Before entering she said, “Hello?” just in case there was another of his younger enjoyments still sleeping expecting him to return. When she heard nothing, she listened more closely for signs of breathing. Again, she heard nothing. She slowly opened the tent flap and entered. As she expected, he had a simple tent with nothing inside except some of his things loosely resting in the corner. She removed only a minimal amount of her gear, preferring to sleep in her leather armor, with her weapons close. As she laid down on her back, she was drawn to something she had missed before. She turned her head to the right and saw a small, piece of parchment resting upright, supported by the side of the tent. As her eyes focused in the darkness, she saw the faint outlines of a woman and young girl. Indeed, Jaro was a man of deep pain, a pain he carried around with him everywhere he went. Perhaps they were more alike that she had previously thought.
She rose early, donned the small amount of gear she had removed the night before, and exited the tent on a mission to find Dregor. But before she did, she wanted to see how Jaro’s night had faired. No doubt his sleep would have been restless due to the several injuries he had suffered. She was sure his ribs were cracked, his knee was most likely strained, as was his ankle. He was a tough individual, both physically and emotionally, but even he had his limits. And they would no doubt be tested as early as this morning. Finding Dregor’s tent, she quietly called his name. When she did not hear any acknowledgement beyond a deep snoring, she popped her head in between the tent flaps and saw him sprawled out breathing deeply and restfully. She watched him for a few moments before she left the tent. His easy and deep breathing was starkly contrasted to the turmoil he carried inside, a turmoil she was all too familiar with herself. Yes, he was a thief. However, had the traveling circus not found her, or had they rejected her, would she not have turned to a similar path, or worse? She understood that his idea of humanity had been fundamentally altered the night his wife and daughter had been murdered. Hers was similarly altered. But whereas his alteration produced a life of thievery, hers produced a life of military devotion. She did not rouse him, preferring to let him sleep and recover whatever strength he was capable of. Instead, she quietly backed away and continued on her mission to find Dregor.
As expected, he and his wife were already up and active. “It is good to see you both up already,” she said greeting them with a warm but brief hug. “How is your daughter?”
“She is well,” answered Linsia. “I am still unconvinced that our only course of action is to head north,” she said drawing a look from Dregor. “However,” she continued, “I understand that it is not my place to decide.”
“Thank you, Linsia,” said Soliana. “Help me wake everyone and let them know we will all be assembling around the bonfire. Let them know I have an announcement to make. We have only a short amount of time so be quick.” In an attempt to keep as much warmth as they could, Soliana instructed that all of their tents be assembled very close to each other. Whether this did or did not help the overall warmth of their camp, she could not determine, but it did allow the three of them to wake nearly all of the refugees in a relatively short amount of time. So, it did not take very long to have the entire camp, still several hundred people, gathered around the remnants of last night’s bonfire.
Soliana climbed to stand atop one of the wagons, “Good people! My good people! Thus far you have followed me unquestioningly. We have traveled far to outdistance our would-be captives, yet we still need to press farther into our journey. What was presented to us by the Lord of Tatherton as a possible refuge was nothing more than a ruse to detain us, unaware, as the forces of the Stone Keep were alerted of our presence. No doubt, if they have not dispatched a retrieval party by now, they soon will be. Yes, our presence at the border of Tatherton has been betrayed by none other than the Lord of Tatherton himself.” As she completed this part of her speech, and at the mention of the dark forces knowing of their whereabouts, may people began uttering common expressions of doom when faced with daunting possibilities. Protests were uttered against Soliana’s leadership, tears were shed, and an all-around chaotic energy began to rise. However, before their reactions reached an uncontrollable level, Jaro jumped onto the wagon, albeit painfully and not without struggle, to stand next to Soliana.
“How dare you!” he shouted above the throng. “I said how dare you!”, his voice resonating beyond the simple protests of those below. “Would you abandon your senses at the mere mention of peril, or do you have the fortitude to stand in its face and bid it welcome? Nay, I say to you that in this moment, though I know many of you, indeed, possibly all of you, I wish I did not,” his accusation against their actions cut through their protests like a guillotine dropping into the finality of ends. “Who are you to question what you could not possibly have done? Who are you to even whisper against the only person capable of leading us away and to safety? Have we not come this far? Have we not faced harsher trials behind us than we are likely to face ahead of us? We are so close to reaching freedom, a freedom that might inspire more people like us to do the same. But we will never know unless we stay together and trust in what got us here.” As he finished speaking, he looked around in challenge daring anyone to challenge him, to interrupt. No one did. Turning toward Soliana, he said, “They are yours once again.”
“Thank you, Jaro,” she softly said to him. Addressing the crowd, in a loud and clear voice, she continued, “I will not lie to you. The coming days are going to be hard. We will have to push ourselves more quickly than we have pushed before. But I believe we can make it to the mountain pass.”
“North?” shouted a voice. “You would lead us away from demons only to place us in the hands of monsters?”
