“We’re wasting time here.” Atemu groaned. “We should be continuing northward.”

“We don’t even know if that’s the direction he went in.” I complained. “All we know is that he was here. The Scythian horse parked in the stables indicates as much. Best we can do now is ask around and see if anyone saw Damien pass through.” 

“We should get some beers-to-go while we’re here though.” Illias added.

The three of us had tracked Damien to a relatively small bar in the town of Hasna, where the trail ends. There were only five tables set up outside, each with five chairs and a white cloth awning held up by four poles. The entire place was set up right next to one of the main roads, with a wooden fence separating us from the many civilians, horses, and chariots.

While the three of us sat at one of the tables alone, farmers in linen skirts occupied three of the four other ones, drinking and laughing. Five Egyptian soldiers filled the last table, wearing the typical white tunics. Large shields were strapped to their backs, and khopeshes dangled from their girdles. The owner worked inside the small mudbrick house, barking orders at his three barmaids through the single window. They scurried in and out with pitchers of beer in either hand. 

“Which one of these drunk, perverted men would you like to ask first?” Atemu peered at me. “Hmm?”

“There’s no right answer to that question.” I sighed. “Is there?”

“Nope.”

“Well then what do you suggest we do?” I tossed my hands in the air. “The trail’s gone cold.”

“You can just leave the full pitcher here.” Illias smiled at the barmaid who did as he asked. 

“As you wish.” She adjusted her white skirt and bra before heading back inside.

Atemu groaned.

“Thanks for giving me a priest get-up by the way.” He glanced at the priestess while pouring himself a cup of beer. “People seem to respect it a lot more than Grecian armor.”

“Guys?” I pointed across the street to the stables where Damien’s hijacked horse was parked, identifiable among the other steeds by its bright red and gold Scythian battle armor. Someone dressed in a full-length brown cloak with a hood stood right next to it, examining its mane.

“What?” Atemu rolled her eyes at Illias before turning her attention to the person I pointed at. “That’s not conspicuous at all.”

“Should we pay them a visit?” As I stood up, the mysterious figure looked at me, though their entire face was shrouded by the shadow of their hood, except their mouth.

I froze.

“Uh…” Illias gulped down his beer, then poured himself another cup. “You two just gonna stand around looking at each other all day?”

“I don’t‒”

“Oh!” His voice cracked. “I got it! Maybe you should use your kingly authority and command them to come here!”

“How much beer have you had, Illias?” Atemu squinted at him.

“One glass.” He hiccupped. “Give or take twenty.”

She face-palmed.

As soon as I decided to approach the cloaked person, they began walking towards me before I could even take a step. They crossed the street, weaving seamlessly through the crowd, hopped over the wooden fence bordering the bar, pulled out a chair at our table, and sat down next to me.

“Who are you?” I remained standing.

“Name’s Cymone.” She pulled back her hood to reveal long, pure white hair that continued down underneath her cloak, dark red eyes and pointy ears, about half the size of the typical elf’s. “And you’re the long lost son of King Darius. You’re pretty cute for a guy who wields corruptive magic.”

“How’d you‒” I stammered. “What’s that supposed to‒”

“I’m perceptive.”

“What a face!” Illias blared while staring at Cymone, then looked at me. “Do you see her face? It’s so well structured!”

“Ignore him.” I waved my hand dismissively. “He’s pretty hammered.”

“I can see that.” She glanced at him before returning her gaze to me.

“Why were you examining that horse?”

“Same reason as you.” She reached over and yanked the pitcher out of Illias’ hands before he could pour himself another cup and he frowned. “I’m after the queen and the dwarf that kidnapped her.”

“Well technically we kidnapped her first.” Illias’ mouth twisted into his best attempt at a grin. “Did I mention the well organized nature of your face?”

She ignored him and continued speaking to me. “You think Themistocles is the only one after Artemisia’s power? I don’t know how politically aware you’ve been, but tensions between Athens and Sparta have been rising. The war with Persia has simply brought a temporary peace to the two Greek city-states.”

“So let me guess.” Atemu spoke up. “You’re working for one of the kings of Sparta.”

“Both actually.” She shrugged. “Or at least that’s what they think.”

“I don’t follow.” The priestess shook her head.

“Yes, they hired me to capture the Halicarnassian.” She slapped Illias’ hand as he tried to grab the pitcher she took away from him. “But I’m in the business of neutralizing items or people of great power that can provide an unfair advantage to a person or country. I make myself known as a bounty hunter of sorts, but in reality‒”

“You just use that persona to more easily identify potential threats.” I glared at her. “Then why haven’t you come after me yet?”

“You haven’t used your newly realized potential to benefit anyone but the greater good.” She leaned into me to whisper. “I know of your efforts to prevent the followers of the moon from declaring war on the rest of the world. Should your motives change, however, then so will mine.”

“Understood.” I nodded. “So you’re gonna help us get to Damien and Artemisia?”

“I could.”

“Once we find them we’re bringing her straight back to Isadora.” Atemu spoke with a harsh tone.

“Fine by me.” She put her hands in the air in an ‘I surrender’ gesture. “She’s been successful in stopping the past twenty blood-moon wars, so no reason to think she won’t this time around.”

“Blood-moon wars?” Illias’ facial features contorted. “If the moon bleeds, will its blood drip onto all of us? I probably shouldn’t be wearing white clothing when that happens.”

“What will you tell the Spartan king when you come back empty handed?” I asked.

“My lies are none of your concern.” She rose from her chair. “Shall we get going then?”

“You picked up a trail?”

“Never lost it.” She grinned. “You should probably confiscate that from your friend until he sobers up.”

I turned around to see Illias playing with the bow string of his light-bow. Atemu, upon realizing, tore the weapon from his hands and slung it over her own shoulder, then removed the quiver as well and strapped it to her back.

“Excellent.” Cymone made her way to the stables. “Let’s get moving.”