8 — A Merchant’s Hospitality

The daggers twirled comfortably in his hands when he tested the balance. Cassian inspected the blades closer. They were sharp all the way down the steel. They had a few chips along the edges, but overall, they were well-kept weapons. Folded wings were etched into the silver-steel. Then right above the handguard of one, the letter “R” was clumsily scratched into the metal. Not by a smith. This was a personal touch.

“My favorite set.”

He remembered Raziel telling him in the training hall.

“I’m getting too old to wield them with the respect they deserve.”

There was a sadness or worry in Raziel’s eyes. Cassian could not tell which it was, but his master was burdened by something. He tried to refuse the gesture when he noticed it, but Raziel insisted. 

“They kept me alive once. Now they will keep you alive.”

“What if I fail?” The question he had asked still lingered in his mind. 

“Then you will fail.” 

Cassian clenched his jaw at the thought.

“It is in the hands of destiny now, boy.”

Destiny.

Destiny was finally here to act. 

His father’s wish was simple in principle. But almost impossible when Cassian put more thought into it. 

“Dismantle the Red Cloaks. Use your ability and find their weakness. Be it a poorly defended perimeter. A wife. A child. Whatever it may be. Find it. And exploit it to its fullest.”

Hetark’s words hung heavy in his mind. 

He was no longer a child. But the thought of another boy’s blood on his hands made him shiver. 

Beneath it all, he still felt Ricard. He wished he might stumble into him on the road. There was more he wanted to tell him. But Ricard had his own task, and a wish wouldn’t put a stop to Hetark’s expectations for his brother.

This he would have to do on his own. 

Nyxen stirred, shaking her mane.

“It's alright, Nyxen,” Cassian reassured, patting the mare firmly. “It’s just rain.”

He squinted up at the sky. The raindrops fell from an endless grey cloud, thunder rumbling in the distance. The cold wetness made his clothes cling to his skin uncomfortably. Again and again, he tugged at the soft fabric, but it only clung tighter. 

Miles away from Greykeep, the flat plains had given way to thick forests. It smelled of pine, moss and trampled mud. Beneath it all lingered a hint a manure.

‘Someone rode down this path not long ago,’ he thought, scanning ahead.

The path had turned into sludge from the rain. Nyxen constantly fought for balance as her weight shifted the wet dirt with every step. Cassian wrapped his legs around her flanks hard, still peering ahead. 

Echoes of conversation reached him. In the distance a cart had gotten its wheel stuck off the path. A drenched hooded man struggled with it, meanwhile a woman with crossed arms shouted at him. At the back of the cart, two young children sat huddled together in a shared fur. 

Cassian kept his gaze ahead as he passed. 

The little girl raised her head from her knees. Her bright green eyes met Cassian’s. 

“Hello,” she said with a smile and a wave of her small hand. 

Cassian froze. 

Her cheerful nature made him frown. 

The man lifted his head from his side of the cart. 

“Ho there, fella!”

Cassian’s jaw tightened as he pulled Nyxen to a stop and turned. 

“Greetings,” he replied coldly. 

“We’ve gotten ourselves in a bit of a pickle, here you see,” the man started. He removed his hood and scratched his head at the state of his cart. “Wouldn’t you help us, sir?”

Cassian studied the cart without replying. 

“No evil thoughts here, sir. I see you are suspicious. I have nothing on me nor with me that could harm you…except maybe my wife,” he remarked with a dry chuckle that soon died from her stern look. “Anyway, uh, we are just merchants traveling back home to Bergstad. My kids are cold, my stomach is rumbling and the nearest inn is on the other side of this damned forest. If you could just give us a little push and I’ll pay you.” 

Cassian considered it for a moment. His eyes wandered from the cart to Nyxen. From Nyxen to the path. Then the children. 

“Very well.”

He hopped off Nyxen, boots ankle deep into mud. He trudged over, noticing the man’s thankful nod.

“Thank you, sir,” the man said, “alright, on three, let’s push with all we’ve got eh?”

Cassian nodded.

“Greta, get the kids off for a moment, will you? While me and… sorry what is your name?”

”Cassian,” he replied simply.

”While Cassian and I push it back on the path,” the man said, placing his palms on the side of the cart. “I’m Hans, nice to meet you, Cassian.”

Cassian bowed his head with a flat smile. 

“Alright. Ready? … One, two, three…!”

Their boots sank into the mud as they pushed. After a great effort and strained arms, Cassian felt the cart give way. With an uncomfortable crack they had managed to bring it back on the path. 

Both of them exhaled sharply. 

“Well, that wasn’t too bad. Might have to check what that snapping sound was, but probably nothing to worry about. Thank you for the help, friend.”

Cassian dusted off his hands.  

“You’re welcome.”

Hans looked at Cassian, squinting, as if seeing his face for the first time.

