Those who go to check don't come back either."
Dur thought. In the forest, he felt confident, but the unknown is always more dangerous than any beast.
Meanwhile, the conversations continued.
"...Agrim raised taxes again, now on salt..."
"...well, there's a war on, where else to get money? Doesn't fall from the sky..."
"...war, war, and they sit in the rear themselves..."
"...would you go to the front if they called?"
"...me? Nah, I'd rather stay here and starve than get crushed by Alvost's rocks..."
"...and did you hear, the Alvostians moved a new unit to the passes? They say they have some kind of machines there that smash walls..."
"...machines... ugh, damned magic..."
Maël listened attentively, and Dur saw his face change. The usual ironic mask slipped, revealing focus, almost predatory.
"Alvostians," he said quietly. "So it's true. The war is closer than I thought."
"What's it to you? You're a runaway."
"Runaway, but not blind. If Alvost breaks through the passes, Ligra will be the first target. And if Ligra falls, all this talk about taxes and bread will just be dust. Alvost doesn't leave cities in their rear—they burn everything."
Dur looked at him and saw not a boy fleeing his family, but a man who understood the scale of the threat.
"You think they'll attack?"
"I don't think. I know. My..." Maël stumbled, "...my sources said Alvost has been preparing for a long time. And now, with bread prices rising and people discontented, it's the perfect time to strike."
He took a sip of beer, grimaced.
"The Agrim family is preparing, of course. But they're preparing for a big war, with armies and legions. Alvost strikes surgically, wiping out patrols, cutting off roads. Like wolves picking off sheep one by one while the shepherd looks the other way."
Dur nodded. A tactic familiar to him from hunting.
"So the forest in the east didn't become dangerous on its own."
"Exactly. Someone's out there. Saboteurs, scouts, maybe even small units. They're cutting down our people to sow panic. To make the guard afraid to go out. To stop the caravans."
"To leave the city without food before the strike," Dur finished.
"Clever forest man," Maël smirked, but the smirk was crooked.
They listened again. Now, knowing what to look for, Dur began to pick out other fragments.
"...I went to the eastern market yesterday, it's empty. No meat, no vegetables, only dry rusk..."
"...well, what did you expect? Caravans aren't coming, hunters are afraid to go into the woods..."
"...soon there'll be nothing to eat, I tell you..."
"...and the guards don't care, they're on the job..."
"...or on death, like those who went into the forest..."
"...curse your tongue..."
"...and did you hear, they're looking for someone in the Agrim estate? They say a boy from the family ran away..."
Dur felt Maël tense. He himself remained motionless, but his hand under the table clenched into a fist.
"...oh, come on, why would they run away? They feed you, give you drink, work..."
"...or maybe he didn't want to work? Kids these days—no discipline, no respect..."
"...they'll catch him, straighten his head out..."
"...that's for sure..."
Maël slowly exhaled, relaxing his hand.
"Looks like the rumors are already out," he said quietly.
"Is that bad?"
"It means I have less time than I thought. They're not searching quietly, they're searching loudly. That means they'll soon announce a reward. And then everyone in this city will want to turn me in."
"Not everyone," Dur looked at him calmly. "I won't."
Maël raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Why? I'm nobody to you. Just a random acquaintance."
"In the forest, if an animal is wounded, you help it. Not because it's yours, but because a wounded animal is dangerous to everyone. Right now, you're a wounded animal. If they catch you, they might find me too. And I don't want to be found."
Maël smirked.
"Forest logic. Harsh, but it works."
They sat a while longer, listening. They talked of various things: prices, weather, that some important official from the capital would soon visit the city. But more and more often, the conversations turned to the war, to the disappearances in the forest, to the fear that was beginning to creep into the souls of the townspeople.
"Listen," Dur suddenly said, "why doesn't the Agrim family send their own people to deal with this forest? They have the power, magic, trackers."
"Because they're preparing for the big war," Maël replied. "All forces are thrown west, towards the passes. And the east... the east they consider the rear. A quiet place where nothing happens. A mistake, of course, but who am I to tell them?"
"You could have told them, if you hadn't run away."
Maël looked at him for a long moment.
"I could have. But then I would have become part of the system. And I don't want to be part of it. Although..." he pondered, "maybe that's my mistake. Running away doesn't mean winning."
"Then what does?"
"I don't know," Maël answered honestly. "But probably, you first need to understand what you're fighting against, and only then decide—run or stay."
Dur nodded. That was wise. Wiser than he expected from a runaway aristocrat.
The tavern was getting noisier—new people arrived, ordered drinks, started their own conversations. Some were already quite drunk and loudly demanding songs. The hostess, a heavyset woman with a face that could frighten a bear, deftly worked behind the counter, ignoring the drunken shouts.
"Time to go," said Maël. "We've been seen here, that's enough. If we stay longer, they'll start asking questions."
"What questions?"
"Where we're from, who we are, why we're sitting and listening. They don't like those who listen too much here."
They finished their beer—or rather, Maël finished his, Dur just set his mug aside—and headed for the exit. By the door, Dur noticed that the informer followed them with his eyes. Memorized them. Well, let him.
Outside, it was fresh. After the tavern's stuffiness, the air seemed almost icy.
"Well," Maël asked when they had moved far enough from the "Old Boar," "what do you think of Ligra?"
"Noisy. Dirty. Dangerous," Dur listed calmly, without emotion. "But people are the same everywhere. Afraid, hopeful, hungry. Only here they're afraid not of wolves, but of each other."
"Accurate observation," Maël smirked. "In the forest, you read tracks; in the city, you read people. I think you'll learn fast."
"I'll have to. Otherwise, I won't survive here."
They walked towards their attic. The city was quieting down, only dogs barking somewhere in the distance and late drunks calling out. Ligra was preparing for sleep, to wake up tomorrow and live its complex, dangerous, seething life again.
"What will we do tomorrow?" Maël asked.
"Think," Dur replied. "Listen more. Look for an opportunity. The forest in the east is dangerous, but if there really are Alvostians there, that could be our chance."
"What kind of chance?"
"If we find out where they are and tell the right people, they might leave us alone. Might even pay."
"And if they catch us first?"
"Then we didn't search well enough."
Maël laughed—quietly, almost soundlessly.
"You're strange, Dur. Dangerous and strange."
"In the forest, everyone is."They climbed up to the attic and settled into their spots. The city breathed outside the window, and for the first time in a long while, Dur felt that this rhythm was not alien. Just different. Like a different forest.
He closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep. Tomorrow would be a new day. New rumors. A new opportunity.