Arrival At The Stable

"Horses ready! Junior Priest's team incoming!" Roldan's shout cut through the stable's morning bustle, a gruff command that set stable hands scrambling.

Four horses, well-muscled and sturdy, were led from their stalls. A young stable hand, sweat already beading on his forehead despite the early hour, began cinching saddles tight. Leather creaked, buckles clicked – the sounds of hurried preparation.

Another stable hand, Joffrah, leaned on a pitchfork, watching the activity with a frown. "Heading out again? Seems quick. Heard the last trip to ruins was a mess. Slave died, didn't they? Woman, wasn't it?"

Roldan turned, his gaze sharp. "Don't talk like that, Joffrah. You know how the priests are. Life or death, means nothing to them. Could be yours or mine gone just like that." He snapped his fingers for emphasis. "Been running this stable twenty years. These Ninth Stage inheritors go out loaded, come back light. Mark my words, Joffrah, those three heading out today? Dust." His voice was low, matter-of-fact, the tone of someone stating a grim but predictable truth.

Joffrah just nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and went back to his work, the casual dismissal of life hanging heavy in the air.

"Here they come," Roldan sighed, nodding towards the temple entrance. "Same inheritors as last time. Three new slaves tagging along."

Varakh's voice, impatient and crisp, reached them before he did. "Horses ready? Good. Let's move. Ruins are an hour's ride, but the digging… that'll take time. Wish I was Ninth Stage already, could just fly there." He added the last bit with a touch of showy annoyance, more for effect than real frustration.

Sorken walked beside the horses, Jorah and Kesta flanking him, each weighed down with packs. This was the first time he'd been outside the Holy Temple's walls since… well, since everything changed. He'd heard talk of the southern continent, of drylands and heat, but seeing it was different. Endless stretches of cracked earth, scrubby plants clinging to life.

The guards from last night had bought them clothes from the market – loose tunics, wide trousers, meant for this heat. Without them, without horses, you'd bake in this sun in hours, they'd said. Brutal place, Sorken thought. Fits the people, doesn't it? Harsh land, harsh hearts. He couldn't help a dry, humorless chuckle.

The others were focused on keeping their footing, the packs heavy and awkward. Sorken hadn't seen Tamara yet today. Up ahead, Varakh and the apprentices were huddled, heads bent together, going over… strategy, he guessed.

"Stable outpost first," Varakh called back, not bothering to look at the slaves. "Room there. Final strategy review. Nobody dies this time. Slaves cost gold, you know. Apprentices – wraiths, spirits, whatever jumps the… slaves. Deal with it. Fast."

Sorken's brow furrowed. Varakh's words… something felt off. Stable outpost, strategy review… why all the secrecy? He glanced at Tamara, walking beside Varakh, listening intently. Talk to Tamara. Need to. Something's not right. This felt like a setup. Bait. That word, 'slaves'… the way Varakh said it…

He's using us, Sorken realized, a cold dread settling in his stomach. Talking about saving lives, but it's all lies. He's going to use us as bait. Thinks we're disposable. He clenched his fists, anger rising. Can't believe Tamara thought he was nice. Guys like this… I know them. Back in my old life, guys like this were everywhere. Step on anyone to get ahead. No better than Soru. He pictured Soru's cold eyes, Varakh's smug smile. Just want to… He cut off the thought, a dark, violent image flashing in his mind.

He glanced at Tamara again. She was close to Varakh, too close. Anger, frustration, twisted in his gut. Jorah and Kesta had told him to be patient. This trip was important for Tamara too, they'd said. Impatience wouldn't help.

They don't get it, Sorken thought, his jaw tight. It's not just about her working with Varakh. It's Varakh himself. He's bad news. Feels… wrong. Like he's keeping me away from her on purpose. He watched Varakh, his expression hard, calculating.

Varakh was still talking, his voice carrying on the dry wind. "…Supplies. Slaves, don't lose them. Cost a fortune. Hard to get, even for me."

He stopped, turning to face Sorken directly, a smirk playing on his lips. "You. Slave. Name's… Sorken, right? You're with me. You look… delicate. I'll keep you alive." The smirk widened, a cruel edge to it.

Trouble, Sorken thought instantly. This guy's trouble. Big trouble. A dangerous thought flickered in his mind. Chance… should I take it? Kill him? Here? Now? He pushed it down. Don't know enough about their magic. Too risky. Observe. Watch him. If I get an opening…

"You two," Varakh gestured to Jorah and Kesta. "Tamara, Ted, Azim. You're with them." He turned back to the apprentices, his tone shifting, becoming almost… helpful? "Let me explain our… advantages. Powers. Make you slaves feel… better."

Varakh launched into a summary of their magical abilities. "Tamara. Healing spell. Light spell. Support. Navigation. Wounds." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Ted. Fire spell. Offense. Azim. Sword. Light and fire spells. Front line. Me? All of it. Plus, Eighth Stage spells." He puffed out his chest a little.

"Wait here," Varakh said, finally dismissing them. "Horses are sorted. Going to find a room in the stable. Maps. Supplies. Layout. Strategy." He strode off, leaving them standing in the dusty yard, heading towards the stable buildings.

Sorken looked at Tamara. She was watching Varakh go, her expression… bored? He moved towards her, wanting to speak, to warn her, to understand.

She turned, saw him, offered a quick, bright smile. Too bright? "Hope this is over fast," she said, her voice casual. "Ruins… trust me, spirits and wraiths? Not fun." She shuddered theatrically. "Varakh's calling us. Strategy time. We'll talk after. Okay?"

Varakh's voice boomed from the stable entrance. "Slaves! Apprentices! In here! Meeting time!"

"Don't look so glum," Jorah clapped Sorken on the shoulder, a heavy, comforting hand. "You'll talk to your girl. After. Free man. If she's stuck with you through this mess, she's a keeper, right? Chin up, lad. We're fighting for your life here, remember?"

Sorken managed a smile for Jorah, a weak, forced thing. He turned and walked towards the stable, towards Varakh, towards Tamara, towards the ruins, towards… whatever waited for them there. The stable, out here in the middle of nowhere, felt isolated, a lonely waypoint on a dangerous path.