Chapter LX

  The night had been tense. After helping Sorana and her companions settle in the camp, Adar and Seres attempted to start some conversation. Only for it to be ended by an irritated shout from Nero telling them to be quiet and go to sleep quickly put an end to that.

  With nothing else to do, they went to bed. However, Adar woke up in the middle of the night and noticed that the two men were taking turns standing watch. For a moment, Adar was surprised by their behavior, but then he understood—it made sense from their perspective. Spending time with Nero, especially with his undead mule, had skewed his view on proper camp vigince.

  He gnced toward the mule, still standing impassively in the middle of the camp, keeping watch as instructed. A guard that doesn’t tire, doesn’t get distracted, and would do anything to protect them. On top of that, no one could get past this guardian without eventually awakening the true danger of this camp. And Adar had no doubt—there was nothing within miles more powerful than Nero.

  This realization almost prompted him to tell the two men to rest and not worry, but he decided against it. It was better to let them stick to their sensible routines than to attempt to expin the situation. After all, he had no idea what Sorana had told them about Nero.

  For all he knew, they were completely unaware they were in the presence of a necromancer. If that was the case, it was probably best for them to remain in the dark.

  When morning came, they shared a hearty breakfast and packed up the camp. Setting out toward the buyer Sorana had arranged for the giant spider eggs. During breakfast, they finally made proper introductions. The two men were named Hortace and Yor, serving Sorana as her guards.

  Adar couldn’t help but find it interesting that, despite being talkative, the two were careful not to reveal much about themselves. The few useful information had come only after exchanging gnces with Sorana as if seeking her permission. It was clear they were hiding something.

  But Adar could hardly criticize them for it, as he and Seres were in the same position. They had long mastered the art of talking cordially without revealing anything significant about themselves. A skill that had served them well back at the Silver Cutlery Inn.

  Nero, however, didn’t bother speaking at all. Every time Sorana tried to engage him in conversation, he cut her off, telling her to be quiet and move faster. And by the gods, did she keep trying.

  With the sun climbing into a clear blue sky, they began their journey. The two guards rode ahead, slightly distanced, knowing the route. They kept their horses as far from the mule as possible. Adar noticed Hortace gripping his reins tightly whenever the mule’s gaze fell on him, while Yor seemed more rexed but kept a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The two exchanged constant gnces as if silently agreeing to remain vigint. Adar couldn’t help but wonder if they suspected the mule was undead.

  In the middle of the group walked Sorana, much to Nero’s frustration, as she continued trying to start conversations. At the rear was the mule, guarding the group from behind.

  “So, boys, if this grump doesn’t want to talk, what have you been up to since we st met?” Sorana asked cheerfully, distracting Adar from his thoughts.

  “Us? Shouldn’t you be the one with stories to tell?” Seres replied, eyeing her attire closely. It reminded Adar of her previous outfit, which had been far more suited to a servant at an inn—a role she’d cimed to have held before meeting them. Of course, if that were true, she wouldn’t have been able to pay Nero a gold coin for his help.

  “Yes, thanks to your help, I found who I was looking for. And with that came these clothes,” Sorana replied, gncing down at her outfit and even giving a little twirl, accompanied by a soft ugh.

  “But speaking of clothes, someone here doesn’t dress like they’ve received multiple gold coins,” she teased, rolling her eyes toward Nero’s tattered garments. The comment drew Seres and Adar’s attention to the necromancer’s usual attire, something they had almost stopped noticing.

  Nero shot her a gre but said nothing.

  “Right, I hadn’t even noticed,” Seres said innocently. Then, to their misfortune, he kept talking. “But he did buy some nice clothes in Central.”

  “Oh really? And what happened to them? Got tired of them, maybe not enough holes?” Sorana asked gleefully, clearly trying to provoke a reaction.

  Seres opened his mouth again, but Adar, standing beside him, quickly elbowed him into silence, giving him a warning look. While they knew Sorana, she already knew too much. Adar doubted Nero wanted her to learn anything more.

  Nero, to Adar’s surprise, decided to answer. “They burned. That’s why I had to go back to these rags.”

  Adar was stunned. Why would Nero share this with her? And yet, the expnation—that the clothes burned—was hardly enlightening.

  Sorana seemed momentarily taken aback but then smiled, shaking her head. “How did that happen?” she asked, gncing at his clothing. “Sent the wrong ones to the fire?”

