The distance from the Oltrian plains where they were to Evadia would take a caravan around three months to cover. With his mahee wrapped around his three companions, it took them ten days.

Instead of sliding to a stop as he usually did when he ran alone, he slowed down over time, turning his run into a jog and then a walk, and then releasing his companions from his mahee. Right in front of them was an old stone tower, one that had been used as a lookout point long ago and only served as a marker for lost travellers in the last few centuries. It pointed them in the direction of the main trading route that led to Evadia.

Before they even saw the dirt road, they saw the tall white walls of the castle of Evadia. They were still faint and distant on the horizon, but D’Argen knew they could make it before evening as long as he opened his mahee for a few more steps once they were closer. He only needed to rest a moment before he did so.

The small party crossed the grassy fields until they saw the dirt road, which was much busier than the last time D’Argen had walked it. There were groups of mortals of all sizes with carts and horses and mules, and even a jewelled caravan further ahead that clearly carried some sort of royalty. All of them were walking to Evadia and D’Argen had a horrible suspicion of why but decided against interrogating his friends.

A small group of mortals noticed them before they even stepped on the path and they visibly stumbled, bowed their heads, then slowed their steps and eventually stopped. D’Argen heard them whispering but did not bother to use Yaling’s spells to figure out what they were saying. The group in front of them was close enough to hear even though they had yet to notice them. Although the mortals’ sounds were not as easy to consume as those guided by the scents of the mahee, D’Argen could still replenish himself somewhat for another short burst of running.

“So, apparently, what everybody’s saying about the gods is true.”

The group had barely half a dozen mortals, all dressed in heavy wool that seemed impractical for the summer heat and they had a single mule pulling at a wooden cart. Two kids peeked out from the curtains at the back of it and looked at D’Argen and his companions with wide eyes.

“What’s everybody saying?”

“That they’re not really gods. That they’re only hoarding the magic for themselves. That we’ve been worshipping false idols.”

D’Argen wiggled his fingers at the kids. Both of them showed him wide, tooth-gapped smiles while waving back at him.

“Yet the sun rises every day and falls every night. Also, you’re still going to this thing.”

“Shut up. It’s good money. Also… it’s only a little magic. They’re not that special.”

D’Argen smirked and nudged at Lilian beside him. When they looked at him, he motioned with a chin to the small group ahead of them.

“It’s not only a little magic. The sun rises—”

“That’s not their doing. In fact, listen here. I heard a story about something else that has magic.”

D’Argen felt his smile drop and Lilian tensed beside him. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder at Yaling and the woman nodded subtly, releasing a faint scent of citrus as she used her mahee to listen in more closely on the two men talking in case D’Argen missed something.

“Do you remember that merchant that passed by last winter? The one that was telling stories to the kids and doing some weird light tricks with his hands? My son told me the other day about this story he had about some animal that nobody’s seen because it moves too fast, like that one god they have, but—"

“If nobody’s seen it—”

“—they’ve heard it! Anyway, it’s near some mountain, my kid didn’t catch the name, but everybody knows it’s there. It cries during the day and stomps around at night. In the months before winter, it howls in the night, circling the entire crown of the mountain. In the hottest summer months, it comes down to the foothills with the fog, taking caravans and eating the people.”

“You think merchant stories are true? Especially ones told to the kids? That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah? So is praying to some guy who drinks himself to a stupor every night and then you thank him for the sun rising, but you don’t hear me ridiculing your beliefs.”

D’Argen visibly flinched and threw another glance over his shoulder. Abbot was packing his pipe, clearly ignoring the conversation.