Heather stumbled on a torn-up stretch of ground and paused only long enough to take a deep breath before continuing.
She wasn’t sure what to do about Enton, and that was bothering her too. She found herself thinking about the lout at the weirdest times and it was maddening. She knew that Enton watched after her, but she also knew he was trying to be careful and not interfere with her. It was as if he wanted to be there if needed, but he was trying very hard not make a nuisance of himself.
She liked Enton, she really did, but she didn’t harbor any foolish notions of settling down and raising a brood of children. They both were warriors, and either of them could die before the sun came up. She knew better than to think Enton would leave soldiering and Adel help the bastard if he asked her to stop being a Guardian.
She pulled up sharply at the edge of the trees, that last thought running through her head over and over. Stop being a Guardian! He didn’t need to ask her to stop, as they had already outlawed her. The other Guardians and the king’s guard were most likely searching for them right now. Sadness welled up within her. She had always wanted to be a Guardian. Until just now, she hadn’t realized that she wasn’t one anymore. She swallowed hard and blinked back tears.
She started forward again but only went a short way before sitting down behind a particularly large tree. Grass grew right up to the tree trunk and the ground was soft. She rested her head in her hands for only a moment before the tears really came.
Flare got them moving even before the sun was fully up, but there still was enough light to see by. They crossed the field and emerged onto the West Road. It was already warm and the day promised to be scorching. Strangely, the armor felt cool against his body, not uncomfortable at all. He had put on a loose fitting-shirt and trousers over the armor to help keep him disguised.
A good disguise was important. The Telurian army, not to mention every city guard, would be on the lookout for a red-haired half-elf. Flare’s hair had grown long and it hung over his ears. It would help to hide some of his elven features, but the red hair was a bit uncommon. They needed a solution, and for that they turned to Mikela.
They stopped for a break after only about an hour of walking. None of them were tired, but they had stumbled onto a small stream. They followed it into the trees, just to be out of view from the road. Then Mikela mixed up a foul-smelling concoction, which she rubbed all through Flare’s hair. She made him wait for a quarter of an hour or so, then he rinsed the mess out of his hair. When his hair dried, it was the darkest black.
Enton also tended to stand out in a crowd, and Mikela helped there as well. She rubbed a salve all over his left arm, chest, and face. After a few moments, little white spots began to break out over the skin. By the time Flare was washing his hair in the stream, Enton was covered from left hand to forehead with scars, and he looked unrecognizable.
“And you’re sure this can be undone?” Enton asked, his tone betraying the nervousness that he felt.
Mikela chuckled and punched the man playfully. “Quit whining! It’s a good look for a warrior - very intimidating. And besides, I’m almost certain that I remember how to change it back.”
“Almost certain?” Enton asked, looking panicky.
Heather burst out laughing then Mikela and Flare joined in. After a moment, Enton scowled. The affect with his new scars was truly frightening. “Humorous,” he said in a dry tone, and then he climbed to his feet to go wash in the river.
Flare blinked in surprise at Enton’s back.
“What?” Heather asked, noticing the look that Flare was giving Enton.
Flare checked to make sure that Enton was out of earshot before he spoke. “I’m just a bit surprised. There was a time when Enton could not stand being the butt of a joke. He seems different, changed somehow.”
“We all have,” Mikela answered, and there seemed to be a touch of sadness to her tone.
Flare heard the melancholy tone in Mikela’s voice and dropped his eyes. “I appreciate you coming with me, but you don’t have to.”
“Oh,” Heather said, feeling angrier than she should. “And what else would we do? Join Dagan in Telur?” She shook her head. “No, that’s even more foolish than going to an abbey that’s packed full of zealots.” She climbed to her feet and hurried away, farther into the trees.
Mikela sighed. “She’s upset.”
Flare remained silent as he watched Heather walk away. Guilt weighed heavily on him; he felt he was the reason they were all in trouble. Finally, he quit watching Heather and turned to find Mikela staring at him. “What?”
“She’ll get through this,” Mikela replied quietly. “You’re not the only one responsible for this.”
“Oh?” Flare said in surprise. “Who else do you blame?”
“Well, if we’re blaming others for our current state, then it would seem to me that the Gods deserve the biggest piece of the blame.”
“The Gods?” Flare repeated, confused. “And why would you say that?”
“Well, surely you agree that the Gods influence this world?” Flare had no choice but to nod his agreement. “Well, if they’re in control, then they must take more of the blame than a couple of humans and a half-elf.” She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back.
Flare cocked his head to the side. “You don’t seem to be too troubled by these things, I mean …” He paused and then hurried on with the words that were causing everyone so much angst, “My using magic and such.”
Mikela smiled, “I’m a magician. When we’re taught, we are told an enormous number of rules and laws, but the further you advance in magic, the more you realized that the early laws no longer apply. The rules that are so sacrosanct to an apprentice no longer apply to a master. It’s a matter of perspective. Perhaps that makes me more comfortable in breaking a few rules.”