  Nero continued walking calmly, raising an eyebrow at her, clearly unimpressed by her attempt at humor.

  “No. They caught fire because I got hit with two fireballs.”

  Adar’s jaw dropped.

  “Wait, who hit you with two fireballs?” Sorana asked, incredulous. Adar understood her shock—seeing Nero’s power firsthand, the idea of anyone being capable of such a thing was terrifying. She likely couldn’t even imagine the truth.

  Without breaking stride, Nero looked straight ahead. “I did,” he replied. “I was foolish enough to cast two fireballs on my own position.”

  “What?!” Sorana shouted in disbelief, loud enough to startle her guards, who stopped and turned to see what was happening.

  Nero remained unfazed, continuing at the same rexed pace. Adar and Seres exchanged gnces, silently agreeing to follow Nero’s lead.

  Sorana, now running to keep up after she had stopped from what she had heard, excimed, “But how? Why?”

  Nero’s voice was calm, almost detached. “I made a stupid mistake and burned myself. What else is there to say?”

  It was a truthful yet completely incomplete answer. Adar knew the real story—Nero had fought someone. Someone they now believed to be Seran the Rock. Adar almost wished Sorana knew; her reaction would have been priceless.

  But Nero clearly wasn’t ready to share that detail.

  “Come on, you have to tell me the whole story!” Sorana said, her tone light, though her eyes betrayed a calcuting curiosity.

  Adar realized the truth: Nero was demonstrating his power. By casually admitting he had survived two of his own fireballs. A feat she must know very few could replicate. He was subtly reminding her of his powers, and that she didn't know all of them. So, warning Sorana not to push her luck. Judging by her now-serious expression, she understood the message.

  “Hey, they’re speeding up,” Seres interrupted, pointing at the two guards, who were indeed moving faster, heading toward the crest of a hill.

  “And judging by the smoke, your friends aren’t few,” Seres added with a cheerful tone, gesturing toward the rising columns of smoke in the distance.

  “What?” Sorana excimed, momentarily surprised, before regaining her composure.

  Trying to shift the focus, she said, “You really have to tell me the story of those clothes.”

  Adar stepped in. “Sorana, do you really think he’ll enjoy hearing that story?” He nodded toward Nero, whose irritated gre reinforced the point, that the story is unpleasant to him.

  “He might be able to handle fireballs, but we can’t,” Adar joked lightly. But the truth in his words appears clear. The story is embarrassing and they won't piss off Nero.

  Something that is true. While, at the same time, it's far enough from the full truth that Nero doesn’t want to reveal for now. Said in a way the mage might not love but wouldn’t provoke any retaliation against him. Without feeling too big-headed, Adar believes he gave the perfect response. The slight look of approval he receives from Nero convinces him of it.

  Suddenly, Yor returned in a hurry. “Lady GrassStone, quickly—we have a problem!”

  Sorana tensed for a moment before running toward him. Yor dismounted and helped her onto his horse. Without a word, she rode swiftly to the hilltop, where Hortace was already waiting.

  Yor followed on foot, leaving Nero, Adar, and Seres to exchange puzzled gnces. Silently, they decided to quicken their pace without running.

  It took them a while to reach the top, where they found the three mounted figures staring at the source of the smoke.

  The small valley below was chaos: burning trees illuminated shattered tents and frantic shadows moving erratically. The smell of charred wood and roasted flesh rose to meet them, thick and oppressive.

  As they tried to make sense of the scene, Sorana approached, struggling with her horse—likely due to the undead mule’s presence.

  “Irina was attacked. We have to help her,” she decred without bothering to expin who Irina was.

  She looked directly at Nero and added, “I might need your help.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and charged toward the burning camp, her companions close behind.

  “Damn it!” Nero muttered, shaking his head. “How do I get myself into these things?”

  He ran his hands over his face. “I knew it. I knew it.”

  Adar exchanged a gnce with Seres as they watched Nero’s frustration.

  “She’s like one of those quest givers,” Nero grumbled. “They ask you for a small favor, and next thing you know, you’re fighting an entire bandit camp alone.”

  Adar doesn't quite understand what he's saying. But he understands well what he means.

  Even so, it's still unclear whether they will help Sorana or leave her alone.