”Young, aren’t you? But strong as a grown man,” Hans remarked. 

Cassian took a half step back. 

“Apologies, yes that was a bit rude of me. I just didn’t realize at first by the way you carry yourself. Almost soldier-like.” 

Nyxen stirred. 

“That’s alright,” Cassian replied, “I must get going. I have a long journey ahead.”

”Long journey, eh?” Hans repeated, “Are you running toward something or away?” 

Cassian frowned. 

“Sorry. Again, my mind can’t seem to catch the words before I speak them,” Hans chuckled and patted his shoulder.

Cassian watched where his hand had landed for a moment before making eye contact again. 

“Uh… well I can’t leave you empty-handed. You saved my family half a day’s work in the pouring rain. I still have some goat’s cheese and bread left. Take that at least before you go.” 

Hans went to the back of the cart, rummaging through his sacks. 

The little girl walked up to Cassian, wrapped in fur. 

“Can I pet your horse?” She asked, her big eyes looking up at him expectantly.

Cassian’s eyes darted to Nyxen. Her ears pointed up to the sky, and her tail hung loosely. 

“Sure,” he replied.

The little girl walked carefully up to the black mare, her palm out. She carefully placed it on Nyxen’s nose. 

The horse’s whinny startled her for a moment, then she laughed, petting it more confidently after.

”That’s my little girl, Carla. Can you tell she loves animals?” Hans spoke as he walked up to Cassian with leather wrapped rations. “And that is my son over there. Liam.”

Cassian accepted the gift with both hands and a bow. 

“She is good with them,” he said softly, pocketing the rations. “Nyxen is normally suspicious to strangers.”

”She is so cute!” Carla exclaimed on her tippy toes as she patted Nyxen’s neck. 

Hans chuckled. “Hey… my old cheese and stale bread is not nearly a sufficient reward for your help. How about you join us for supper? My wife cooks the most wonderful potato and carrot stew. We can warm up with hot food and a fire together before we go our separate ways.”

”I, um,” Cassian stuttered, struggling in his mind.

”Hans, leave the poor boy alone.” Greta intervened, wrapping her arms around Hans’s. She turned her gaze to Cassian. “You are free to join us if you’d like, but we will not force your hand if you have places to be.”

”Yes, of course,” Hans added. 

Cassian regarded them both for a moment. They stood so close together. Their eyes looked so warmly upon one another. Greta’s body clung to Hans’ arm. And the way they looked at Cassian made the hair on his neck stand. His chest felt strange, like something was flying around inside him.

He looked at Nyxen. Who enjoyed the attention from both the giggling children.

“I could use a fire,” Cassian finally replied. 

Hans smiled. “Then it is settled. Let us make camp further up the path. There is a large oak tree we can seek shelter under if my memory serves me well.”

Cassian obliged silently. 

Up the path, Cassian led Nyxen by the reins. Carla had taken her place atop Nyxen, giggling and swinging her small legs merrily. Meanwhile, Liam walked with Cassian, asking question after question. 

“Where are you from?”

Cassian didn’t reply.

”Where did you get those daggers?”

”A friend.”

”Why are you travelling alone?” 

Cassian sighed. 

“Are you a knight?” 

At the same time, Hans and Greta sang together. A soft song in a tongue Cassian did not recognize. But the tune of it was pleasant. 

A large oak tree with branches that stretched far shielded a patch of hard dirt. Remnants of a camp still remained there. Two long logs that served as benches. A small area of charred dirt and ash was surrounded by rocks. And carved into the trunk of the tree were two initials. “H&G”

”Like it was yesterday,” Hans said with a sly smirk. 

Greta giggled. “It’s still here after all these years.” 

Cassian frowned as he read it. His mind struggled to find what the letters indicated. 

‘A code?’

‘A marker?’

‘A marker for what?’

In unison the family began setting up the camp. 

Hans started with the fire, while Greta got out a knife and a wooden cutting board.

Carla hopped off Nyxen and joined her brother to find dry sticks and wood.

Cassian watched. Reins in hand, his eyes followed them.

Greta strained as she pulled at a large sack, struggling to lift it off the cart.

Cassian quickly went to aid her and lifted the sack off with general ease.

“Oh, thank you. I could’ve done it on my own, but not as easily as you, it seems,” Greta remarked with a warm smile.

“Where do you need it?”

Greta gestured. “Over there by Hans, I will prepare the stew. Help me peel the potatoes will you?”

Cassian held a potato in one hand and Raziel’s dagger in the other. He was about to cut into it before being stopped by Greta’s warm hand placed on his.

“Use this instead,” she said, handing him a thin knife. “Cut off too much otherwise.”

She demonstrated. “Like so. Hold the potato firmly and gently cut the top layer, but keep your thumb on it to balance.” 

