Hariş sat by the edge of the cliff looking down at the wet and snowy ground. The last of the snowfall was finally melting, but the chill lingered in the air. It would never truly go away. But soon the hustle and bustle would be back the way people knew and loved. It was two days ago when he read his father's letter. Two days ago, since his mother told him about the man his father was: a man who could charm serpents with a smile. Every morning since then, he sat by the cliff, read the letter again, contemplating what he would do.

The simplest solution seemed to be travelling to the King's City. But that meant he had to cross the Great Sea, and the port city of Röhęr Jęhil was a three day walk south. There was no assurance that the waters would have settled by then. Even now he could see the waves crashing into the shore at the bottom of the cliff, and the distant Fredhar on the horizon. The journey to the King's City was known to be dangerous from their side of the sea, at least that was what Samaha Körhan said. Hariş remembered the man say something about an Ashen Wood on land, and a beast of the seas and shipwrecks decorating the Great Sea. Samaha also said it took ten days on foot to make it through the Ashen Wood unless a person had enough coin to get on the King's Road (and Hariş most certainly didn't).

He fiddled with the talisman in his hand. It had nothing on it that captured the eye, except for its hollow center, as if something was missing. It was smooth to the touch. The hollow center was serrated, and the rest of it was decorated with markings he couldn't understand and neither could Köl Bar Gölhęm. It was also the color of muddy water. It's lack of uniqueness dwindled any curiosity he might have born concerning the object.

"Löara Ihan said we would find you here." Köl sat down on his left, his feet dangling over the edge. "Apparently, she hasn't seen a man want to kill himself and fail twice after great news."

"I don't want to kill myself," Hariş contested. His mother had taught him not to shun death but to see it as a gift from the Essences. If falling off the edge of a cliff was how he was meant to die, then Hariş liked to think he could embrace death in his final moments and take it in stride.

"So, what is the plan?" Sehęr asked. She sat cross-legged to his right.

He turned to look at her briefly. Her dark brown hair was in its usual braid and her freckled face held a twinge of red –more likely due to the trek up the hill. For a moment he found himself thinking about how his mother felt when meeting his father, or at least how she explained it to him. Her heart racing in her chest from Huşęk's smile. He felt nothing of the sort with Sehęr, instead, he felt at ease and comfortable with her. Was that any different in the end?

Hariş shook his head at her. The only plane he had was to go to The King's City, which from their side of the country was rumored to be nothing short of handing themselves over to the Essence of Death. And the Temples taught that Vinnas did not welcome those who brought themselves to him willingly in the afterlife but turned them away.

"It's dangerous," he said. He couldn't lie to them. Hariş knew Köl Bar Gölhęm and Sehęr enough to know they would want to brave the world with him. But he couldn't put them in harm's way and sleep with a calm soul at night.

"Something is bound to harm us sooner or later, Hariş" Köl responded, plucking at a patch of grass next to him. "You want to go to the King's City. Am I wrong?"

"No, you're not."

Hariş should have lied, and said he was only going as far as Röhęr Jęhil, because he knew his friends better than he knew himself. Köl would jump at any opportunity that would promise him a way into the King's City. He dreamt of being part of the King's Guard, ever since he heard stories from Samaha Körhan about their golden armors and weapons forged by dragons long extinct and blessed by the Essences themselves. It was yet again, another story which Hariş thought to be nothing but the ramblings of a mad man. Somewhere along the way, Köl's child-like excitement of being part of the King's Guard morphed into the desire for duty. It shifted, and Hariş was sure of this, from being driven by fantastical stories to the need to protect King and country, as way to do right by his village.

Sehęr, on the other hand, talked incessantly about how the women in the King's City were rumored to wear dresses made of the finest of silks and the prettiest of gowns adorned with golden embroidery, and skirts of different lengths. According to what she heard and skillfully related to him, some of the women did not do house chores and instead used all sorts of developments to do it for them, inventions that made their lives easier.