Flare snorted. A few rules indeed!
They returned to the road shortly thereafter and headed west again. There was a long wagon train heading east, so they walked alongside the road. The grass made the walking easy and they made good time. The caravan guards watched them closely, but as no one approached the wagons, there wasn’t any trouble.
They reached the fork in the road in the afternoon. Even though there were still a couple of hours before sundown, ten or so wagons were already lined up along the edge of the road, and several fires were already burning.
Traveling by wagon train could be a bit complicated, which was probably why the wagons were already stopped - animals needed taken care of and fed, wagons needed inspections and any repairs made, and camping gear needed to be removed from the wagons and set up.
The same issues did not apply to Flare and his group. The only ones they needed to feed were themselves, and their camping gear consisted of a blanket. If the road was good, they could even walk on past sundown.
Darkness was just starting to settle in when they rounded a bend in the road and stumbled upon a small camp. There was a small picket line of horses and ten or so tents pitched with almost military organization. Men were gathered around trying to start several small fires.
Flare’s spirits sank, not so much at the sight of the men, but rather at the sight of their banner, which was flying from a small pine tree. It was a green banner with a golden tree emblazoned across the middle. He knew that banner; it was the symbol of an order of the Church of Adel. He said a silent prayer of thanks that it was not the Order of the Intercessor.
The Order of the Intercessor was a group of warrior church zealots who used both magic and sorcery. This order had become the very thing they feared in order to better fight against the restoration of the Dragon Order. Flare had spent time as a prisoner of such a monk, and he had no plans to do so ever again.
Several of the men closer to the road noticed Flare and his group. “Who are you and what do you want?” one of the men shouted.
Flare waved a hand at them in what he hoped was a friendly gesture. “Just following the road,” he called back.
“No one decent walks the road at night,” another man called out. A group of the monks began moving closer to the road. The men wore chain mail under green tunics, which also bore the golden tree.
“Quite right,” Flare called out, “and we’re looking for a good place to camp ourselves.”
Enton and Heather both looked to Flare for guidance, but he kept them moving right along. His heart pounded and he had to get them safely past this bunch of monks, as there were simply too many to fight.
A distinguished-looking man stepped through the throng of men and stopped by the side of the road. He was tall and carrying perhaps a bit too much weight through the middle. His thinning hair was blond going white, and he had a long mustache that he waxed and turned up.
Flare took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. They hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not unless the monks recognized them. He nodded his head at the lead monk.
“Brigands and thieves are not tolerated,” the man called out. His voice was loud, and he radiated a sense of command.
“I assure you that we are neither,” Flare replied, stopping in the road to address the monks. He wanted so dearly to keep going, but to do so would only invite scrutiny. “We’re simply going to Elem to seek work.”
The leader sucked air through his teeth for a moment as he appraised Flare’s group. “No, I don’t imagine you are thieves, not with two women and a dwarf.”
Belgil bristled at the tone but Heather placed a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and he settled for glaring at the men.
“I haven’t heard of any reports of a band of brigands with a dwarf,” the monk said, “and if you take up thieving, you’ll live a very short life.”
“Understood,” Flare said and bobbed his head again. “It’s getting late, and we still need to find a place to make camp.” With that, Flare and his group headed down the road.
They didn’t say anything for nearly a quarter of an hour. Flare kept them moving along at a brisk pace. It took an enormous amount of willpower, but he managed to refrain from constantly looking over his shoulder. When he felt they had gone far enough, he called a brief halt. The sun was nearly down, and dusk was upon them.
“I don’t want to stop and make camp that close to those monks,” Flare said. “I know it’s getting dark, but let’s keep going. I think we should walk at least another hour or two and we’ll decide about camp.” There weren’t any objections. “Heather, I want you out in front.”
Luckily this part of the road was in good repair; it was hard-packed dirt and fairly level. They made good time and walked for hours. They passed camps along the side of the road, some small and others rather large. Most of the larger camps had fires along the edge of the camp near the road, and armed guards watched them carefully as they walked by. The smaller camps had no such fires, and they passed them by without so much as being noticed except for the groups that had dogs - the dogs barked loud enough to wake every party all the way to Elem.
Well after midnight they came upon a stretch of road that was in need of repair. A nearby stream had overflowed its banks, and the water had made a mess of the road. Flare called a halt and surveyed the area, trying to decide the best place to make camp.
On their right were several small hills, each covered in pine trees. The entire northern side of the road was woods, while the southern side of the road was intermixed woods and large clearings. Long stretches of the southern woods had been cleared to give the caravans places to stop and for wood to use for fires.
“Heather,” Flare said, motioning to the closest of the hills, “scout that hill and see if it’s safe enough for us to make camp there.”
