Arran spent several hours exploring the city, which he discovered was nad Eremont after asking so of the locals. Although it was even larger than Silverre, there was an aura of impermanence to it, as if many of those in the city either arrived only recently or did not plan to stay for long.
The city was littered with inns and taverns, far more than would be found in any normal city, and as Arran wandered the streets he soon realized that many of the people there were either traveling rchants or youths hoping to join the Shadowfla Society.
After a ti, he got hungry, and he stopped at a small food stall on the side of the road, where an old man stood beside a red-hot grill.
"What’ll you have?" the old man asked as Arran stopped in front of him. "I’ve got flatbread, grilled goat, mutton, sausages, and ribs."
"I’ll have a piece of flatbread with grilled goat," Arran said.
"Just give a mont to prepare it," the man said, taking a piece of at and putting it on the wood grill inside his stall. Soon, the sll of roasted at wafted into the air, and Arran’s mouth watered in anticipation.
As the old man prepared the food, he gave Arran a asuring look. "Planning on joining the Society?"
Arran nodded. "I just arrived, but I’m hoping to join as soon as I can. Got any good tips?"
There was little point in hiding his intentions. With a good portion of the people in Eremont being to join the Shadowfla Society, it would be more suspicious if Arran said he was there for so other reason. Moreover, the old man looked like he might know a thing or two about how things worked in the city.
"Bad idea, what with everything that’s going on across the border and all," the old man said with a shake of his head.
"What’s going on across the border?" Arran asked, his interest imdiately aroused.
"Many things, all of them bad," the man replied. "Caravans disappearing, villages getting burned to the ground, Society patrols being ambushed... Things are never quiet on the other side, but nowadays, it’s as if the whole region has gone mad."
"You’re saying I shouldn’t join the Shadowfla Society?" Arran asked.
"I’m just saying it’s no place for a nice young man like yourself, is all," the man replied.
Arran smiled wryly at hearing himself being described him as a nice young man, and he wondered what the man would think if he knew about the things Arran had done over the past few years. Nothing good, he suspected.
"I’ll keep it in mind," he said noncommittally. Of course, no matter how dangerous joining the Shadowfla Society might be, it could hardly be more dangerous for Arran than staying in the Empire.
"Do what you will," the old man said with a shrug. "Not like you youngsters ever have much sense. Anyway, the food’s ready."
Arran thanked the man for his advice and paid him for the food, then went on his way, eating as he walked. The grilled at tasted even better than it slled, and for so ti, he idly wondered the streets of Eremont, content at finally tasting so simple hot food again.
As he considered what the old man had told him, he decided to ask around a little more, to see if maybe anyone else could tell him what exactly was going on across the border.
Arran spent so hours browsing the city, stopping by several inns to talk to rchants and locals about the situation on the other side of the border. Yet although everyone seed to know about the general state of things, nobody could tell him any details — even the rchants who traveled across the border with trade caravans only knew that travel was more dangerous than usual.
The young people who hoped to join the Shadowfla Society were all dismissive when they talked about the dangers of crossing the border, and Arran could not help but think that perhaps the old man had been right about youngsters’ lack of sense.
After several hours, Arran gave up, at least for the ti being. He had not even begun to start thinking about ways to get recruited, and he would have plenty of ti to figure things out later.
For now, he would just find a decent inn, and focus on learning more about how the recruitnt process worked. But first, he thought, he would get sothing more to eat — even if he was still full from the grilled at he ate earlier, he was sure he so space left for another few bites.
He passed a few food stalls, but dismissed them when he saw their offerings. Finally, he ca across a food stall run by an old woman, and when he saw the dumplings she sold, he was instantly reminded of Jiang Fei.
"How much?" he asked.
"Three coppers for a dozen," the woman replied.
Arran was about to order when suddenly, a voice sounded.
"I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Not unless you like the taste of rat at, at least."
The old woman turned around with an angry glare, but when she saw the man who had spoken, her face fell.
"Apologies, young master Darkfire," she said. "I did not know he was a friend of yours."
Arran had turned as well, and seeing the man who had spoken, he could not help but be surprised.
Darkfire was young, around Arran’s age, with long dark hair and a handso face. Although he wore a simple black robe, he would have stood out in any crowd — even if Arran was by no ans short, Darkfire stood at least half a foot taller than him, with broad shoulders and arms that were thick with muscle.
Feeling so envy, Arran realized Darkfire looked like a hero out of legend. Yet he could not bring himself to dislike the man — there was sothing unusually open and straightforward about his manner that imdiately appealed to Arran, especially after the ti he had spent with the ever-deceitful Panurge.
"If you follow ," Darkfire said, "I’ll show you a place with better food."
"All right," Arran said, deciding that for now, he would trust the man. If things changed, he was confident that he was strong enough to escape unhard.
They left the food stall behind, the old woman silently glaring at them as they walked away. After a short while, they arrived at another food stall that sold dumplings, and these turned out to be of excellent quality.
"Who are you?" Arran asked as they ate.
"My na’s Dao Qianjun," the man replied, "though people usually call Darkfire."
"Are you a mage?" The nickna reminded Arran of Windsong and Master Zhao’s alias, Flaheart, and he wondered if the na Darkfire had similar origins.
"If only," Darkfire said with a sigh. "The nickna’s because of my lack of talent in magic. I have a Fire Realm, but I never managed to open it. So when I try to produce Fire... well, there’s no light."
Arran nodded in understanding. "So why did you save from eating rat dumplings?"
"Other than an honest desire to stop others from experiencing the horrors of badly cooked rat at?" Darkfire made an exaggerated grimace. "Truth is, it’s that sword of yours," he said, pointing toward the sword at Arran’s side.
Arran had hidden the startal sword in one of his void bags, but the sword he wore was one of the treasures he had taken from the Herald’s stronghold — large and heavy, with perfect balance and a blade that never seed to dull, it was only slightly inferior to the startal sword.
"The sword? What about it?"
"If you know how to use it, I was hoping you’d be up for a few rounds of practice."
An eager grin appeared on Darkfire’s face, and even if Arran was still slightly wary, he could see no signs of anything but guileless enthusiasm in Darkfire’s expression.
"All right then," he said. "I suppose I could do with so practice."
"Perfect," Darkfire replied. "Follow . We can use the training grounds at my ho."
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