After leaving the Maiden's Embrace, Markus found an open space out back and stripped himself of his shirt.
Holding the steel longsword in two hands, he closed his eyes and breathed slowly as he felt it's balance. It had been a long time since he held a weapon like this.
Slowly, he raised it high, his feet shifting and body adjusting into the stance it remembered so well. Then, with sudden speed, the sword fell, the tip stopping just before it reached dirt.
Again, he raised it, and then cut down once more. Again, and again, he repeated the motion, feeling the weapon, remembering how it felt.
Gradually, he began to practice the forms, slowly and methodically. Coastal Wind Scaling the Mountain, Paddling the Streams, Separation of Sky and Earth, Dancer's Return. One by one, he practiced forms, reliving the past in his mind, and waking his body's memories of it all.
Something about sparring with Quinn and teaching him to use the longsword left him reminiscing. Without realizing it, hours had passed by the time a sweaty Markus lowered the sword for a final time. It had been fun to relive the memories, but all things had to come to an end, and he had not enough time to keep wasting it here.
When he turned to collect his shirt, he saw Quinn standing by the side, having waited for him to finish.
"It's a good sword, take care of it and it will do you well."
"You said that when you bought it."
The boy seemed a bit absent-minded, but he paid it no heed, throwing a shirt back over himself, he breathed out deeply.
"Are you ready to go?"
"Yeah," Quinn said as he woke from his reverie. "Ready when you are."
****
The journey from Rival's Crossing to Sohryn was a quiet one that spanned roughly a week. They were traveling south-east on the main trade road, and passed others every day, including more soldiers rushing north-west, up the path they had just come.
Only when the week came to an end, did the great trade city of Sohryn finally come into view, dominating their vision with two short mountains, appearing taller for the steep cliffs that sat along their otherwise gradual incline, and the extravagant buildings atop those sheer cliffs, on natural plateaus. Only after that did the huge city wall spanning from the foot of the mountain all the way to the shores of Oakheart Lake catch the eye, alongside the sprawling docks that only the city's rival, Lenios, could match.
Quin's eyes went wide, and Markus too admired the sights, those massive stone walls that weren't the work of ordinary men, and the sheer extravagance of claiming mountains within the city.
A long line of caravans and wagons could be found outside the city's entrance, most of which were leaving with goods, though some were waiting to enter the city. Markus led Quin to a smaller, empty entrance, ignoring the larger gates used by peddlers and merchants.
After paying an entry of five copper pits and recording their names, they passed through into the city of Sohryn, and the noise of activity assaulted the ears. Almost every building had at least two stories, and stonework could be found everywhere. Glass windows into the many shops lined the main road, and crowds moved to and fro on the neat stone roads.
"Welcome to Sohryn, Quinn."
"You've been here before?"
"Just once, years ago now, long before I settled in Falrum."
They still rode their horses, but at less than a walking pace, those on foot making way for them naturally. Conversation was hard and the two quickly begun yelling to hear each other over the crowds, despite their immediate proximity.
"I don't remember it being this lively last time, but I could be wrong."
"What's with all the ribbons?" Quin shouted back.
"Ribbons?" Looking over the crowds now, indeed most of them wore a hand-length of ribbon, tied at their belts and left to wave in the wind. Every one was either White or Black, and some wore them in different ways, women tying them into their hair, or men wrapping them around the arm.
"I'm not sure. Let's find somewhere quiet for now, and an inn to settle the horses."
The noise of the crowds drowned out most conversation as they walked, but Markus remembered from his last visit that the city of Sohryn was split into districts by large inner-city walls, and so asked a few passerbys in what district he could find a quiet inn for the night.
"Won't find much quiet anywhere recently, not with all that's going on." An elderly man replied.
"Why? What's happening?"
"You new in? The White Hawk's heirs are competing for the city. Everyone from beggar to lord has been asked to show support."
The thin man Markus had pulled aside gestured to the white length of ribbon on his belt as he spoke. "Choice is simple if you ask me, Sohryn is the city of the White Hawk, can't have some black-haired bastard take the seat. No offense to him, but it's just not meant to be I reckon."
The White Hawk… that was… Duke Tristiel, I think?
Markus didn't remember much of his teachings on other noble houses, but he remembered that Duke Tristiel of Sohryn, the White Hawk, was named so for his family banner and the characteristically white hair of his family.
"Anyway, I can't promise you'll find quiet anywhere as things are, but if you've got the coin, the Gentle Stream district's your best bet. Just find the Royal Canal and follow it towards the mountain, you'll see the signs. Oh, and here!"
The man fished from his pocket another length of white ribbon.
"I've only got the one spare, but wear that for me while you're here."
Markus smiled wryly at the man, but Quinn took the ribbon and began looking it over before attaching it to his sword hilt.
