Chapter 15: Merek's Deal
Harrow had left early in the morning, slipping out of Harrow's Reach before dawn. He didn't want to be gone too long; with the aftermath of the Church's attack, the town was vulnerds would be watching, waiting for any sign of weakness. Harrow couldn't risk giving them a reason to strike. His town needed protection, but he also needed power. That's why he was on the road now—headed toward Bordertown but stopping by Lord Merek's Home.
Harrow stood in Lord Merek's grand hall, his eyes fixed on the older man sitting across from him. Merek's estate was much like the lord himself—solid, well-maintained, and lacking any flair for extravagance. The dark stone walls were adorned with modest tapestries, and the only sound in the room was the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth.
Lord Merek sat at the head of the table, his expression one of barely concealed irritation. His fingers drummed against the wood as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied Harrow. The flickering firelight cast deep shadows across his face, accentuating the furrow of his brow and the lines etched from years of careful, unhurried decision-making.
"So," Merek began, his voice low and gruff. "You want me to send a hundred of my men to your town, after you've just survived a battle that should have wiped you out?"
Harrow met his gaze steadily, refusing to flinch under the weight of Merek's scrutiny. "That's right."
Merek's lips twisted into a half-sneer. "And why, pray tell, should I risk my soldiers for you? What exactly do I gain from this?"
Harrow didn't miss the condescension in Merek's tone, but he pushed it aside. He couldn't afford to lose his temper here. He needed Merek's cooperation, and for that, he had to play this carefully.
"You gain protection," Harrow said calmly, leaning forward in his chair. "The Church is watching everyone who doesn't bow to them, including you. If you think that healing your son absolves you of their judgment, you're wrong. They'll come for you eventually. If you support me now, you have someone who's already proven they can fight the Church and win."
Merek raised an eyebrow, his hand stilling on the table. "You think you've won? Because you survived one battle?"
Harrow's jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. "It wasn't just one battle. It was my two hundred against their thousand, and yet I'm still standing here, in your hall, asking for soldiers. I'm not asking you to risk your entire army, Merek. Just a small group. One month of service, and in return, I'll owe you a debt. Medical treatment, protection when the Church does come knocking. You know what I'm capable of."
Merek's eyes flickered with something unreadable. He shifted in his seat, the leather creaking softly beneath him. Harrow could see the gears turning in the older man's mind. Merek wasn't stupid. He understood the stakes, but he wasn't the type to jump headfirst into an alliance without weighing every possible outcome.
The lord let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his chin. "You're asking for a lot, Harrow. And if I lend you these men, the other lords will notice. They'll think we're forming some kind of alliance. That puts me in their crosshairs."
Harrow nodded, acknowledging the risk. "That's why I'm only asking for a month. After that, you can distance yourself, claim ignorance, whatever you need to do. But right now, you can't afford to sit idly by. You know that."
Merek was silent for a long moment, his eyes boring into Harrow's as if trying to see through the layers of strategy and intention. Harrow held his breath, knowing that this was the critical moment. If Merek refused, he would be left vulnerable, his town exposed. But if he agreed...
Finally, Merek leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he clasped his hands together. "And what do I tell my men? That they're going off to fight for a madman who defied the Church? That they're risking their lives for someone who's put a target on his own back?"
Harrow's gaze hardened. "You tell them they're fighting for their own future. That if they help me now, they'll be protecting their homes and families from the Church's grip. Because make no mistake, Merek, the Church won't stop at me. They'll come for you, and every lord who doesn't toe the line."
Merek stared at him for a moment longer, his fingers tapping lightly against his chin. Then, to Harrow's surprise, the older man let out a low chuckle, a dry, humorless sound.
"You've got guts, I'll give you that," Merek said, his lips curling into a smirk. "Fine. I'll send you a hundred soldiers. But don't expect any more favors from me after this. If you fail, it's on your head. And don't think I won't be watching."
Harrow exhaled, relief washing over him, though he kept his expression neutral. "Thank you, Lord Merek. I won't forget this."
"You'd better not," Merek replied, standing up from his seat. "And don't make me regret it either."
As Harrow stood and shook the older lord's hand, he could feel the weight of the bargain settling on his shoulders. Merek might have agreed to help, but the alliance was fragile, built on debts and favors, and Harrow knew he had to make it count. There would be no second chances.
As Harrow rode towards Bordertown, his mind wandered to the real prize: Anna. She was the key. The cornerstone of Roland's eventual empire in the novel. If he could convince her to join him now, before Roland even arrived, then Harrow's future would take a different shape—a shape controlled by him.
After days of travel, Harrow reached Bordertown, a run-down settlement on the edge of the kingdom, long forgotten by the royals. The town was a shadow of the place he remembered from the novel, but then again, it hadn't yet been touched by Roland's influence. The familiar landmarks from the story felt strange in person, eerily mundane. His breath caught in his chest as he stared at the quiet streets, thinking of all that was to come—the witches, the war, the empire. And Roland. But for now, this place was still waiting for its spark.
"Anna," Harrow murmured to himself, his fingers tapping the reins. "This is where it all begins."
He had already sent word ahead, instructing his informant to find Anna's whereabouts. It had taken time—too much time—but eventually, his spy had pinpointed her location. The information came as: Anna lived with her father, a miner, in a crumbling house. She kept to herself and was largely unnoticed by the rest of the town.
Harrow found the house easily enough—small, weather-beaten, and tucked away on the outskirts of town. His heart pounded as he approached the door, and for a brief moment, doubt flickered in his mind. Was this the right thing to do? To pull her into his world, to change her fate before Roland ever arrived? Would she even trust him?
The door creaked open, and Harrow found himself face-to-face with an...???