The royal road between Lunos and Mercius was a strip of beaten earth that wound through hills covered in golden grass and fields of grain ready for harvest. The cold of Lunos had been left behind, replaced by a temperate breeze that carried the smell of wet earth and fresh bread.
Zirinos rode alone.
The soldiers of Ban had stayed in Lunos to help Linda rebuild the defences. Sanderá and Erlan had also stayed. Only he had left, with Zayan's letter in his pocket, the egg in his backpack, and the promise to return when the war called.
The horse, a dark animal with gentle eyes that Linda had lent him, tired with each passing hour. Zirinos did not tighten the reins. There was no hurry. Mercius was two days away, and Derylini another three. Spring was approaching, but the weather was still cold.
"Rest," he said to the horse, stopping in the shade of a solitary tree.
The animal obeyed, lowering its head to graze.
Zirinos took off his backpack, set it on the ground, and opened the cloth sack. The egg pulsed – purple and red, an internal light that shone even under the pale morning sun. The cracks in the shell were now more visible, fine as hairs, but deep.
*It will hatch soon*, he thought. *I hope it's not inside the backpack.*
He put the egg away. Ate a piece of hard bread, drank water from the canteen, and mounted again.
---
At the end of the afternoon, he spotted an inn by the roadside.
It was a low building of dark stone, with a painted sign: "The Traveller and the Mermaid". The smell of roasted meat and beer came through the open windows. Zirinos decided to stay the night.
He dismounted, tied the horse to a post, and went in.
Inside, the atmosphere was modest – a wooden counter, a few tables, a lit fireplace. The customers were mostly merchants, sitting in groups, discussing prices and routes. They spoke loudly, gestured, laughed.
Zirinos sat in a corner, away from the conversations, and ordered soup and bread.
"Where are you from?" asked the innkeeper, serving him.
"Far away."
"Those from far away bring news."
"The war continues. Trussum is dead. The king too."
The innkeeper raised an eyebrow.
"King Dizius?"
"The same."
"And who rules now?"
"No one. Yet."
The man asked no more. He walked away, taking the news to the kitchen.
---
Zirinos ate in silence when a man sat at the neighbouring table.
He was a sailor – you could tell by his walk, the smell of sea, the light clothes, and the tangled hair. He had sunburned skin, light eyes, and an easy smile.
"You're the hero, aren't you?" he asked, without ceremony.
"Depends on the hero."
"The one who killed Trussum. The one with golden hair."
"That one."
"May I sit?"
"You're already sitting."
The sailor laughed. He called the innkeeper, ordered two glasses of wine and a platter of cheese.
"I'm paying," he said. "Heroes don't pay."
"Heroes don't exist. Men pay."
"You're modest."
"I'm honest."
The sailor drank his wine in one gulp, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and leaned in.
"Do you know how ships travel so fast in Endomyar?" he asked.
"No."
"Mana stones. Or 'wind stones', as sailors call them. You put them in the hull, channel mana into the sails and propulsion. The ship almost flies."
"Almost?"
"Almost. It still needs wind. But mana helps. A lot."
"Where do these stones come from?"
"From Mercius. Their magical objects... the stones are the base. They put raw mana inside a cage of white iron, engrave runes, and done."
"And you have one?"
"I do. On a small boat I use for fishing." The sailor showed the ring on his finger. "This is a replica. Heats in winter. Cools in summer. Also from Mercius."
Zirinos looked at the ring. It was simple, silver, with a small blue stone embedded.
"Does it work?"
"It works. I just don't take it off at night. They say mana stones glow in the dark. Mine glows. The inn guests stare."
The sailor laughed again. Zirinos almost smiled.
"Thank you for the information."
"You're welcome. Heroes need to know how the world works. It's not just about killing monsters."
"And fishing."
"And fishing."
---
In the morning, Zirinos left early.
The sailor had already gone, taking with him the smell of sea and the promise of fast voyages. The road south was empty, the grain fields glistening with dew.
*Mana stones*, he thought. *Mercius does more than sell grain.*
He stored the information. It might be useful.
---
At midday, he met a caravan of merchants.
There were three carts covered in brown tarpaulins, pulled by tired mules. The men accompanying them wore dark clothes, dusty, and spoke with a Mercius accent.
"You are the hero!" exclaimed one, recognising the golden hair. "The one who killed Trussum!"
"I am."
"We're going to Mercius. Count Mercudoth offers a reward to anyone who brings news from the north."
"The count wants news?"
"He wants to know who will inherit the throne. Business depends on it."
"Business always depends on who rules."
The merchant nodded.
"Yes. That's why we're arriving late. The harvests are good, but the count tightened prices. The peasants are threatening a strike."
"A strike?"
"They refuse to work. They say the count robs them."
"Does he?"
The merchant shrugged.
"He robs. But it's his right. He's the owner of the land."
Zirinos didn't comment.
"And the count's children?" he asked.
"Marco is the heir. Mean, but smart. Mário is aggressive. They say he's been challenging everyone to duels. Márcia is the only good one. She married a Derylini."
"I know."
"Then you know more than I do."
The merchant waved goodbye and went on his way. Zirinos continued.
---
Malize was a small village, with a central square where a statue of Mercudoth stood – the pot-bellied count, hands full of rings, face turned north, towards the lands that brought him wealth.
Zirinos dismounted. The heat was more intense here, and the smell of forges mixed with the smell of bread and manure.
"Are you the hero?" asked a grey-bearded man who approached him in the square.
"I am."
"Baron Orlan Malize invites you to dinner at the count's castle. He says Count Mercudoth wants to meet you."
"The count wants to meet me or show me his riches?"
"Both."
Zirinos almost smiled.
"I accept."
The man nodded and walked away.
Zirinos looked at the sky. The sun was beginning to set. Dinner would be in two hours.
The egg, in his backpack, pulsed faster.
'The heat of the forges', he thought. 'We're close.'
He put the backpack away and entered the inn.
He needed to drink.