Chapter 23: Where's Bjorn

The late afternoon sun draped Seagard in golden hues, casting long, flickering shadows across the cobblestone streets. The city thrived in its usual chaos—hawkers shouted prices for salted fish and cured meats, dockworkers grunted under the weight of barrels filled with exotic wares from far-off ports, and townsfolk mingled in animated conversation as the market swelled with life.

Yet for Ethan, the vibrant energy of the city barely registered. His thoughts remained knotted around a single, growing concern: Bjorn was missing.

It had been two days since Bjorn left to escort the twins to their father, Alistair Mallister. They'd agreed to regroup at the Sea Eagle Inn by sundown that first day, but hours bled into the following night with no sign of him. Initially, Ethan had dismissed it as a minor delay. Maybe Alistair had insisted on hosting Bjorn or there'd been some other reasonable explanation.

But now? The gnawing unease had turned into a sharp edge of worry.

Kieran strode beside him, his usually carefree demeanor replaced by a taut wariness. His eyes flicked across every figure in the crowded street, noting details—the way a sailor shifted nervously by a shadowed alley, or the subtle exchange of coins between a pair of cloaked men near a spice merchant's stall.

"You think he's in trouble?" Kieran asked, breaking the tense silence.

Ethan's jaw clenched. "I don't know. But something doesn't sit right."

"Bjorn's not exactly subtle," Kieran said with a dry snort. "If something happened, someone's bound to have seen it."

Ethan nodded grimly. "We need answers."

They reached the familiar stone archway leading into the Sea Eagle district. The scent of roasting meat wafted through the air, mingling with the brine of the nearby sea. The inn's wooden sign creaked softly in the breeze, its weathered depiction of a soaring eagle barely visible beneath layers of salt-streaked grime.

Ethan paused at the entrance. "You check the docks," he instructed Kieran. "The sailors hear things before anyone else. I'll head toward the Mallister estate and see if Alistair knows anything."

Kieran gave a curt nod, his expression hardening. "If anyone tries to stonewall me, I'll make them talk."

Ethan almost smiled. "Just don't burn the docks down."

"No promises." Kieran turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd, his dark cloak blending seamlessly with the throng.

Ethan adjusted his sword belt and set off toward the upper district. The cobblestones grew smoother as he ascended toward the wealthier part of Seagard, where noble houses and wealthy merchants displayed their status through well-kept gardens and intricately carved doorframes. Guards patrolled the streets here, their polished armor glinting in the fading sunlight.

The Mallister townhouse stood near the heart of this district—a sturdy stone building with ivy creeping up its walls. Two guards flanked the entrance, their expressions stoic as they surveyed passersby. As Ethan approached, their spears crossed to block his path.

"State your business," one of them commanded, his voice gruff.

"I need to speak with Alistair Mallister," Ethan said, keeping his tone calm but firm. "It's about Bjorn. He brought Alistair's children back two days ago."

The guards exchanged a glance. One of them grunted and disappeared inside while the other kept a wary eye on Ethan. Minutes dragged by, each one amplifying the tension coiling in Ethan's chest. Finally, the door creaked open, and the guard returned with a nod.

"He'll see you."

Inside, the air was cooler, carrying the faint scent of cedarwood and parchment. Alistair stood near a writing desk, his hands clasped behind his back. His graying hair and lined face bore the marks of a man accustomed to hardship.

"Ethan," Alistair greeted, his voice courteous but guarded. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"I'm looking for Bjorn," Ethan said without preamble. "He hasn't returned since he left your home with the twins. I was hoping you might know where he went."

Alistair's brow furrowed. "That's odd. He left shortly after delivering the children. Seemed eager to return to you and your companions."

"He didn't mention any other stops?"

"No," Alistair said slowly. "He seemed satisfied that his duty was complete."

Ethan's stomach tightened. If Bjorn had left the Mallister estate, then where had he gone?

"Seagard can be unpredictable for newcomers," Alistair continued, his tone grave. "There are those who thrive in the shadows—smugglers, debt collectors, and worse. If Bjorn crossed paths with the wrong people…"

"I appreciate your time," Ethan said tersely, already turning toward the door.

As he stepped back onto the street, his mind raced. Bjorn hadn't lingered at the Mallister estate, which meant something—or someone—had intercepted him.

The setting sun cast long shadows across Seagard's streets as Ethan made his way back toward the Sea Eagle. The once-vibrant market had begun to quiet, the clamor of trade giving way to the softer murmur of evening conversations. He spotted Kieran waiting near the inn's entrance, his expression grim.

"Anything?" Ethan asked.

Kieran shook his head. "No one's seen him. But there's talk down by the docks—local thugs stirring up trouble, demanding protection fees from merchants. Word is they've got ties to a group that operates outside the city walls."

Ethan's jaw clenched. "Sounds like our next lead."

Kieran's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "I know just the place to start."

As night fell over Seagard, the city's vibrant energy shifted. Shadows stretched long across the streets, and the laughter of merchants was replaced by hushed whispers and furtive glances. Ethan and Kieran moved with purpose, their senses sharpened by the weight of their mission.

Bjorn was out there somewhere—and they would find him, no matter what it took.

The moon hung low over Seagard, casting pale silver light across the rooftops and narrow alleys. Shadows pooled in every crevice, stretching like dark fingers along the cobblestone streets. The lively bustle of the day had faded into the hushed murmur of nighttime activity—a quieter but no less dangerous rhythm.

Ethan and Kieran moved through the city with purposeful strides, their boots scuffing against uneven stones. The Sea Eagle district, which had once felt like a refuge, now bristled with unseen tension. Seagard at night belonged to a different breed of people—cutpurses, smugglers, and mercenaries who thrived in secrecy.

