Discipline was always a foreign concept to Altan. Having a father in a position of power like his own had certain benefits, and the diamond encrusted ring Altan wore reminded everyone of it. That, combined with his night owl tendencies, sore muscles from a stiff mattress, and a sour reminder of getting pulled away from the hot chick in the tavern left Altan in a particularly grumpy mood. When Griffin said they'd be leaving at first light, Altan hadn't exactly pictured so early into the hours of dawn that the stars still outshone the sun. Since his phone was more than likely a pile of ash sitting in the rubble of Griffins cabin, Altan had no way to tell the time, but he didn't need a watch to know it was way too early for any sort of effort.
      As the forest fell away behind them, it was replaced by long, thin strands of grass, brushing thigh-high. He was vaguely aware of Griffin rambling. He was holding out a crinkled map, talking and pointing endlessly. Altan let out an unabashed yawn, lazily plucking at the crumbs of sleep in his eyes.
       "...if things take an unfortunate turn we can-" his eyes shifted to Altan and he frowned, "are you even listening to me?"
       "Yeah, no." He replied bluntly, yawning again.
       Griffin jabbed a finger at the map, "This is important, Altan, the next town we will be traversing is swarming with the Black Guard and-"
        "See the funny thing is," Altan cut in, stopping and tilting his head, a smile that was not at all friendly playing on his lips, "I really don't care."
         "Well you should."
          "Oh yea? And why's that?" Altan challenged, stepping into Griffins space.
           Griffin glowered at him, sparks of lightning dancing at his fingertips. "Because, there is a chance I can rid this kingdom of Centurion and send you home much earlier than anticipated if we play our cards right."
          He paused. "Go on..."
"Centurion and Lilith- the Queen-are delivering a speech. In person. Crags Fort is one of the largest and most heavily fortified settlements in all of Arcrose. It has been resisting Centurions reign relentlessly for years, but word has it that is has finally fallen. Centurion is a power hungry tyrant, and he will be displaying that power publicly three days from today at the Suns peak. Convenient, because it will take us two days to get there on foot."
"So that means..." the gears churned in his head, "we can kill him then. And I can go home." He cringed. For some reason the word 'home' tasted sour on his tongue.
Griffins eyes lit up with cautious excitement,
"Indeed. But Centurion certainly did not survive this long by being careless. He is not very competent with magic, but his wife is one of the most renown magic users in all of Arcrose. That does not mean you should assume he is not formidable, and I can guarantee his equipment will have magic dispelling enchantments. Furthermore, he will be surrounded by of his elite soldiers-the Black Guard. So that is why I was saying," he shot Altan a look, "if everything goes hideously and we have to flee the city we will have to take the unconventional route but at least we will not be overrun by hundreds of guards.
"If you have not noticed the massive mountain range, it is named the Splinterback Ridge. There is only really a single efficient way to reach the city from the other side. Unless you desire to travel a moon through the marshes to the East, the simplest way and the way everyone prefers is by sea, curving around the Western edge of the mountains. However, there is a second, abandoned route," he pointed at an unmarked dent in the Splinterback Ridge on the map, South-East of Crags Fort, "through the mountains."
"Why is it abandoned?"
Griffins eyes darkened as he gazed off into the distance, "I am hoping you will never have to find out."

* * *

As they stalked through the rolling plains at a brisk pace, Altan noticed that Griffin gave them a wide berth from the gravel and dirt path snaking through the dying grass. It was clearly well travelled, and occasionally they spotted travellers and merchants trodding down the road. Even from a distance he could see their slouched, exhausted, and defeated postures. Some were injured, limping, and at one point he watched a scrawny man collapse in a bed of ferns. He didn't get back up.
      At one point violent shouting rose in the distance, and Griffin yanked Altan down by the arm so that they lay flat on the cool earth. He whispered 'Pratexo' and the tall grass around them suddenly shifted to cover their bodies, forming a sort of camouflaged cocoon. Through the weaving blades Altan could just barely make out a distant figure, a woman it looked like, running and stumbling and crying loudly. Behind her a lithe man clad in full black armor sprinted after her. What looked to be storm clouds whirled around his figure, wind lashing the grass around him. Thunder rumbled ominously and the woman tripped, landing ungracefully with a scream, scrambling, sobbing, pleading. The man reached her and Altan turned away, gut flipping as a crack of lightning split the air, and the screams abruptly stopped. He felt sick.
      They laid low until Griffin deemed it safe to go, and the rest of the day was bland in comparison to the whirling thoughts circling in Altans mind, which eventually knotted into an uncomfortable ball in his stomach. As they walked they snacked on dried fruits and berries, staling bread, and jerky made from an unidentifiable meat. Eventually, the sun began to dip low in the sky, giving way to the crawling darkness. Griffin led them into a small grove of odd redish trees, announcing this is where they'd be camping for the night. As Altan reluctantly helped by attempting to construct a makeshift shelter, Griffin piled some dried branches and logs into a pile, setting the wood ablaze with a flick of his wrist. Altan cursed in frustration as the teepee he was trying to build fell for the third time. He grumbled, turning to enlist Griffins help.
       "Dude, I don't know what I'm doing. Can't you use like magic... or..." Altans words fell away as Griffin was nowhere to be found.
      A silvery glint in the firelight drew his attention and he warily stepped forward, his eyes falling on a longsword, tip buried in the dirt. Brows furrowing he pulled the blade from the dirt, hands clasping around the cool wooden hilt. It was a lot heavier and decidedly more awkward and unbalanced feeling in his hands than Griffins sword, which felt agile and nearly alive in his grasp.
      "On your right!"
     Altan spun, his body acting with a mind of its own as his instincts swung his arms up, just barely deflecting the jarring blade of Griffins sword as it came whistling down at his head. The swing carried a surprising amount of force behind it and the impact rattled Altans arms, causing him to nearly loose his grip on the sword. Griffin planted his feet, maneuvering the sword to slash at his side faster than Altan could blink. The edge slammed into his side, but before the edge could cut him in half a shimmery blue film appeared, blunting it. The hit still knocked the breath from his lungs though as it impacted his liver, and Altan staggered back, gasping in pain. Groaning though the heat, he stabbed cluelessly forward with his sword. Griffin shifted, slid his blade under Altan's, twisted, and suddenly his sword was spinning through the air and landing several feet away. Altan froze as the tip of Griffins sword froze in place just inches from his jugular.
      Griffin huffed, making no effort to conceal the smugness in his voice, "We will work on that."