Hairan Plateau
The journey proved remarkably smooth. No monsters ambushed us, and no bandits appeared along the way.
The passengers aboard the carriage changed constantly. Some disembarked midway to take other roads, while others climbed aboard as we traveled.
With all that meeting and parting, I soon found myself struggling to keep track of anyone’s name.
We crossed snow-covered plains and rattled down frozen forest paths. The horses pulling the carriage never seemed to tire, and their pace remained steady through the long days.
A week passed, then two. Time slipped by quickly.
The scenery began to change. The snow that had blanketed the world slowly vanished, giving way to fields washed in the colors of sunset.
We must have reached a warmer climate.
I leaned out of the carriage and stared at the landscape in a daze. The breeze that brushed my face was wonderfully mild, carrying the scent of damp earth.
“Wow…”
The soft exclamation left my lips without thought. As the sun sank behind the mountains and painted the sky in evening gold, the vast plain glittered like a sea of light.
That rippling gold vanished almost as soon as it appeared. The world that had shimmered with sunset began to drown in darkness.
In place of the brilliant sun came a gentle moon, and around it tiny stars winked into existence, asserting their presence.
It felt as though we had drawn closer to the sky itself.
The carriage finally halted late that evening. We prepared to camp right in the middle of the open plain.
With the cold gone, there was no longer any need to bundle up tightly. I stuffed the hood I had been wearing into my bag.
Crack— crack—!
Everyone gathered around the crackling campfire and began their evening meal. On a long journey the food one could carry was limited; most of the passengers simply chewed dried bread or jerky.
I was letting the soft wind carry the hours away when two men suddenly rose from their places and walked a short distance from the camp.
Every eye turned toward the unexpected movement. I watched them as well.
The two men facing each other were adventurers, and each leveled a sword at the other.
The bright firelight stretched their shadows long across the ground.
There was no signal. They simply began swinging their blades.
Their movements were light, fluid, and deliberately slow. It seemed they had been talking and decided on the spot to test each other’s skill.
Long, cool steel flashed under the moonlight as the blades met with soft, ringing clinks. Both men kept their arms relaxed, so the sound of metal on metal drifted quietly through the night.
The spar did not last long. The man on the right claimed victory. The one on the left, breathing hard, let out a long sigh and returned to his seat.
Adventurers were creatures of impulse. Watching the bout had apparently heated their blood, for others soon rose and began testing their own skills against one another.
Sharp metallic notes rang out across the moonlit plain. They showed no hesitation in matching blades, and victory or defeat was treated lightly. Partners changed constantly as weapons flashed.
I hugged my sword and watched them from the corner of my eye. I was a swordsman myself, after all, and I wanted to try my hand. Yet no one approached me.
I was about to sigh and stretch out on the ground when a fierce gaze prickled the back of my neck.
At the same moment the wind reversed, whipping my hair the opposite way. The new breeze carried the musky stench of beasts.
Rustle-rustle-rustle—!
Countless shadows burst from the waving grass. They moved on two legs, bodies crouched low, snouts jutting forward—creatures that looked like a grotesque mix of goblin and rat. Crude spears and rusted blades glinted in their hands; they clearly knew how to use tools.
Kieeek!
“Kobolds!”
The cry tore from one of the adventurers like a scream.
Fortunately the sparring had already put weapons in their hands, so they reacted at once. Shouts and the bright clash of steel erupted on every side, and the coppery scent of blood rode the wind.
I drew my own sword and charged the kobolds just as the others did. The rusted blades and long spear shafts were annoying, but the creatures were far from unbeatable.
I slipped past a thrusting spear, closed the distance, and swung.
Slash—!
My blade carved a moonlit arc and opened the kobold’s chest wide. It toppled, spraying blood.
Kieeek!
Kik! Kieeek!
The kobolds fought with surprising coordination. Those armed with weapons pinned the resisting adventurers in place while the rest rushed the ordinary travelers and the carriage.
I was about to sprint after them when a tremendous roar split the air and a massive battleaxe swept through the kobolds closing on the wagon.
“GRAAAAH!”
