The mounted warrior circled the city to approach the Eastern Gate, which was still closed. He slept for a few hours amongst some brush as he waited. An hour before dawn, the guards opened the gate to grant entry to the numerous merchants, farmers and traders who were lined up outside the gate with their carts and wagons. The warrior steered Pride between two of the larger wagons and huddled beneath a worn brown cloak. The guards were tired and paid little attention as they passed around steaming cups of coffee. Rezkin was already a bit feverish, and he knew he would have to appear whole and hale when he implemented his plan later that day. He needed a healer.

Winding his way through the streets was not difficult atop the massive battle charger. People naturally shied away from such a beast and cleared the path. Moving through the city without drawing attention was impossible. He stayed to the smaller side streets as much as possible. When he was within two blocks of his destination, Rezkin dismounted and left Pride in a vacant alley. The horse stood patiently, not moving from his spot as Rezkin turned the corner and limped the short distance. Despite his best efforts to conceal his injuries, the ever-so slight limp was unavoidable. The average person might not notice, but to anyone with a trained eye, he was obviously lame.

Using his one good arm and leg, Rezkin leveraged himself up onto a short wall. From there, he gritted his teeth as he used much of his remaining strength to pull himself onto a second floor balcony. The young warrior studied the balcony above him. Normally, he would have no problem accessing the simple structure, but his fever had worsened, and he was nearly at a loss for energy. The icy cold Tremadel had done its best to claim his life, sucking him under and choking him over and again. In the end, he had prevailed, but he had not yet shaken the river’s grip.

Rezkin let himself into the apartment before him and quickly made his way to the front door. He could hear a man and a woman arguing in the adjacent room. The woman wanted to know where her husband had been all night, and the man insisted he had simply passed out at the tavern and slept in the common room … alone.

Once out of the apartment, Rezkin dragged himself to the next floor. It was absurd that scaling one flight of stairs could be so demanding. He had endured far worse injuries in the past, but he conceded to himself that he had not previously spent an hour drowning and fighting an impassable monster river afterward. Rezkin allowed himself into the third floor apartment above, which to his surprise was not warded.