Chapter 66: Shadows of Tadon

The cold morning air bit at their skin as the group rode along the winding northern road, their breath visible in the crisp dawn light. The sun had barely begun its ascent, painting the sky in hazy shades of gold and lavender.

Dorian rubbed his hands together, his fingers still stiff from sleep. “Are you sure you don’t want me to zap you awake?”

Tache, half-asleep atop his horse, yawned dramatically. “No thanks,” he muttered, eyes barely open. “I like my mornings… peaceful.”

Dorian grinned, flexing his fingers. “I dunno, I think a little lightning jolt to the ribs would do wonders for your reflexes.”

Tache grumbled, pulling his cloak tighter. “Bard, if you even think about it, I’m throwing you into the next river we cross.”

Dorian laughed, then sighed, stretching his arms. “But seriously—why are we moving this early? This is cruel.”

Selyse, fully awake and riding ahead, shot him a look over her shoulder. “Because if we don’t, we’ll have to stop another night before reaching Tadon.”

Bennett nodded in agreement. “Even with this early start, we’ll only be getting there after nightfall. So make sure your horse is ready for the long haul.”

Dorian patted Regis’s neck, giving the stallion an affectionate rub. “Oh, Regis is more than ready. Aren’t you, buddy?”

Regis huffed, tossing his head as if to confirm it.

Bennett raised an eyebrow. “Careful, bard. There’s a reason why a butcher never names his cows and chickens.”

Dorian gasped, offended to his core. “Excuse me? Regis is not some emergency food supply! He’s my partner!”

Bennett shrugged, clearly amused. “Hey, I’m just saying—I never name my horses. That way, if one gets killed by bandits, I don’t get attached.”

Tache snorted, shaking his head. “See, that’s your problem. Mercenaries rely on their horses like we rely on our weapons. It’s not just about riding them—it’s about trust.”

Selyse and Ralnor both nodded, backing up Tache’s sentiment.

Dorian, emboldened, smirked at Bennett. “Maybe that’s why your horses freeze up when bandits attack—because you don’t even believe in them. Why would they trust you if you don’t trust them?”

Bennett blinked, caught off guard. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly thinking it over.

Tache chuckled, elbowing Dorian. “Damn. Bard’s got a point.”

Bennett huffed, but there was no real offense in his voice. “Fine. Maybe I’ll start naming them. But I swear, if I name a horse and it gets killed the next week, I’m blaming you.”

Dorian grinned, tipping his hat. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

As they continued riding, the conversation settled into comfortable banter, the rhythmic clopping of hooves filling the crisp morning air.

The journey to Tadon had truly begun.

…

As time passed, the group’s journey became a symphony of movement, conversation, and melody.

Dorian, ever the artist, spent the long ride composing Tache and Ralnor’s songs, plucking at his lute and experimenting with lyrics.

"So," Dorian glanced at Tache, strumming a slow, dramatic chord. "Do you prefer something heroic, like The Knight of Cyclones slashing through enemies like a storm? Or something more... chaotic, like a whirlwind of poor decision-making?"

Tache grinned, stretching in his saddle. "A mix of both. You know, give me that mysterious air—like I'm brooding, but also dangerously charming."

Selyse snorted. "Dangerously reckless, you mean."

Dorian smirked, adjusting the melody. "Got it. A heroic ballad with tragic consequences of stupidity."

As laughter filled the air, Dorian turned to Ralnor. "And for you, The Knight Who Smiled Once—I think we need a slower, stoic tune. Maybe something with a deep, steady beat, like the march of an unmovable wall."

Ralnor, expression unreadable, simply said, "Make it good."

The conversation shifted into a creative session, with everyone throwing ideas into the mix. Selyse suggested a fierce battle rhythm for Tache's song, while Bennett, now fully invested, proposed adding a solemn violin intro to Ralnor's. Even Regis, Dorian's horse, huffed in approval when his rider found a particularly catchy chord.

For the first time in hours, the cold journey felt warm.

…

As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, the forest around them came alive.

At first, it was subtle—the rustling of distant underbrush, the occasional hoot of an owl. But then, the noises became stranger. A low, guttural growl. A deep, resonating hum. Something unnatural moving between the trees.

Dorian shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Uh… guys? What the hell was that?”

Tache, amused, glanced back at him. “Oh, that? That’s the north.”

Dorian grimaced, gripping his lute like a lifeline. “I hate that answer.”

Tache laughed, waving a hand at the wilderness. “The further north we go, the wilder it gets. Beyond the volcanic mountains, the lands are practically untouched—just ancient forests, untamed beasts, and things that even the twelve gods pretend don’t exist.”

Dorian swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how small they were in this vast land. “And we’re supposed to be okay with that?”

Selyse, grinning, pointed forward. “Relax. We made it.”

Dorian followed her gaze, and sure enough—Tadon’s gate loomed ahead.

The city of Tadon was unlike anything Dorian had seen before.

Where Brenhold had been orderly and structured, Tadon was alive. Bustling streets, the scent of roasted meat and spiced cider filled the air, and market vendors shouted their wares with enthusiasm. The lights of torches and glowing runes illuminated stone roads that wound through a maze of wooden buildings.

Yet despite the energy, the city gates were guarded like a fortress.

As they approached, a pair of stern-faced guards stepped forward, their armor polished, halberds gleaming under the torchlight.

“Halt.” One of them raised a hand. “State your business and prepare for inspection.”

Dorian shifted in his saddle and looked at Tache, expecting a casual response. But Tache, for once, was serious.

“Get used to it,” Tache murmured to Dorian, keeping his hands visible on the reins. “They’re always thorough here.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet as the guards began their inspection.

One of them studied Dorian, then glanced at Tache. “He’s new to the north?”

Tache nodded. “First-timer.”

The guard huffed, as if that explained everything, before finally stepping aside. “Go on in.”

As they entered, Dorian took in the city’s lively atmosphere, his apprehension fading into curiosity. This place was different from the rest of the north.

It felt like a city on the edge of something big.