It was Agul, the half-orc. He whirled the enormous axe like a windmill. Length, raw power, and centrifugal force combined into a storm that shredded everything in its path.
I snapped my attention back to the kobolds in front of me. Perhaps they had underestimated me because I was closer to their size; far more of them swarmed me than any other adventurer.
I stepped forward, sword flashing. The tip took one kobold’s throat—then another lunged into the opening. I ignored the attack and cut at a third.
Slash—!
Their flimsy weapons could not pierce the ogre-leather armor I wore. The rusted blade that stabbed at my side simply stopped. Panic flickered across the kobold’s face. I brought my sword down and crushed its skull.
Thud—!
As their comrades fell in rapid succession, the remaining kobolds spun and fled. They flung their weapons aside, dropped to all fours, and raced away. It was not only the ones fighting me—every kobold that had encircled the carriage bolted at once. In moments they vanished into the tall grass.
“Hah… hah…”
I dragged in ragged breaths. The fight had been so short I never even needed magic. No one had been killed; at worst a few small pouches of food had gone missing.
Despite the kobold raid the night before, the carriage set off again the next morning as if nothing had happened.
I sat on the rear edge, swinging my legs. The carriage’s gentle jolt and the fresh wind sent my golden hair streaming behind me.
Three more days of travel brought us at last to our destination—the Hairan Plateau.
The carriage rattled over the uneven road into the city and finally stopped at the post station.
“We’re here!”
The moment the wheels stilled, the adventurers exchanged casual farewells and scattered in every direction. After so many meetings and partings I had grown used to their ways.
“Hmm…”
It seemed the plateau took its name from the city itself. The city was called Hairan.
I walked the streets and opened my adventurer’s guidebook. Inside was a brief description of the place.
Hairan Plateau
Land of the Thunder Bird legend.
Close to the sky and ranked among the most beautiful sightseeing destinations in the world.
Horses born on this plateau are called Hairan steeds—stronger and swifter than those of any other region, yet so fierce they reject the touch of man.
With luck, one may be chosen by such a horse and gain a lifelong companion. For that reason many knights and adventurers make the journey here.
A horse, huh…
I pictured myself astride a great mount. With a horse that moved for me alone, I could go anywhere I wished.
Still, finding a horse could wait. First I wanted an inn and a chance to rest my travel-worn body.
I walked quickly, chose a decent inn, and took a room. The moment I stretched out on the bed, exhaustion claimed me and I fell straight into sleep.
The next morning, after breakfast at the inn, I headed for the horse market. As the guidebook had promised, the region’s fame for horses meant the market was enormous.
“Oh…”
Vast stables and the knights pacing before them made an impressive sight. I slipped through the crowds, admiring the great animals.
“Is this horse’s bloodline certain?”
“Absolutely.”
“Hmm…”
At the first stable I approached, a merchant and a knight were deep in conversation. From the talk it was clear the knight intended to buy. He held a yellowed sheet of paper and muttered under his breath.
I craned my neck for a look. Across the top was written Pedigree Certificate.
“You’re certain it’s third-generation?”
“Look at this mane. That stiff hair is proof it’s a descendant of Hairan stock.”
The knight only shook his head and walked away. Clearly the merchant’s horse had not pleased him.
Left alone, the merchant scowled after the departing figure.
“Excuse me.”
“Hm?”
“What does third-generation mean?”
“What, you here with your parents?”
“No. I’m alone.”
The merchant sighed at my answer and dropped onto a nearby wooden chair.
“First time here?”
“Yes.”
“You at least know what a Hairan horse is?”
“The horses of this region, right?”
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and launched into a rambling explanation. Business must have been slow; he seemed glad of the company.
According to him, pureblood Hairan horses were far too vicious for any human to tame. So the market’s main trade was breeding them with gentler stock and selling the calmer offspring.
“Where can I see a pureblood Hairan?”
“Not here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’d have to go all the way to the Thunder Bird Mountains for that.”
Just then a new customer approached. The merchant flicked his cigarette to the ground and rose with a bright smile to greet the fresh prospect.