Heather disappeared beyond the hill without a word. Flare’s elven sight let him follow her progress for a short ways, and he smiled in appreciation; Heather was nearly as good as an elf at moving silently through the trees and brush.
Belgil and Mikela collapsed on the edge of the road while they waited for Heather to return; Enton and Flare remained alert and on their feet.
Flare looked to the southwest, the general direction of Elem. On foot, the trip should take roughly a week. If they pushed it, they might could make the journey in four or five days, but they might be a little too worn out after such a journey, and besides, he didn’t think an extra day or two would make that much of a difference.
Heather returned a few moments later, looking pleased. “It’s clear,” she said. “The trees are pretty thick and there’s plenty of brush, so once we make camp, no one will approach without making a great deal of noise. Even better than that, I think I’ve found us the perfect place to make camp.”
They followed Heather back to the small hill. The going was rough, as the woods were pretty thick even this close to the road. Several members of the group got accidentally slapped when people farther up the line pushed a tree limb out of the way and then let it go. Enton was especially out of sorts when they at last came upon the spot that Heather had picked for their camp.
A rather large pine tree had fallen over and landed against a larger pine tree. The larger tree was supporting the uprooted tree and it made a kind of natural lean-to.
They didn’t make a fire, just collapsed onto their blankets, all except Flare who had the first watch. With five people in their party, they could each stand a watch of about an hour and a half, and everyone would get a decent amount of sleep. Knowing that the others were tired, Flare stood watch for nearly three hours before waking Enton. It wasn’t much, but it would shorten each of the other’s watches to about an hour.
Flare woke the next morning with the sun in his eyes. He rolled over and stretched, looking to the sky. The tree limbs overhead kept him from getting a good look at the sun, and it seemed that the sunbeam that had awoken him had found one of the few small gap in the leaves.
Belgil had a small fire going and was warming bread and some of the dried meat from their provisions. Mikela and Heather were sitting on the ground watching the dwarf, and Enton was nowhere to be seen.
“How long did I sleep?” Flare asked, suddenly afraid that he had slept the morning away.
“Not long,” Heather assured him. “The sun’s only been up an hour or two.”
“Where’s Enton?” Flare asked, looking around.
Mikela pointed to east and chuckled. “He’s doing one of the few things he knows how to do well.”
Flare smiled and began walking to the west.
“Where are you going?” Heather called out.
Flare didn’t look back as he called out, “I also have to do one of those few things that Enton knows how to do well.”
They started traveling about an hour later. It was promising to be another hot day, but that was the least of their worries; the road was overflowing with travelers. Wagon after wagon was headed to the northeast, most likely bound for Telur.
The wagons were moving slowly over the road, but they were still kicking up an enormous amount of dust. The vast wagon train seemed to have taken over the road, but on either side, along the edge of the road, travelers worked their way to the southwest and Elem.
Flare sighed, looking out over the road. “Hold a moment,” he called, stopping Heather from leading them out into the throng. She looked back expectantly.
Flare kneeled down, opened his pack, and removed an old shirt. He tore the shirt into long strips, which he handed to the others. They didn’t need to be told what to do with the pieces of cloth, but began tying them around their faces. They all knew it was going to be a long and dusty day.
They made poor time that day and Flare became a bit worried about their schedule. He had planned not to rush them and get there in six or seven days, hopefully not too worn out. However, walking on the rough and uneven side of the road was exhausting, and they had traveled a shorter distance than he had expected. He was beginning to suspect that they would arrive later than he had planned and still be exhausted when they got there.
He called a halt early in the afternoon,
and they pulled back into the cover of the trees. The heat of the day was nearly unbearable, and they were all covered in sweat.
“Why are there so many wagons on the road?” Mikela asked, looking around. She had flopped down on a bed of pine straw and looked like she wanted to stay there a while.
“My first thought was food,” Heather answered, “but now I’m not so sure.”
Telur should have been the last kingdom to have to buy food. The plains of Telur were fertile, and the farmers put the ground to good use. In fact, Telur was always one of the leading exporters of food and was truly the breadbasket of the known world.
“It’s not food,” Flare replied. “The wagons are really loaded down. Whatever they’re carrying is extremely heavy.”
“It’s weapons,” Belgil growled. He didn’t move, but his eyes flicked up at the others.
“How do you know?” Heather asked.
“I saw one of the wagons with the covering loose. I could see the swords piled high within.”
“Weapons?” Flare repeated, confused. “Doesn’t make any sense. Why would Telur be importing weapons?” Telur was one of the most heavily armed kingdoms. The blacksmiths of the kingdom would not be happy to learn that the army had purchased so many weapons from foreign kingdoms.
“Unless Darion is reading the signs,” Mikela said thoughtfully. “Maybe he knows a war is coming.”
Victory and Defeat: Book Five of the Restoration Series Page 5
