I stood at the side of the wagon, watching an unfamiliar man stride toward us with purpose. His face, cut with fine wrinkles, stretched into a sharp smirk. He stopped in front of Bernard and crossed his arms.
"Well, well. Looks like someone's been letting himself go more and more every year, barely fits in his clothes."
Bernard turned his head slowly, fixing the man with a heavy stare. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"That's called muscle, punk. You get it from hard work, but you wouldn't know much about that, sitting with a fishing rod for hours on end."
The man closed the distance and leaned against the side of our wagon.
"Oh, is that so. Hard work? You mean faithful service to Dara, like a good little dog?" — the man shot back, staring up at Bernard with undisguised challenge.
Bernard dropped off the wagon in one sharp movement, gravel crunching under his heavy boots. He stepped up close to Erik.
"I see you still haven't felt the weight of a woman's chest in your hand, seeing as you go around showing your envy this openly, Erik."
They stared straight into each other's eyes. Leo went quiet behind me, and my heart was picking up pace.
Then both their faces twisted into wide grins at the same moment. A loud crack rang out as they gripped each other's hands in a tight brotherly handshake.
"Good to see you in one piece, you little bastard" — Bernard rumbled, shaking his friend's hand hard.
I let out a breath, feeling the tension bleed out, but the confusion stayed.
Erik tilted his head back, squinting against the bright sun, and looked Elara over. His weathered face showed genuine warmth.
"Well, hello there, beautiful. Every year you get lovelier and lovelier."
Elara smiled warmly and dipped her head slightly, hiding her gaze behind a loose strand of hair.
"Hello, Erik. I'm glad to see you too. How are things on the farm?"
The man put his hands on his hips and heaved a heavy sigh, looking over the bustle around our wagon.
"Yield's been modest this year, and the fish aren't biting much either. But overall it's not so bad."
Elara frowned, her fingers going still on the edge of the wagon. She looked thoughtfully toward the central quarters of the city.
"Interesting… we had quite a good harvest this year, actually."
Bernard dropped a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder, nearly pinning him to the ground with the weight of it. The blacksmith grinned, clearly enjoying the moment.
"Like I said — some people just don't have the work ethic. Sitting there with your rod while the earth waits for the plow."
Erik only snorted, trying to shake off the blacksmith's massive hand, but there was no anger in his eyes.
Erik shifted his gaze to me, and his smirk gave way for a moment to a look of genuine bafflement. He went quiet, studying my features and my overall appearance, which clearly stood out from the plainsmen he was used to.
"And you… a foreigner, or what?" — he asked, not hiding his curiosity.
Elara quickly looked out from behind the wagon's tall side, her voice coming out soft but with a clear protective edge to it.
"Oh, this is Aren, a friend of the family" — she explained, flashing me a quick encouraging glance.
Erik slowly closed the distance. His walk was confident, with a slight sway, like someone used to a deck or a furrow underfoot. He looked me over from head to toe. Then his face broke into a good-natured smile, and he held out a wide, callused hand.
"Well, glad to meet you, Aren. Erik Ricks is the name, just Erik is fine. I'm from Rallis, on the western sea"
Rallis was known across Waldruhm as a small but important settlement, living off the gifts of the ocean and coastal farming.
I hesitated for a moment. The handshake ritual still felt like something that required deliberate concentration, but I pushed the discomfort down and gripped his hand firmly.
"Glad to meet you too, Erik. So you're a fisherman?" — I asked, trying to put some confidence in my voice.
Erik smiled warmly and put his hands back on his hips, adjusting his leather vest.
"You could say that, though I've had to deal with the fields and the livestock from time to time as well" — he answered, confirming the well-rounded way of life most people in Waldruhm's coastal villages had to maintain, where everyone needed to know many trades to survive.
Then Erik let go of my hand and clapped Bernard on his thick shoulder.
"I've got you a spot near the northern side of the fountain. There's a high wall giving shade, so I think it'll suit your tinctures just right, Elara."
Bernard nodded in approval and climbed back up onto the driver's seat.
"Lead the way, punk."
I walked beside the wagon, trying not to clip passers-by with my shoulders. Okkhaven's market square was packed with stalls of rough unbleached canvas. The counters were piled with mounds of grain, bundles of dried fish, and heavy rolls of woolen cloth.
We passed a Green Order patrol. Guards in dark green cloaks stood at the entrance to a side lane, gripping spears with broad heads. One of them watched us go with a long look.
Erik stopped at a free patch under a stone awning and waved his hand, pointing out the unloading spot.
"Set up here. I'll help with the crates until mine arrive from the dock."
I went to the back of the wagon and took hold of the edge of the first crate. Rough wood bit into my palms, and the glass bottles clinked dully inside. Leo had already jumped down onto the stones and was pulling at the securing straps.
---
When we finally finished unloading half an hour later, the last crate of Elara's herbal tinctures was standing on a wooden counter we had quickly assembled from folding panels under the stone awning. I wiped the sweat from my brow, feeling a layer of city dust on my skin.
Erik was helping Bernard secure the side posts of the awning, while Leo arranged the bottles by size.
Then, without warning, the general noise of the Eastern Market began to fall away, replaced by a rising swell of tense voices. I heard a sharp, synchronized ring of metal on stone cobbles. The sound was rhythmic and heavy, moving fast from the direction of the main gates. The crowd at the northern entrance to the square grew restless and began to part, people pressing back against walls and stalls, opening a wide passage.
I turned, keeping one hand on the side of our wagon. A detachment of Green Order knights was moving through the square. Their steel breastplates caught the sunlight, and their dark green cloaks swayed steadily with each step. They gripped broad-headed spears, forming a living escort around two figures in the center of the column.
Those two, a young man and a young woman, no older than twenty-five by the look of them, stood apart from the people of Waldruhm. They wore strict grey uniforms of dense cloth with bright red trim and high collars. The strangers' skin had a pale, almost porcelain tone, typical of people from the northern regions. Their hair was a deep dark blue, neatly set and motionless. They walked looking straight ahead, their eyes cold and serious, paying no attention to the commotion around them.
Bernard went still, stopped mid-swing on a peg, and frowned. Elara involuntarily stepped back, pressing herself against the wagon.
"Aisengardians" — Erik said quietly, his voice tight.
"A Syndicate delegation. Heading to the castle."
I turned to Leo. He was still standing on the edge of the wagon, watching the grey uniforms disappear, and his eyes carried that same technical excitement I'd seen during our tests in the grove.
"They look more impressive than I imagined" — I said.
The boy dropped down onto the cobblestones and came up beside me. He adjusted the wrap on his finger and started talking fast, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I read in travelers' accounts that in Aisengard there's no place for chaos. Even their walk is that synchronized because they value discipline and functionality above everything."
Leo jerked his chin in the direction the delegation had gone.
"Did you see how pale they were? Aisengardians often have a porcelain or greyish skin tone, and the coolest part is what's under those uniforms. They've almost certainly got mechanical prosthetics that work better than ordinary arms or legs."
Bernard walked over to us and laid a heavy hand on Leo's shoulder, cutting the lecture short. The blacksmith looked grim.
"Enough talk about northerners. Time to get to work."
Leo and I exchanged a grin, then sighed, squared our shoulders, and got to arranging the decoctions and tinctures with their labels on the shelves.