Chapter 6: The City of Hunters and Sorcerers

The forest began to thin after I'd been walking northeast for about half a day. The sky lightened, and the view opened up.

I checked my notes and compass periodically, making sure I was heading in the right direction.

Footsteps sounded behind me, gradually drawing closer.

I didn't stop, didn't speed up, but my hand moved to the hilt of my knife. Using a large tree on my right as cover, I changed direction, and as I angled past it, I cast what looked like a casual glance backward.

There was someone in the tree shadows.

From his appearance, he seemed to be human. He leaned against a tree, posture lazy, wearing that kind of deliberate, forced casualness. He stood more than a head taller than me, broad-shouldered, with the kind of muscle in his arms that only hunters have—the kind built from long-term brute force. A leather coat, worn and weathered, showed several patched repairs. Dark hair, poorly maintained, fell just to his collar, the front strands blown askew by the forest wind. His face—I had to admit—was rather well-formed, but his expression annoyed me: half-smiling, carrying a sort of "I know a bit more than you, you know?" arrogance.

Several items hung from his waist: a hunting knife, trap clasps, and a small leather pouch I couldn't identify.

"Stop pretending," I said, staring at him. "You've been following me for quite a while."

"Hey, I thought I was being quiet enough," he said, stepping forward, gripping the branches behind him with both hands, his body leaning lazily toward me. "By the way, that deal you struck with the Fae went well. Most of the time they just run when they see humans."

"You were eavesdropping the whole time."

"Eavesdropping is such an ugly word," he said. "I prefer to say I was observing from a reasonable distance and gathering information."

"That's something else entirely," I said. "Who are you?"

"Cade," he offered his name with the casualness of someone reporting the weather. "Hunter, part-time guide, occasionally do other things. And you—" he gave me a once-over, "came from the direction of the palace city, hiding your identity, followed a group of Fae around looking for Feneir, and that bottle—" his gaze fell toward my inner pocket, "I wouldn't recommend drinking it. What if it's poisoned?"

I closed my inner pocket, preventing him from seeing what was inside, and continued walking forward without showing any reaction.

"Wait," he said, not following, but something in his tone had changed, shifting from lazy to genuinely observant. "What are you going to do?"

"None of your business."

"Hmm," he said, as if seriously considering the question. "So, I take it you didn't bring any guards?"

"I have my own skills."

"I believe you," he said with unexpected straightforwardness. Then without pause, he switched to a more persuasive angle. "I can guide you, reasonable rates. I've been running through this forest for three years. Three sections of the cliff path collapse during the rainy season. Plus the magical creatures are very active this season—knowing how to detour can save a lot of trouble."

"Not needed," I refused directly.

"You sure?"

"Very sure."

He didn't respond, but the footsteps behind me followed anyway, maintaining a steady distance—not too close, not too far, not like he was following me, but clearly not walking his own path either.

I stopped and turned around.

"What are you doing? I said I don't need it."

"I'm also heading in that direction," he spread his hands, smile innocent in a way that made me especially suspicious. "We just happen to be going the same way, pure coincidence."

I looked at him for a while, assessing his threat level. His hands weren't near any weapons, his stance habitually relaxed. He wasn't a soldier—he lacked that fixed tension. But his posture looked very professional.

Unknown background, highly suspicious.

But he knew this forest. And during the time the Fae were there, he hadn't come out to interfere.

"You walk in front," I finally conceded somewhat. "I'll follow you. You can't look in my bag, don't ask where I'm from, don't ask what I'm doing—just lead the way."

"Absolutely," he turned and walked forward, his footsteps lighter than I expected. "We'll discuss payment later."

"You said 'reasonable rates,'" I said.

"'Reasonable' is a negotiable concept," he said without looking back, that breezy attitude unchanged. "There's a pit on the right, don't step in it."

I moved right, avoiding the pit that did indeed exist, and continued following him forward.

The cliff appeared before noon.

The stones on the ground began to multiply, the trees reached their end, and the view suddenly opened up. I shaded my eyes with my palm, squinting toward the distance.

The precipice was gray-white, threaded with orange mineral veins, smoothed by wind that never stopped blowing. The city pressed against the top of the rock face, as if it had grown from the cliff itself. Three platforms at different heights, buildings extending horizontally along the cliff face, connected by suspension bridges and corridors embedded into the rock. Some houses were half-embedded in the precipice, windows opening directly in the stone, looking at first glance like the rock face had opened its own eyes. The vertical drop stacked the entire city into several layers—standing on one level and looking up, you saw archways, galleries, and balconies suspended in air; looking down, one stretch of rooftops pressed upon another. The wind carried a dry, sandy scent, a completely different world from the forest's dampness.

"First time?" Cade stood beside me—I didn't know when he'd stopped—also looking up, though his eyes showed none of the amazement I'd displayed.

"Yes," I didn't deny it. My reaction had already been observed by him.

"The stairs here total four hundred and twenty-two steps," he said. "The last section is steepest—supposedly three out of ten first-timers stop there to catch their breath."

"I won't," I said.

"I thought the same thing back then," he stepped upward. "I stopped for about forty seconds."

I followed, not responding.

The stairs climbed upward, the city's outline drawing closer, those buildings embedded in the cliff face becoming clearer and increasingly difficult to believe. Canvas awnings stretched above several sections of stairs, their colors somewhat faded by the sun.

The wind was strong at the heights, blowing hair across my face. I pressed down my hood with one hand and saw that archway—carved into the rock, the arch inscribed with a single phrase written in several languages I recognized:

The unseen shapes the world.

The stronghold of sorcerers—Elarin—I had arrived.