Tavern

When Caspian opened his eyes, Heka was gone. The cave was still dark and heavy with silence, but the weight in the air had faded.

It actually felt easier to breathe.

He stretched out a hand, and at his thought, a small red flame flickered to life, its glow just enough to catch the last traces of the statue before him. It was disintegrating. Quietly. Dust drifting into the shadows, vanishing as if it had never been there at all.

Caspian sighed. He let the flame hover at a distance, then knelt. Lowering his head until his forehead brushed the cold stone, he bowed three times in the direction of Heka's fading form.

"Thank you," he whispered, just as the last speck of dust slithered away.

Heka had given him a chance. Had chosen him. Something no one had ever done before.

Caspian rose to his feet and turned.

It was time to return.

Caspian had been a minute from collapsing when he stumbled into the nearest village. Calling it a village was generous. It was just a handful of decrepit buildings, scattered without purpose. Caspian could see the other end from where he stood but at least there were people.

The sun had sunk below the horizon, the sky bleeding into darkness. This would do for the night.

He moved cautiously, his gaze settling on a solitary figure, a bent old man lingering idly by one of the crumbling structures. Caspian kept his distance, raising his hands in a gesture of peace before bowing.

"Peace to you."

Approaching someone the wrong way was the fastest way to die.

It felt strange to speak again, to interact after how long had it been? How long had he spent in that cave?

"Peace," the man rasped, his voice hoarse, thick with a heavy eastern accent. A reminder of just how far Caspian was from the capital.

"I'm weary from my travels," Caspian said, his words careful, measured. "I need a place to rest for the night. Food and drink for my sustenance."

Inwardly, he pleaded with the fates that for once his luck would hold.

The old man lifted a trembling hand, pointing toward a squat, lopsided building just ahead. "Tavern." The single word seemed to take immense effort.

"Thank you." Caspian clasped his hands together in gratitude. The man only nodded.

He turned toward the building, his steps quickening. He hadn't expected a place like this to have a tavern, but he wouldn't question fortune when it finally decided to favor him.

When Caspian got close to the tavern, he was fairly certain a strong gust of wind could bring it down. Noise spilled from inside, muffled but persistent. He made a quick plan in his mind avoid conflict, which translated to avoiding all but the barest minimum of interaction. Exhaling slowly, he stepped forward and entered.

The tavern was small. He had enough fingers on both hands to count the number of wooden tables and chairs, and upon further observation, even fewer of them were functional. As he slid inside, he caught the moment the room noticed him. The source of the noise was easy to pinpoint a group of men seated around three large tables pushed together, most of them clearly drunk.

The air smelled of stale ale and unwashed bodies, thick with the warmth of too many people packed into too small a space.

Caspian chose a table in the corner, half-shrouded in darkness, his back to the wall and closest to the door. Only after a few minutes passed did he let himself relax. The full weight of fatigue and hunger cramps slammed into him. His stomach contracted painfully.

He glanced around, subtly. The rowdy group dominated the space, but through the dimness, he spotted three others like him lingering in the shadows.

"Sir," a stern voice interrupted his thoughts. "What do you want?"

It was a tall man with very dark skin. The dim light just barely revealed the empty socket of his left eye a stark contrast to his right, a golden brown iris gleaming against the white.

Caspian, familiar with scenes like this, had already separated a coin from the pouch hidden in the folds of his clothes. He placed it down just an ordinary copper coin. He knew better than to flaunt wealth, not that he had much.

Inwardly he calculated how long the money he had would serve him.

It was enough for now

 "A meal and water. Whatever this can afford."

 The man grabbed the coin and left. He returned minutes later with a rather large bowl and a cup of water. The food was grainy porridge, cold and hard, with barely any seasoning, it tasted like heaven in Caspian's mouth. He finished in minutes, feeling unexpectedly satiated.

And that was when he heard it.

Snippets of conversation drifted from the rowdy table. The words made his heart lurch his blood curdle.

He stilled, full focus on the conversation.

"The dynasty is cursed..."

"Must have committed heinous sins against the divine to be so punished..."

"And we shall all pay the consequences. Just you see."

The shift in conversation brought a change in the air. Voices dropped lower, the tavern seeming to darken. Caspian strained his ears.

"Warlords..."

"War..."

"Rebellion..."

Ominous whispers that unsettled him.A prickle of unease crawled over Caspian's skin. The empire had been relatively stable when he'd left. What had happened?

"If you continue to utter such drunken nonsense, I'll see you out of here."

Caspian looked up. The man who had served him stood near the group, his tone sharp authoritative. He wasn't the least bit cautious of the drunken men.