Her hand moved effortlessly, slicing off a paper thin layer.

Cassian nodded, and proceeded to cut into the potato clumsily. A chunk fell to his feet.

Carla giggled. “You never peeled a potato before? You are cutting away too much.”

The little girl snatched the potato from his grip. Peeling it almost as precisely as her mother.

“Oh, alright…” Cassian accepted the potato and knife back from Carla and sliced once. His eyes lifted to see Carla nodding.

“Yes, like that. Still a bit too much but you will get better at it, don’t worry.”

Together the three peeled a dozen potatoes.

Greta peeled seven perfectly smooth. Carla did four a little less perfect. And Cassian did one clumsily with too many edges.

He watched from the log bench as Greta chopped her ingredients with practiced speed and precision. She put everything together in a pot of chicken broth, letting it boil over the fire. 

The smell reached Cassian’s nose warmly, as his impatience grew. 

With Carla and Liam they waited, barely able to take their eyes off the bubbling stew. 

The first spoon warmed him from the inside. He could feel the broth travel down inside him.

“What did I say? The most wonderful stew. Best you’ll get in the Westfold,” Hans said, giving his wife a playful smile as he softly bumped her shoulder with his.

”If you don’t mind me asking, where are you headed, Cassian?” Hans asked before taking another spoon of stew. 

Carla and Liam’s eyes went to Cassian. 

“The jagged coast.”

Hans paused, frowning. “Them Red Cloaks are swarming that entire coast. Why would you go there?”

Cassian thought for a moment before answering. “My business is my own.”

“Are you one of them crows?” Liam blurted. 

Hans sent a hand into the back of the boy's head. “Watch your tongue, boy!”

Liam rubbed where his father had struck. “But he has the daggers, hood, and headed into a warzone without a speck of doubt on his face. If he is not a crow, he is a fool.” 

“It is incredibly rude to assume such a thing!” Greta added.

Cassian noticed thoughts forming behind Hans’ distant glance. Air caught in his throat. 

“Tell me. Why are you going there, Cassian?” 

Cassian swallowed. His eyes traveled between the family’s expectant glances. All waiting for his answer.

“My father asked me to,” he finally replied. 

Hans leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “He asked you, his son, to head into certain danger? For what?”

”We are looking for someone. I am my father’s last resort.”

Hans’s expression darkened. “These are troubling times.”

”But father. Look at him. He probably knows how to use those daggers. And his father wouldn’t send him if he didn’t have faith he could carry out the task, no?” Liam’s words eased Cassian’s chest. 

Greta scruffed the boy’s hair gently. “Right you are, Liam. Cassian here might be a great warrior for all we know. If he is confident enough to face the Red Cloaks alone, then maybe we are going to see peace return.” 

“Cassian The Fearless!” Liam exclaimed with a giggle.

Against his will, Cassian felt a smile on his face. 

“Look at that!” Hans laughed. “He smiles! No, don’t be shy, don’t hide it. Wear it, boy. It suits you!”

“And Nyxen The Strong!” Carla added. 

Greta laughed, wrapping her arm around her daughter and pulling her close. 

Carla squealed as her mother swayed her side to side in their embrace. 

Cassian felt his shoulders loosen. His face felt strange. Soft. Relaxed. And his ears were no longer hot. 

He watched them. How Hans rustled Liam’s hair. How Greta brushed away a loose strand of hair from Carla’s face. 

None of it seemed remarkable for them. Yet Cassian felt himself unable to look away. 

Occasionally they invited him into another conversation, and every time they did another smile escaped him. 

This was something he had not felt in a long time. Maybe ever. Not like this.

Cassian took a big sip of mead from the cup Hans offered, laughing with him. He felt the shy part of himself erased by the effects. 

Nyxen stirred. 

Cassian cast a glance at the mare, then back at Hans.

”…and then the fool tried to sell me my own potatoes," Hans laughed.

Greta rolled her eyes. “That’s not how it happened.”

Nyxen whinnied, cutting through the conversation.

Cassian’s head snapped to Nyxen, her ears pointing into the darkness. Every muscle in her body stiffened as her eyes glared, unblinking. 

The smile faded from Cassian’s face. 

The laughter slowly died. 

“What is it, girl?” Cassian asked, following her gaze into the forest.

Nothing.

Leaves rustled.

Raindrops pattered on wet dirt.

Yet Nyxen remained fixed. 

Cassian kept his stare.

Then he heard it. 

Thuds. 

Another.

Then many.

Hoofbeats. 

Hans slowly stood.

They moved through the forest fast, getting increasingly louder.

Greta pulled Carla close.

Liam hid behind Hans, confusion written across his face.

Cassian’s hand tightened around his dagger as the warmth of the fire suddenly felt distant. He slowly rose from the log. 

Cassian’s jaw tightened. 

“Run.”