“Listen to me, each of you!” she shouted above the rising tide of noise. “Listen to me! Now is not the time to allow our fears to shackle us to immobility. We must move and move now. Every moment we delay brings the doom of the dark forces closer to their quarry.”
“How much time do we have,” shouted more.
“Not much, but we do have a little. If we leave now, we can reach our destination and find safety from the dark forces. But we must leave quickly,” she said.
“How can you ask us to follow you into the Orcs lands?” shouted others out of either fear or outrage.
“Be still and listen!” shouted Soliana who was now struggling to maintain control over the throng of people.
“We will surely perish,” said a particularly fearful woman who was driven to tears with the thought of what the Orcs might do to them.
Seeing that she was quickly losing control, Jaro asserted himself again, “Who are you to challenge her decision? She has done everything for you with nothing to gain for herself and yet you grow angry because of a treachery that was not of her design. Had she not instructed me to infiltrate the city and gather more information,” he lied, “then in just three days’ time, or perhaps sooner, we would all be captured and standing at the ends of wicked swords. No doubt, we would all soon find ourselves on the executioner’s block,” for a second time, Jaro had the crowd captured into a silent self-admonishment. And although he did alter the circumstance of his infiltration, he still spoke truth. “The only option we have is to head North and cross the mountain pass and into lands that not even the dreaded dark army will choose to enter.”
“Can you guarantee our safety?” shouted a man from somewhere within the mass.
“No,” answered Soliana firmly, “but I can guarantee that you will at least live longer in freedom than you would have by staying here. Just as before, you are all free to do as you please. None are required to follow longer than their wills allow. But all are welcome to continue with us and head North beyond the mountains. We leave in an hour,” she said and stepped down off the platform. She waited for Jaro to join her.
“Thank you,” she said to the wounded thief.
“All they needed was a push and someone to show them the truth of their situation,” he replied.
“Sometimes the definition of truth is what people need to hear to allow them to see, not necessarily the correct representation of facts,” he said with a wink.
“The wisdom of a thief,” she said grinning.
“The wisdom of a man,” he said with a wink.
They parted ways to pack up their respective camp sites. As she was gathering her belongings and packing up her tent, she considered whether it had been wise to omit the potential truth to Lord Montage’s warning regarding the closure of the pass. But what was she to do? She did not believe him herself, but should not each of her people be given all the facts before asked to decide for themselves. She had always known the burden of leadership. From the earliest days with Psumayn, to the short time she spent as the leader of the Elves’ Red Guard, and now, leading a group of ragtag refugees on an impossible journey, she had always known the weight of making difficult decisions. However, never before had she been in a position to lie to those she led. Did she feel guilty? Yes. Did she feel it was a necessity for their compliance? Yes. The best path for their survival was heading north and into the lands of the Orcs. And she would do anything and everything to ensure as many people lived to see a brighter day. As she finished and walked to their designated meeting location, she was surprised to see that Jaro had not beaten her to it, which he had always done when they broke camp. She put her belongings down and walked to his campsite only to find him struggling to untie the ropes securing his tent. Before she could offer him help, she saw him noticeably wince following a particularly taxing attempt to untie the knot.
“I see you require some assistance,” she said as she joined him.
“I can manage,” he said.
“Manage what? To further injury your ribs and leg?” she said mockingly.
“Perhaps you are right? I did tie these knots without the expectation that I would be injured upon trying to untie them,” he said as he resigned to her assistance.
“I can see that,” she said. “Well, at least we know your knot tying ability is greater than your fighting ability apparently,” she said mockingly.
“That will have to wait,” interrupted an out of breath Dregor. “We have a problem,” he said, “Come, we have to hurry.”
Dregor lead them through the camp to the eastern edge of it. There, sitting atop horses, were about fifty barbarian riders, their horses armored and ready for combat with heavy metal plates on their flanks as well as covering their breasts and snouts. The barbarian warriors were wearing armor as well, but it was very light in contrast to their horses. They had elaborate designs of different colors painted on their faces and chests which remained largely bare. From their horses hung several provision sacks suggesting they were on an expedition other than one designated for warfare, although they were heavily encumbered with a wide variety of weaponry.
The central rider, a large man with blue and white stripes painted on his face and extending to his neck rode his horse forward. An even larger man to his right made an initial move to follow, but was held in place by a single word. Mimicking him, Soliana strode out to meet him instructing Dregor to hold his position. When both leaders met at the center, the barbarian spoke, “Are you the fire woman?”
“I have been called that before. How do you know that name?” she asked him in return.
In response, the barbarian leader unsheathed his weapon and held it aloft. Had Soliana been armed, she would have drawn hers as well, but when she saw the barbarian turn toward his horde of riders, and when they all burst into cheer, she eased the gathered tension in her muscles.
“What is it you want?” she asked him.
“You must come with me. We have need of you,” answered the barbarian as he turned back toward her.
“I will remain here until you tell me what you want,” she said defiantly.