The group obeyed without so much as a snide remark, sinking into sullen silence. The man left, returning to his seat at the makeshift counter. When he sat, he seemed to fade into the background, hard to distinguish in the dim lighting, his dark skin blending with the tavern's shadows.

Interesting.

Caspian's fingers twitched against the table. Something about the man's presence sent a quiet warning through him.

A warning given to him long ago floated into his mind.

"Beware of hidden dragons wherever you may wander"

One by one, the drunken men dispersed. The room emptied, until only Caspian and the man remained.

Caspian's gaze hadn't strayed far from him. He was still wondering how to make a move when the man stood.

Slowly, he began walking toward him.

He flexed his hands, fingers tapping lightly against his thigh, eyes locked on the man as he walked. His steps weren't uncertain, even under Caspian's scrutiny. He reached the table, dragged out a chair, and sat beside him the screeching of wood against the floor the only sound in the dark tavern.

He didn't speak.

Moments passed, heavy with silence, until Caspian grew exasperated.

"Peace..." he began.

"You want something from me," the man cut in.

Caspian didn't take offense at his bluntness. It was almost a relief.

"Information. The general state of the empire," Caspian stated, smoothly retrieving a single silver coin and letting it fall onto the table.

The man was silent for a few moments more.

"Time frame?"

"The ninth month of Capricorn 24." The month he had set off on his mission.

"Three years have passed," the man said. "The emperor died without passing the seal. Three factions, headed by three princes and a princess, battle for the throne. Warlords rise in the west and south. Rumors of plague in the east. A godly artifact appeared a year ago, I do not know much abouth it, rumours say the Taharan are doing their best to keep it hidden."

Each word hit Caspian like a blunt force.

Three years.

He had spent three years in the cave.

The empire an empire that had lasted thousands of years was collapsing.

But one thing stood out above all.

 He wondered…

Heka's sword?

Wouldn't that be too much of a coincidence?

"A godly artifact, you say?"

 "Rumors say it appeared in what is now called the Holy Grounds by the Tahran. I know nothing more."

Heka had told him his presence in the world might cause the sword to appear. Suspicion curled in Caspian's gut.

"How can I be sure you speak the truth?"

"You cannot."

Caspian scrunched his nose. What a strange man.

Then, something else caught his attention. His accent. Fluid, like oil. Not western. Not Northern either too smooth on the tongue. From the capital or the east maybe?

He shook off the thought.

"I need a place to stay for two days."

"Four copper coins."

Caspian placed two on the table.

The man stood. "Follow me, then."

Caspian got up and followed.

Caspian fell into step behind the man.

It turned out there was a room behind the tavern. When they arrived, the man turned back and handed him a key, dangling from the end of a worn rope. As soon as Caspian took it, the man turned and left without a word.

Caspian huffed. What an incredibly tight-lipped man.

He pushed the door open and was immediately assaulted by the humid, stagnant scent of a room long in disuse.

It made him hesitate.

A distant memory of his chambers at the palace surfaced. By royal standards, they had been mediocre. But now, they seemed like heaven.

He took a breath. Beggars can't be choosers. Soon, he would have all the comforts he desired.

The room was pitch dark when he shut the door behind him, but after so long in the shadows, his eyes had adjusted. He slid the key into the keyhole and locked it, noting with some satisfaction that the door could only be locked from the inside.

Alone in the damp, humid space, he opened his palm and willed a flame into existence. It floated upward, steady and silent, then settled at the center of the room.

Sufficiently illuminated, Caspian took in his surroundings.

It was one of the sparsest rooms he'd ever stayed in. No windows, no openings apart from the door that led outside. The walls were bare, the air thick. In one corner, a mat lay flat on the ground, promising nothing in the way of comfort. He could already feel phantom aches in his body.

His gaze landed on another door, blending almost seamlessly against the left wall. Caspian strode toward it and opened it. At least there's a bathroom.

Having taken sufficient account of his surroundings, he sat down on the floor and began to unbutton his shirt. He shrugged off the last layer of clothing and looked down at his stomach.

The dark skin of his abdomen was marred by a thin, jagged strip—like a crack in porcelain. It could have been mistaken for a scar, if not for the red glow emanating from it, pulsing like embers beneath the surface.

Heka's words echoed in his mind.

"Your body may have been remade to handle divinity, but it will only reflect the state of your mind."

A sharp jolt of fear ran through him.

The flame illuminating the room withered into nothingness.

In the suffocating darkness, the red glow from his stomach was an unforgiving reminder of the only mission that mattered.

He almost wished...

No.

He shook his head, grabbed one of his shirts, and pulled it on hurriedly.

There was still time.