His companions would jump at the first opportunity to travel to the King's City and brave the long perilous road to see and experience what so many people from their village and the surrounding ones could only ever dream of seeing. He thought of going because he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that that was where his father was coming from when he died. Because where else would he have been? If the stories about the King's City were true –and he hoped they were –then their healers could cure any and all ailments.

"The sooner we leave, the better," Köl stood up. That was when Hariş noticed the scabbard on his hip and his back.

Hariş rolled his neck. This must have been why they came. Checking that he didn't throw himself off the edge of the cliff was a plus. Köl insisted that Hariş needed to know how to properly wield a sword, and for months now, Hariş indulged him, even when he wasn't getting any better at it. His movements were slow and heavy, and he couldn't read his opponent's movements well –if at all –just yet. But he still tried, if not only for the fact that it seemed to please Köl to teach someone something he excelled at. Hariş wasn't much of a fighter. He carried his ace well, but he only ever used it on would, hence it wouldn't do him much good in a physical altercation. Though it would never come to that. His village was quiet and scarcely received any travelers, let alone bandits. He stood up anyway and extended his hand.

Köl handed him a sword. He wrapped his hands around the hilt. His friend cocked an eyebrow at him, and Hariş sighed. He looked down at the sword in his hands. He was doing something wrong. Something that Köl had probably already corrected him on before.

"Your grip is too stiff."

"Of course." He didn't know what Köl meant by that, but he relaxed his wrists in response.

Köl liked to dole on about the importance of having more control and flexibility while wielding the weapon. And sword fighting, unlike chopping down wood with an axe, Hariş had come to find, had more to do with the mind than with brute force. Knowing when to strike, how to strike, watching the opponent and his blade. He wasn't any good at any of those, but he tried for the sake of his friend.

Hariş stood with his feet apart, about as wide as his shoulders, his right leg in front of his left. He could do this if he remembered everything Köl taught him so far (if for a second). Köl stood in a similar stance to his, with both hands around the hilt of his wooden longsword.

"Ready?" Köl asked. His wide grin showcased a row of slightly crooked, slightly yellowed teeth.

"If you are," Hariş replied.

And then their swords clashed. As always, he found himself in awe at the agility Köl displayed. For someone so broad and so tall, Köl moved with an immense amount of grace while wielding a sword. His movements were sharp, calculated, precise and ever so graceful that Hariş wondered who in the four hells taught his friend how to fight like that. He couldn't linger on the thought too much; he needed to focus on not getting hit and falling off the edge of the cliff. The wooden sword wouldn't do any permanent damage, but the fall certainly would. He also didn't want Köl's gloating correcting or Sehęr's slightly disappointed you'll-do-better-next-times (because he never did).

He feigned an attack, lunging forward with his sword extended. Köl swiftly moved out of the way, in an elegant spin. Hariş would have cursed, if he wasn't so focused on surviving their sham of a fight. They continued in the dance of attacks, blocks and parries, with Köl offering corrections of Hariş's wielding and footwork. It had been months upon months since Köl decided Hariş ought to learn how to fight, and he still was no good at it, no matter how hard he tried. He was too slow, too stiff and too much on the defensive.

It came to no shock to him when Köl had the wooden sword to his throat, Hariş long since disarmed, with his back against a tree. Köl's smile was broad, almost predatory, and there was hint of gloating and mockery in his eyes. Hariş had once again lost, and he doubted there would come a day where he didn't.

"These fights are hardly fair, Köl. You have much more practice," Sehęr commented. She sat on the damp ground holding Köl's and Hariş's cloaks with a grip that could rival Death himself.

Köl stepped back and sheathed his sword. "He won't always fight evenly matched opponents. There is no room for fairness in fighting." He picked up Hariş's discarded sword and twirled it in his hands. "Besides fairness and honor are for gentlemen."

"And there are no gentlemen at war," Hariş completed.

Fight hard. Fight smart. Fight dirty. That was what Köl had told him, and that was what Köl did. Hariş hadn't quite gotten the hang of it just yet. And he was sure he wouldn't any time soon. But Köl said someday he would and Hariş chose to believe him.