The leader looked behind her to her camp and then back to her, “I think you will come. Either you come, or we will attack.”
What choice was this that she could say no to? She was endeavored to do whatever it took to ensure her people survive, even if it meant riding off to an unknown destination with a mob of barbarian warriors. Clearly, they needed her and, clearly, they meant her people no harm, that is, as long as she did as they requested. Many times had she been in battle and many times had she seen the look of a man’s eyes when he was bent upon violence. Across from her now was a man wearing that same look. She had no doubt they would attack if she did not go with them. Understanding that it would be a total slaughter, she did the only thing she could do in that moment. She climbed onto the back of the leader’s horse and prepared to ride away. She knew Dregor would protest. When he started shouting and running after her, she turned and held him still with a small shaking of her head. The barbarians wasted no time swinging their horses around and riding hard to the east.
No one spoke as they rode. The sun was high enough now that it was beginning to warm the county side. Soliana wondered how the barbarians knew of her and what they needed from her, but decided not to press her questions until they reached their destination. They rode for most of the morning until they reached the top of a particularly tall hill. At its base, she saw the barbarian village. It was larger than what she had previously thought a barbarian village would be, but then again, she did not have much experience with the barbarians of the northern realms. Those located in the south were more nomadic in nature. Because water supplies depended on the previous season’s rains, which were sporadic at best, the southern barbarians had adapted to a mobile lifestyle having no permanent structures built because their supplies needed to be light for travel purposes.
Here in the north, however, things were different. She saw that their huts were not made from portable materials. They appeared to have thick and heavy walls with equally permanent roofs made from a sort of thin shingling. She noticed that some of the huts even had hinged doors, but the means used to fashion them evaded her notice. As they approached, she saw many children playing around the huts. They were playing a game with a moderately sized ball they were attempting to advance with only their feet. She gathered the use of the hands was not allowed because when a small child, obviously disgruntled at his lack of ability, used them to pick the ball up and run with it, he was almost instantly tackled by two of the other small boys. They ripped the ball from his hands and pushed him down, more so to assert their dominance than to cause injury. She saw the younger boy stand up and charge toward them. Before the outcome unraveled, the horse she was on turned its direction leading her to the center of the village. When they came upon a large, circular building, the horses all stopped and the barbarian she was riding with dismounted. She did the same.
“What now?” she asked him.
“Now we go inside,” he said as he opened the door for her.
When she entered the circular building, it took her a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. The windows were covered by a thick canvas that blocked out almost all of the natural light. Had there not been a faint glow from the smoldering remnants still glowing in the large firepit dominating the interior, she might not have seen the several barbarians sitting around the pit. Betrayed by their greying hair, or lack thereof, she judged them to be the elders of the tribe. They were all similarly marked as with the other barbarian warriors with paint on their faces and chests; however, each older barbarian bore different designs than the others. She noticed that the one elder barbarian sitting directly opposite the building entrance wore designs similar to the one with whom she rode. She was escorted to stand in front of the central barbarian elder. When she was in her designated spot, the similarly marked barbarian took a place standing directly behind the elder one.
“Who are you?” asked the elder barbarian through a thick accent.
“I am Soliana. Leader of the Refugees from the Stone Keep,” she replied firmly.
“We heard of its taking,” he said, “But that d
oes not answer my question. Who are you?”
Soliana had, on two other times in her life, been confronted by that question. The first time was during her interview with the traveling circus. True, she was not directly asked who she was, but she was asked her name. In that moment she understood that who she believed she was, or would be, was attached to whom she identified herself as. At the time, it was Athlorial Lumendel, the girl who had been subjugated to the whims of men whose only endeavors for her were nothing but nefarious and horrible. So, to remove herself from that intimate understanding of who she was, and consequently, her path in life, she created for herself a new identity centered around an altogether different name. She was Athlorial, but she would become Soliana. Soliana Solaris, the independent woman who was subject to no one and bound to nothing except the pain fueled fire burning deeply within her that told her she needed to become more, was the focus of her new beginning. And as such, her newly created potential. For to remain Athlorial meant her future would always be bound to her past. But to become Soliana meant hope, potential, and possibility and freedom to become something more.
The second instance was under the authority of Psumayn, the gray haired, elder sword master of the School of Chaos. He always asked her who she was, not because she needed to become someone else as she did before becoming Soliana, but in an effort for her to understand that if she placed her identity upon the limits of her understanding as a function of any attachment, even to something as simple as a name, then her potential would be limited to the finite understanding of that attachment. He was relentless in his insistence that she become more, but to do that, she needed to let go of everything she had previously known about herself and simply become. Although she understood the explicit meaning of his instruction, seeing it manifest was something completely different. She suspected her struggle with accepting this understanding was central to his motivations for mandating her participation in the tournament and journey to the Elves. And while he had helped her unlock more potential than even she thought she was capable of, she still had difficulty grasping this one central thought: To become oneself, one must lose oneself.
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