Renado was looking at a field that stretched toward the horizon. It was dotted with lone trees and the rare copse, but in a way, it was similar to another view in a similar context. The first time he had reappeared, he’d gazed down into the ceaseless waters of the Grey Sea. Today, he gazed out across a sea of tall grass.
“We’re here,” Asar muttered, and Ren looked at him. His old sailing mate looked around them and added, “Wherever here is.”
Never having seen a field so endless, Renado had to force himself to look away, to investigate his surroundings. They stood next to a hut now, though moments ago, they had stood in the town center on the Isle of Dusk. The hut had a thatched roof and walls made of wood, not stone. A man sat on a rocking chair near the hinged wooden door, and had lifted his head from a whittling block to stare at them.
Down a dirt trail from them was a village of similar structures, scattered around a well. The villagers did not notice them appear and continued about their day under a sky of layered grey clouds and faded sunlight. Renado looked at the others: Woodro was rubbing his forehead, irritated and angered by the spell; Asar was checking all their gear was intact; and Karsef was warily watching the man, who was warily watching them.
“Hello,” Renado called, wandering across the grassy yard. “Where are we?”
The man chuckled, scratching his long grey beard. He was only a few years older than Lerran but looked weathered and weary. “The village of Terben, near Vagren. I am Voran, the seer here. A magician, you see.”
“We see,” Woodro muttered.
Renado smiled. The man was waiting for something; perhaps word of their loyalty or purpose here. He’d understand their purpose, according to Telan, if they could get across the truth of their mission here. Of course, the Vows would make that more difficult. “We’re seeking a magician near here,” he said, at last.
“The magician, you may speak his name to me,” the seer said.
“I can?” Renado asked. The Vows prohibited from speaking of the names and information learned on the Isle of Dusk except with those also bound by them, so the man’s comment was a strange one. Light dawned on him—they also prohibited speaking of the Vows themselves. “His name is Axar.” The man had taken the Vows also.
“Ah yes, I suspected you would be arriving soon enough,” the man replied. “Chaos seeps out of Ith every day now, and no news reaches me, though our masters on the Isle may not know the extent of this. You must speak with Irrith in Vagren, the leader of our order in this place. She will give you the best instruction on how to proceed with your mission.”
“Irrith?” Ren repeated. Another name to remember. “How will I find her?”
“Ask for her at the door of Nalisa Orr. The house is in the Fourth Ward, on the edge of the Market Argine. Blue paneling, grey shingles, and a juniper tree in the front yard. You can’t miss it,” Voran said.
Ren looked to his side. “You got that, Karsef?”
“Fourth Ward, Argine, blue house,” the mercenary repeated.
“And what day is it? What year?” Woodro asked.
The seer smirked. “Why, the year 1479. It is the 7th day of the 10th Moon.”
Renado nodded and thanked the man. Little more than a month had past since they left the Isle of Dusk. He took a step in the direction of Terben village but then paused. “Two more things,” he said to Voran. “Which way is Vagren?”
“North-west,” the weathered man said. “If you reach the Crimson Highway, you’ve gone too far west.” He pointed a crooked finger in the direction of the grey horizon and nodded. “What’s your second question, youngster?”
Renado folded his arms. “Does this village have a bar? A tavern?” Woodro started to chuckle.