The lead Kieran had gathered from the docks pointed them toward The Broken Compass, a dimly lit tavern nestled on the edge of the district, notorious for harboring information brokers and those willing to break the law for the right price. Its chipped wooden sign swayed lazily in the breeze, creaking ominously with each gust of salty air.

"You sure about this place?" Ethan asked, his voice low.

Kieran smirked faintly. "Sure as I am that it's gonna stink inside." He gestured toward the half-rotted planks making up the tavern's door. "But places like this? They see and hear everything."

Ethan nodded, pushing the door open. The stench of stale ale and sweat hit him immediately, thick and cloying. The interior was dim, lit by flickering lanterns hung unevenly on the walls. Rough wooden tables were scattered throughout the room, occupied by men whose faces were half-hidden beneath hoods and shadows.

Kieran's eyes flicked around the room, assessing the clientele. "There," he murmured, nodding toward a burly man seated near the back. Scars crisscrossed the man's forearms, and a wicked-looking knife rested casually on the table beside a dented tankard.

Ethan followed Kieran's lead as they approached the man's table. Without waiting for an invitation, Kieran pulled out a chair and sat down, his posture relaxed but ready for trouble. Ethan remained standing, his presence a silent but unmistakable threat.

The scarred man looked up, his gaze sharp. "What do you want?"

"Information," Kieran said smoothly. "We're looking for a friend. Big guy, blond hair, built like a warhorse. He went missing two days ago after escorting some kids to the Mallister estate."

The man's lips curled into a sneer. "Why should I care?"

Ethan leaned forward, resting his palms on the table. "Because if you help us, you'll walk out of here with all your teeth. If you don't..." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Let's just say it'll be a rough night for you."

The scarred man's eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of uncertainty beneath his bravado. "Fine," he grumbled. "Might've heard somethin'. There's been talk 'bout a new group musclin' in on the city—real nasty types. They ain't from around here, but they've been takin' over parts of the docks, shakin' down merchants."

Ethan's jaw tightened. "And?"

The man hesitated before adding, "Word is, they grabbed a big fella near the east gate a couple nights back. Took him outside the city, toward the old watchtower by the cliffs."

Kieran's eyes darkened. "Why?"

"Don't know," the man said, shrugging. "But if they took him there, he's either dead or wishin' he was."

Ethan straightened, his expression cold. "Thanks for the warning."

They left the tavern without another word, the night air biting against their skin as they stepped back onto the street.

"The cliffs," Kieran said grimly. "If they've got him there, it won't be a friendly conversation."

Ethan's mind raced. The watchtower by the cliffs was an old, abandoned structure, its strategic importance long diminished. It was isolated—far enough from the city that no one would hear screams.

"We need to move now," Ethan said, his voice hard. "Bjorn doesn't have time for us to wait until morning."

Kieran nodded, his jaw set in determination. "Let's find him."

The journey to the cliffs was perilous. The cobblestone streets gave way to uneven dirt paths, shrouded in darkness. The faint crash of waves against the jagged rocks below echoed through the night air, mingling with the distant cries of seabirds.

As they neared the watchtower, Ethan's heightened senses picked up on subtle details—the faint glow of torchlight flickering through cracks in the stone walls, the low murmur of voices carried on the wind.

"They're here," Ethan whispered, drawing his sword.

Kieran unsheathed his own blade, his eyes gleaming with a fierce resolve. "How do you want to do this?"

"Quiet, if we can," Ethan said. "Fast, if we can't."

They crept toward the watchtower, sticking to the shadows. Two guards stood near the entrance, their silhouettes outlined by the flickering torchlight. Their relaxed posture suggested they weren't expecting trouble.

Ethan signaled to Kieran, who nodded and moved silently toward the guard on the left. Ethan circled around to the right, his movements fluid and controlled.

In a blur of motion, they struck simultaneously. Kieran's blade sliced cleanly across his target's throat, while Ethan drove his sword through the second guard's chest. The men crumpled to the ground without a sound.

"Clean," Kieran muttered.

Ethan gestured toward the tower. "Inside."

They moved swiftly through the narrow entryway, the stone walls damp and cold. The torchlight flickered ominously, casting twisted shadows along the corridor.

Voices echoed from deeper within the tower. Ethan's heart pounded as he recognized one of them—gruff and defiant despite its weariness.

Bjorn.

They quickened their pace, rounding a corner to find a makeshift cell at the end of the corridor. Bjorn was chained to the wall, his face bloodied but defiant. A burly man stood over him, a cruel smile on his lips as he brandished a dagger.

"You'll talk," the man sneered. "Everyone talks eventually."

Ethan didn't give him the chance. He lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air. The man barely had time to register the attack before Ethan's sword found its mark, driving deep into his side.

The man gasped, eyes wide with shock, before crumpling to the ground.

Kieran moved swiftly to dispatch the remaining captors, his blade flashing in the dim light. The skirmish was brief but brutal, the air thick with the scent of blood.

Ethan knelt beside Bjorn, who managed a weak grin despite his injuries. "Took you long enough," Bjorn rasped.

"Good to see you too," Ethan said, his voice tight with relief.

Kieran began working on the chains, his fingers deftly picking the lock. "You look like hell," he remarked.

Bjorn chuckled weakly. "Feel worse."

The chains clattered to the ground, and Bjorn slumped forward, his weight supported by Ethan.

"Let's get out of here," Ethan said grimly. "We're not out of danger yet."

Together, they made their way out of the tower, the cold night air biting against their skin. The cliffs loomed dangerously close, the waves crashing violently below.

But they were alive.

And for now, that was enough.