2412, Iclis 14, Reshpe

The wheels rumbled along the length of the Magic Road. Malin frowned underneath the wide-brimmed hat sitting atop his head. They didn't really need to go back this far, but if they were to sell the idea, they had to. But putting Malin in clothes leagues bigger than him and gluing bricks at the end of his boots to make him taller—and by extension, according to Pilqen's logic, older—was pushing it. He looked nothing like an adult, yet he's still the one sitting in front of the cart, holding the reins to a pair of dagrinis as if he knew what he was doing.

A small voice coming from the shutter behind his head whispered. "You are doing great, Mal," Ela said, amusement laced around her tone. His friends were probably laughing their cheeks off inside the cart, maybe even going as far as recruiting the rest of Ela's unit in their fun. That's just great. He shouldn't have proposed this plan, in the grand scheme of his dignity. "If you want to switch, Pilqen's available."

"Hey!" Pilqen's voice replaced Ela's gentle tone. His voice streaked past the shutter and bled out as a muffled string of words past the cart's wooden walls. Rathas hissed in urgency. Something rumbled and thudded inside the cart. That seemed like a crate knocked over.

Malin blew a breath. If they weren't caught on their way to the Temple, it's either they're really good at sneaking into places they shouldn't be or the Civil Guards were dumber than Malin thought them to be from the start. Success didn't fall on him. It depended on how long his friends could keep their mouths shut inside the cart.

He gave the reins a quick flick, urging the dagrinis to quicken their pace a bit. The faster this thing was done, the better. He has had enough of the chaos and uncertainty of this whole endeavor. The sunlight streaming from the edges of the forest's canopies poked his eyeballs at random intervals. He was glad for the brimmed hat. At least Rathas had the best sense among them and pilfered one from a noble's closet.

The past few days, while Ela and some children from her unit moved to locate the other people the Temple took in, Malin, Pilqen, and Rathas went out to procure everything they needed for their first and last attempt at fooling the Civil Guards in order to get back to the High Priestess. Malin had no problem procuring a cart; he just went to the trader's square and won it through a bet on a game of karavag. At that moment, he was grateful for all the afternoons his father forced Malin to play with him. Malin never realized it'd be useful later on in life.

Pilqen's story on how he got the dagrinis was wilder. It involved grappling with a graspel and saving the herd from one in the forest but the boy's probably exaggerating. He wouldn't put it past Pilqen, but there might have been a graspel and Malin wouldn't be able to handle disbelieving his friend over his biases.

Nevertheless, Malin had to commend Pilqen about how docile and agreeable the animals he got. Otherwise, Malin wouldn't have been able to pass off as a legitimate cart driver, having only read tomes about the practice once. There was a huge difference between knowing how to do it and doing it for real.

Rathas, along with the remaining people in Ela's unit, were in charge of procuring the supplies they'd get the Temple, as well as a few extra empty kegs and crates. Upon learning what Malin planned on doing with those empty containers, Rathas probably wished he didn't follow his order as eagerly as he did.

The Magic Road curved to the right, coming closer to the line of refugees from the Commons and Disfavoreds. Malin pursed his lips. If nothing stopped Synketros from pillaging the two regions, what's the reason they're holding back on taking over the Nobility region? Was the Temple such a strategic place to establish control so as to stage an entire siege against it? How far exactly was the High Priestess' influence reached for them to feel threatened by it?

Past the last edge of the undergrowth that dared sneak past the forest and into the wide trade route bled the line of people and the wooden planks barricading entry to the Nobility Region. As if there wasn't any way through the forest that wasn't protected. But they needed that permit of passage, and they couldn't get it if they didn't tackle the Magic Road first.

If they were to saunter past the watchful eyes of the Civil Guards milling around the Temple, they would need to have a legitimate permit to operate. It would lessen the risk of getting caught in the middle of the operation.

The last person in the queue of refugees zipped past their cart. Malin steered the dagrinis towards the other line, one reserved for merchants like him. Leaning to the side, he counted at least six carts falling in line at the inspection area before it's their turn. Nevertheless, he should get back at his friends for putting him and the merchant role together.

He rapped a knuckle against the wall behind him. "Get ready," he said. "We are going to be next."

Mad scrambling ensued. Pilqen cursed under his breath. Rathas lost his sandals more than once in squeezing into the small keg Malin allotted for him. The tarps to be thrown over the crates to further hide their fake wares rustled. Malin hid his wince from chance onlookers with the brim of his hat. He might have been too cruel. Being under those tarps couldn't have been comfortable.

