Paragon of Destruction

But what he hadn’t expected were the chaos and filth.

The streets were covered in waste, and the air was filled with a nauseating stench so thick it nearly made Arran gag in revulsion.

And the waste wasn’t even the worst of it. He had barely walked a hundred paces when he saw a body on the side of the road, robbed of its clothes and abandoned, several large knife wounds visible on the dead man’s torso.

Arran found himself shocked by the sight. Not because of the body itself, but because the masses that crowded the filthy streets paid it no attention whatsoever. Instead, they stepped around it with practiced ease, treating the body no different than they would any other piece of waste.

Yet amid the muck, there was commerce as well. Barely a few dozen paces beyond the dead body, Arran passed a small food stall, its owner loudly announcing that he had the cheapest food in the city.

And no wonder. If the pervasive stench of the city hadn’t already been enough to sour Arran’s appetite, then a quick look at the hawker’s wares would have achieved the same thing. Because what the man sold was clearly rat meat.

Arran could not help but be astonished by the state of the city. Filthy, overcrowded, and lacking even the slightest semblance of order, it was a hellhole that no sane person would want to remain in even a second longer than necessary.

And yet, there were thousands of people in the city, most of whom looked to be travelers of the sort Arran had already seen in multitudes on the road to Esran.

He could not help but feel some wonder at this. If they wanted to travel to the Hunters’ lands, why remain in this sad excuse for a city?

The border was barely a week’s travel away. With their destination that close, there was no reason to spend more than a single night in Esran — not when the city offered neither comfort nor safety.

That could only mean there was something stopping them from traveling onward. And with that the case, Arran might face trouble in reaching his destination as well.

But there was nothing he could do without information, and the best place to get that would be an inn.

The first three inns he entered, he left immediately. Like the rest of the city, they were filthy and overcrowded, filled with rough-looking travelers. And while Arran did not mind rough company, he could see at a glance that none of these inns would have private rooms available.

As he moved closer to the center of the city, the streets steadily grew slightly less crowded and decidedly less filthy. Even the stench that had filled the city’s outskirts was less pungent here, if still not entirely absent.

When Arran came across another inn that looked at least halfway acceptable, he quickly went inside, and found the common room mostly clean and empty — a rarity in Esran, he understood by now.

He approached the innkeeper, then asked, "Do you have rooms available?"

"Of course," the man replied, an ingratiating smile on his face. "And at very reasonable prices, too. Just two gold for the week."

Arran looked at the man in astonishment. No wonder the inn was mostly empty. Two gold was more than most commoners earned in a year of work.

But Arran was no commoner, and gold meant little to him — certainly less than a warm, clean bed for the night.

"I’ll take a room, then," he said. "And I’ll give you another gold if you answer some questions."

Without waiting for a reply, he produced three gold coins, then handed them to the innkeeper.

The innkeeper accepted the fortune with a smile so broad it looked like his face might split in two, and after giving the coins a brief inspection, he turned his eyes back to Arran. "I will be happy to answer any questions you have, of course."

"Good," Arran said. "Why are there so many people in town? And why haven’t they left for the Hunters’ lands yet?"

The innkeeper looked at him in wonder. "You don’t know?"

"I wouldn’t be asking if I did," Arran replied flatly. "So explain it to me."

"Of course," the innkeeper said, though a puzzled look remained on his face. "Some months ago, the Hunters closed the border to most travelers. Now, anyone they find traveling into their lands is branded an enemy."

Arran frowned. "They closed the border? Why?"

The man gave a small shrug. "Nobody knows for certain," he said. "Though I’d wager it’s because too many people were arriving — well over a thousand a day from Esran alone."

For a few moments, Arran considered the changed situation. Then, he asked, "You said the border was closed to most travelers. So some people are still allowed to enter?"

"Correct," the innkeeper said. "They allow two hundred people a day to enter from Esran. But to be among those chosen is no simple matter."

"How so?" Arran asked, giving the man a curious look.

"The governor’s men have a list," the innkeeper explained. "For a single gold coin, anyone can be put on it, and they’ll eventually be allowed to go. But the wait is long — months, if not more. And new people arrive every day."

He glanced around, then continued in a softer voice, "But of course, for a man of means, there are ways to shorten the wait."

"I intend to leave within the week," Arran said. "How much will that cost me?"

Given the state of the city, he wasn’t the least bit surprised that bribery was the answer. But if gold would save him a long wait, then he had plenty to spare.

"A week?" The innkeeper hesitated, but only for a moment. "It will be costly, at least fifty gold. I don’t know if you..."

Although there was doubt in his words, his eyes showed only greed. Clearly, he expected to get a cut of the profits.

"Gold isn’t an issue," Arran interrupted him. "Do you know someone with the power to arrange it? If so, I’ll reward you well."

"I do," the innkeeper said in an eager voice. "My wife’s brother is one of the governor’s stewards. If you have the coin, I’ll send for him right away."

"Then do so," Arran said. "But first, bring me some drinks."

He took a seat at one of the empty tables in the common room, then patiently waited for what would happen, drinking the inn’s lukewarm ale as he watched the innkeeper set into motion.

At a guess, he thought it was more likely than not that the innkeeper would try to cheat or rob him. But anything the man tried, he could handle. And just the chance that the man could help shorten his wait would be well worth it.

Barely an hour later, an ornately dressed man entered the inn, two city guards in tow. The man glanced around the common room, and when he spotted Arran, his eyes lit up and he immediately walked over.

He gave Arran a friendly smile, then said, "Good afternoon, Master...?"

"Arran," Arran said. He’d already decided to use his real name within the Hunters’ lands — after years of being known only as Ghostblade, it was as good an alias as any.

"Master Arran," the man said. "A pleasure to meet you. My name is Bijan. My brother-in-law informed me that we might do business together."

"I hope so," Arran replied truthfully.

"Very good," the man said. "But it would be wise to discuss these matters elsewhere." He cast a knowing look around the room. "Perhaps you would care to accompany me to my mansion?"

Arran nodded. "I’ll be glad to," he said, feigning a smile. "The sooner we get this business over with, the better."

As they exited the inn, he glanced at the man beside him, and saw a hint of malice mixed in with the greed. It appeared the man was about to make a poor decision.