"Thank you, and have a good day."
As soon as they began walking away Quinn spoke up eagerly. "Do you know anything about the White Hawk? I've not heard of him before. And his sons, what kind of competition are they having?"
"You heard as much as me, I don't know. Wait, the ferry master in Rival's crossing did mention something like this, a competition of trade I think he said?" Running a hand through his hair, he groaned "Nothing to do with us. If I cared so much for these things I'd never have taken up the sword. Come on, let's check the prices in this Gentle Stream district before it gets dark. In the worst case, we'll have to travel back the way we came to find a quainter inn."
The Royal Canal was a long stream that ran from the two mountains that housed the nobility, straight through the city to the docks on the other end. The closer to the mountains, the richer the district, while the roads running parallel to the Royal Canal were known as Fortune's Road, with the most expensive stores and rarest stocks imported from throughout the entirety of the Chosen Lands.
It was by following Fortune's Road that the two found the gentle Stream District, which itself had an entry tax of another five copper pits per person. Markus gave the guards a look usually reserved for his most hated foes on the battlefield as he placed one coin in their hands at a time.
'Five pits just to enter a bloody district, tainted bastards.'
But the man he'd spoken to did not lie, it truly was quieter here. And after paying the entrance fee, Markus thought it a waste to turn around now, so the two of them found more luxurious rooms than usual, and enjoyed a day of relaxation while others tended their horses.
Leaning back on a cushioned lounge, A long sigh escaped Markus' lips as he drank wine as good as, if not better than those made in Falrum, his home. A feat indeed considering the renown of Falrum's breweries.
Yet as he relaxed, savoring his drink and thinking about the road ahead, his thoughts grew distant, as if fading into a dream. His senses dulled even as he heard the murmuring of voices. No, not voices. More like wordless speeches, hopes, and intents he didn't understand.
He had the vague feeling this had happened before… but wasn't of a mind to consider much of anything. His eyes glazed over as he sat dazed, trying to listen to those voiceless calls, sounding as if they spoke from beyond a cotton wall. They wanted something from him, wanted him to do something.
He was 'meant' to be doing something.
"Markus!" Quin's voice broke him from his reverie as soaked clothes announced the wine glass he'd emptied on himself.
"Ah shit! Damned, bloody thing!" Wiping frantically at his clothes, he tried to remember what he'd been thinking about, but the memory eluded him.
"Hold on, I'll fetch some water," Quin said in a hurry as he moved to the door.
"Don't bother, just ask someone else to do it!" He called as the boy ran to the door, but Quinn didn't stop.
'Maybe I 'have' taken one too many blows to the head, like old Arthur.'
A worried frown took his face as he considered the reality of that statement. He'd need to take more care of himself than old Arthur Reyes if he wanted to live long enough to pamper his grandchildren. That man was like a living legend in his prime, but come the end he still lost memory and thought like water through a sieve.
Quinn returned, carrying a jug of water himself, and Markus took it thankfully.
After cleaning his clothes as best as he could, they both enjoyed an overpriced dinner before calling it a night, though worry never truly leaving the back of his mind.
As he slept, Markus had the nightmare again, but when he woke the next day, he had forgotten it all.
****
Quin had wanted to stay in Sohryn for another day, but Markus refused to wait, knowing that skirmishes were already happening at the Dragon Gate. His men would need him there as soon as possible, exploring the city could happen when they return.
And so, after leaving through the opposite gate to their entry, the two continued riding the path through a river town called Brint, before reaching Goldharte and witnessing the glittering golden forest to the south. With no time to go and admire the sights however, they continued through the crossroads village of Mindel, past the fort of Caldenya, until finally, the grand silhouette of Dragonsmaw Reach was visible in the distance.
Dragonsmaw Reach was a daunting mountain range named for its steep mountains and many valleys, like a row of fangs… or so people said.
"It's a bit of a stretch isn't it?" Quinn asked as he looked up at the range, still hours out from the fort.
"You've never traced the constellations before, have you? It's always like that, things are named for the smallest resemblance to what we know."
"And we know what a dragon's maw looks like?" Quin scoffed.
Markus shrugged his shoulders as he stared up at the distant mountains. "Perhaps someone did."
"Sure." Quin dismissed.
Their goal was not Dragonsmaw Reach as a whole, but the one gap in that massive line of jagged fangs, the only clearing between his home country of Hadrial, and their neighbors, Hasshan; The Dragon Gate.
The Dragon Gate has been a point of contention throughout all of history. Every time a fort was built there, it would stand for centuries at the least, always named Stonejaw, no matter what country held it.
That fortress was being built again, by his kingdom of Hadrial this time, and the construction was sure to spark a great battle with their neighbors. That was why his mercenaries had been called on, and why he and Quinn had left home.
There was war to do and money to make.