Hariş leaned his head from side to side and rolled his shoulders back and forth. He would be sore come the morning, and he would complain about it, but he couldn't deny how much he needed the fight. Albeit he lost, it provided him with some catharsis. An outlet for hid anger and someone to direct it at. For a moment it had been Köl and his corrections. Every time he offered one, Hariş fought even harder than before. It hadn't been enough for him to win against his friend for once, but it had done enough to ease his mind a little bit.

"What if you hurt him? Feza can't heal broken bones," Sehęr said.

"A warrior has no fear of a little pain, Sehęr," Köl commented, flopping down on the ground.

"But Hariş is no warrior."

The words struck him harder than they should have. She told the truth. He was no warrior, but he had something –no, someone to fight for. And he intended to do just that. Her lack of faith in him stirred something deep inside him he couldn't quite pinpoint. Between disappointment and hatred. He suddenly hated the look of pity she had in her eyes when she spoke of him and to him. Above all he hated how much he yearned for her to look at him like that.

"Tefşęn! The both of you!" His eyes landed on Sehęr. She looked startled and he understood why. He never raised his voice. At least not to her. "Köl is just helping me."

"By the Essences Hariş, I am also trying to help you. I do nothing but help where I can. Do you think I want to bear the burden of caring for a sickly woman? But I do it anyway."

Hariş recoiled. It would have been better for her to have slapped him instead. Even Köl had a hand over his mouth.

Recognition flickered in her eyes, and they glossed over. "Abasęn, Hariş. I didn't –"

"No." He raised a hand to cut her off. "Tahęrrin, Sehęr. You don't have to help anymore. You never had to in the first place." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Sehęr opened her mouth and shut it again. There was nothing left to say. "If that's everything, then we should make our way back before Vinnas takes away His light."

They made their way back in an uncomfortable silence. For once, Köl wasn't trying to play peacemaker. There was nothing to smooth over. Hariş had spoken out of anger and in defense of himself, and Sehęr responded in kind. Though her truths hurt more than he cared to admit. He would have to extend a genuine apology but now. Now, the anger still simmered inside of him, and he needed that to drive him. If everyone thought of him as pitiful and helpless, then he would prove them wrong. Somehow.

The evening sun had dipped further down the horizon. Soon the stars would be in the sky and people would start getting ready to retire to bed. Hariş and Köl walked Sehęr home. If it was anyone else, Hariş would have left, but she was Jafret's daughter, and everyone respected Jafret. Hariş more than most. Whether he liked it or not, Sehęr's father offered his mother a constant stream of help and care. Whether it was for his own benefit –some people thought him to be in love with Haşara, even going to the extent of accusing him of orchestrating Huşęk's premature death –or for his mother's, Hariş didn't know and offered it little thought. He was thankful, regardless of the intention.

They dropped her off at her father's doorstep before retreating to his home. Köl would want to walk Nuşrahał (who was looking after his mother) home. His friend was in love and loved back. Someday the two of them would get married. Whether Hariş lived long enough to witness it was up to the Essences.

"We are not going with Sehęr, are we?" Köl said.

Hariş nodded. That much was true. Hariş had made up his mind. He couldn't keep her from joining if she knew when he planned to leave, so he decided to keep any specifics from her. If she felt burned to help, then h wouldn't trouble her any longer. He meant it when he said he absolved her from the shared responsibility of his mother's wellbeing. It wasn't something he said to hurt her, though it had the effect, and he couldn't deny the relief he felt that his words hurt her the same way hers did him.

"Right then. We should meet and make the necessary arrangements."

Hariş nodded again. He was in a hurry to leave and find answers, but he couldn't simply stand and uproot his life. There were loose ends to tie, and he needed coin. Enough coin for the crossing and to keep them fed throughout the journey. Samaha Körhan could help. The village clockmaker had an unquenchable need for adventure and enough coin to spare, so much so that he lived more comfortably than Farhan Gölhęm. Hariş hoped that need for a good story wasn't quenched by the years.

Whatever path chose remained to be seen, but he needed coin. A lot of it and fast.