Paragon of Destruction

Although he had already traveled the route earlier that day, Arran’s return to the inn still took him some time. Navigating the city’s many narrow streets proved even harder at night than it was during the day, and once more, he had to rely on directions from passersby to find his way.

When he finally arrived at the Golden Pig, it was already past midnight, and inside, he found the common room filled with a lively crowd of people in various stages of inebriation. Although it wasn’t quite as rowdy as a common inn or tavern would be, it seemed even the respectable merchants at the Golden Pig weren’t above enjoying a drink or three in the evening.

At once, his eyes searched for Darkfire, and he found his friend in a corner of the common room, sitting behind a table with a large mug of ale and an annoyed expression.

When Arran approached him, he looked up, a wronged look on his face.

"They threw me out after just a few dozen fights," Darkfire said, sounding peeved. "I barely even had time to get warmed up. Said I was bad for business. Can you believe that?"

Arran chuckled. "They won’t let me fight anymore, either," he said, "although they waited until I was finished before they told me."

"They told you to wait for the tournaments, too?" Darkfire asked.

"They did," Arran replied with a nod. "So, did any Shadowflame novices try to recruit you?"

"Three," Darkfire said. "After that, I made my way out of there."

"Looks like you’re more popular than me," Arran replied with a laugh. "I only got one. Did they tell you about the auction?"

Darkfire gave him a blank look. "What auction?"

"There’s a monthly auction the Governor holds, where Shadowflame novices can bid on recruits."

"What?" Darkfire looked baffled. "Novices actually bid on recruits? But why?"

"That’s what I was wondering," Arran said. "I take it that sort of thing doesn’t happen in Eremont?"

Darkfire shook his head. "The closest I’ve heard was someone bribing a novice to recruit him. Didn’t end well for either of them. But novices paying for recruits? That just doesn’t make sense." Again, he shook his head, clearly dumbfounded by the idea.

"Maybe the Sixth Valley is more dangerous than the Fourth Valley?" Arran offered, trying to come up with an explanation.

"Maybe," Darkfire said. "But even then... what good would a few normal fighters do?"

They talked about the matter for some time, drinking ale while trying to find an explanation. Yet no matter how hard they tried, neither of them could come up with a good reason for novices to be so ardent in finding recruits.

"We’ll just have to ask around tomorrow," Arran finally said. "Maybe someone in the city can tell us what’s going on."

They talked for a while longer before Arran headed to bed, leaving Darkfire in the company of several young girls who had approached him as they sat talking.

Whatever it was that drew women to Arran’s friend, it clearly worked just as well in Hillfort as it had in Eremont.

Arran awoke late in the morning after a long night of dreamless sleep — it seemed that the hours of fighting the previous day had tired him out more than he had thought.

When he headed down to the common room to have breakfast, he was immediately approached by the innkeeper.

"Young master Ghostblade," the man said, bowing politely. "I have some news for you."

Arran’s blinked in surprise at the man’s sudden change in behavior. Just a day earlier, the innkeeper had treated him with thinly veiled disgust after learning he was a fighter looking to join the Shadowblade Society. Yet now, the innkeeper acted like he was a nobleman.

"What is it?" Arran asked, hiding his confusion.

"This morning, I received some messages for you," the innkeeper said, handing Arran a stack of letters.

"Oh?" Arran replied.

Immediately, he began opening the letters, and it didn’t take him long to find that each of them contained an invitation, several from local merchants and nobles, but most from Shadowblade novices.

From the looks of it, he and Darkfire had drawn even more attention than they thought.

After working his way through the stack of letters he looked up and was surprised to see that the innkeeper was still standing there.

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

"Young master Ghostblade," the man began, "there is another one. An invitation to visit the Lord Governor this afternoon."

With that, he handed Arran a thick cream-white envelope. On the outside, the names Ghostblade and Darkfire were spelled in letters of golden ink.

"You opened it?" Arran asked with a frown.

"Apologies, young master," the innkeeper said, his face turning red. "I... I’m afraid my curiosity got the better of me."

Arran sighed, then turned his attention back to the letter. As he read it, he saw that the innkeeper had spoken the truth — the Governor had invited him and Ghostblade to visit for a midday meal.

"What time is it now?" he asked, feeling a tinge of worry.

"About an hour to noon," the innkeeper said.

Arran cursed under his breath. "If you’re going to open my letters, you could at least let me know when I’m late to see the damn Governor," he said to the innkeeper.

Without waiting for the man’s response, he hurried up the stairs and headed to Darkfire’s room, where he gave the door several loud knocks.

"Wake up, you lazy bum!"

Several moments passed without an answer, and Arran knocked on the door again. This time, he heard some stumbling noises come from the room, and a few seconds later the door opened, revealing a sleepy Darkfire with ruffled hair and a look on his face that suggested he had barely slept.

When Arran looked past him, he saw a young brown-haired woman lying in the bed, pretty and blushing, covering her naked body with a bed sheet.

"Looks like at least one of us had a good night," he said, sighing loudly. "Time to get dressed. The Governor has invited us for a midday meal."

"What time is it?" Darkfire asked, lazily rubbing his eyes.

"A good half hour after we should’ve left," Arran replied. "Now get going!"

As Darkfire headed back inside to get dressed, Arran headed for his own room. After hesitating for a moment, he put on Jiang Fei’s robe, figuring she knew more about proper clothing than he did.

He headed back down to the common room, where Darkfire appeared not much later, looking surprisingly well-dressed for someone who had been asleep just moments earlier.

"Who was the girl?" Arran asked as they left the inn.

"Just someone I met last night after you went to bed. You wouldn’t believe the way she—"

As they hurried through the streets, Darkfire regaled Arran with bawdy tales of his latest conquest, and several times Arran could not help but gape in shock at the sordid stories. Once more, he was reminded of his own lack of experience with women.

Unlike the arenas, the Governor’s palace was easy to find — there could be no mistaking the lone building atop the hill at the center of the city for anything else — and they arrived only a few minutes late.

The sight of the palace caused Arran to pause in wonder. It was surrounded by white walls that seemed to be made wholly from marble, and the building itself featured several large towers with ornate marble decorations that depicted armored warriors and fierce monsters.

Before the gate stood over a dozen guards, each wearing an immaculate uniform that seemed to be garish to the point of impracticality, bedecked with silk and lace designs in a handful of bright colors.

"Halt!" one of them said sternly as Arran and Darkfire approached. "What’s your business here?"

"I’m Ghostblade," Arran said, trying his hardest not to laugh at the man’s outfit. "We were invited by the Governor."

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