Well, what's done was done. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to be prepared.

He leaned back on his seat, frowning at the stiffness climbing from his shins to his back. Later, even his shoulders were rigid. He needed a hot bath to get rid of all these rickets. That was, if they lived long enough to even reach the Temple.

As if the universe was proving him right, their turn came sooner than expected. The moment the Civil Guards' blue coat inched into his periphery, he made a show of fumbling for the reins and yanking them back. The dagrinis gave a soft whine but dug their hooves on the ground, sending the cart skittering to a stop.

Malin swallowed against the lump forming in his throat, straining his ears for any mumbling from the inside of the cart. So far, everything's fine. "Sorry about that, folks," he lowered his voice to the next register just for the sake of it. He doubted he's doing a good job at that. "Was new to the job. Inherited it from my father, you see."

If what he said was true to every bit, he would have been a seamster in the Commons and not a merchant. If he was to inherit his father's job, maybe his life would be a bit cooler than sneaking into borders and fooling Civil Guards. Because as much as his father tried to hide it, Malin had always assumed he hadn't always been a seamster, nor was he originally from the Commons. He had seen his father's eyes and compared it to the lifeless circles the people in their neighborhood sported. Something else shone behind his father's gentle green eyes.

Secrets.

"Show us what is inside," the Civil Guard to Malin's right said. "Go on."

Malin could have blinked in shock. None of the other merchants were forced to stand up, walk to the back of their carts, and open it. The Civil Guard to the left added, "Your father uses the latest model of locks," he said. "We do not want to be liable if it breaks on the journey. Better be safe and have the owner handle it instead."

"Oh, no worries, officers," Malin made a show of waving a hand in the air the same way he had seen adults in the Commons did. "I will open it without any problem."

Which he shouldn't have said. Because he had shoved himself into an impossible situation of walking with bricks taped beneath his boots. Dear Emeria—give him strength. So, with shaking hands and a pained smile thrown the Civil Guards' way, he edged out of his seat and swung his legs to the ground. Slowly, he planted his weight on his legs. Like a newborn dagrine foal, he wiggled for the first few attempts at standing up.

"Sorry about that," he tipped his hat to the Civil Guards to hide the wince twisting his features. He's going to dunk Pilqen's head into a pool of shadows after this. "Was not used to all this riding. Takes me a while to get my legs back."

He took a step and would have fallen to his face had his hands gripped the cart's metal gildings. It looked like he scored a treasure in that bet, and he had been a fool to not see it until now. That's why the Civil Guards were eager to make him work on it. They despised seeing wealth if it didn't belong to them.

Nails digging against the walls of the cart, he stumbled his way towards the back and glanced at the lock. It was the simplest mechanism out there, but by all means, he'd open it. He twisted the appropriate rungs and within seconds, the mechanisms loosened. He turned back to the Civil Guards with a smile, noting how easily he stood at eye-level with them. Those bricks did their job, for sure.

The inside of the cart was nothing out of the ordinary. Just crates filled with produce, kegs brimming with grains and other supplies. "What is underneath the cloth?" the Civil Guard who once had been in Malin's left asked.

Malin cleared his throat before his childish squeak made it out of his voice. "Special things for a special client," he replied, knowing full well there were people underneath it. "He requested that no one would see them until he did. I know—bonkers, right?"

The Civil Guards exchanged glances, seemingly coming to terms with their decision. "Come out to the front," the one who was to Malin's right jerked his chin towards the dagrinis waiting to be driven forward. "We will write you a permit after you pay the border fee."

"How much?" Malin asked, careful in swallowing the shakiness in his tone. Balancing while talking has never been this hard.

"A mid-sized kalta dryde," Right said, extending his greedy and beefy hand towards Malin. "You got a nice cart and a special client. Surely you can spare us one."

Malin heaved a sigh. Of course. They're trying to extort him now. Deception upon deception, then. That's the game Malin would be playing. He reached for a smallest nosa dryde in the versallis bag tied at his waist and let his magic spark to life. When he gave the versal to the Civil Guards, they saw the golden sheen shimmering on the surface and slapped a permit on the side of the cart.

"You may pass," the Civil Guards made a show of ducking their heads at him and stepping out of the way. "Enjoy your stay in the Nobility region."

Malin flicked the reins and the dagrinis lurched forward, bringing the cart and his friends closer to the Temple. It wasn't until they were fortweres deep into the roads of the Nobility region did the Civil Guards realized they were duped and were now seeking retribution. Malin snapped the reins harder, urging the animals to run.

And run, they did. Towards the point of no return.