Book 7: Chapter 17 - The Chase (RAW) (Patreon)

Chapter 17 - The Chase

The King’s Road, according to the old stories and older histories, mostly predated the Cataclysm. The sections that had been damaged were repaired in time, though never to the same standard as the Old Road, for the art of its making had been lost. Thus, stretches of Old and New Road could still be seen, one giving way to the other like scars over ancient bone. In times of peace, the road was patrolled by the Wardens, and the King’s Law was kept upon it. It ran from the south of the kingdom to the north, eventually leading to the first Imperial border fort guarding the entrance to the Mountain Pass: Tianxiaguan, the Gate Beneath Heaven. 

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

My ward and I, when the mood took us, would sit together at the windows of our new townhouse and watch the world pass by. We did nothing, but it was an intentional nothing. We spoke little. Words were useful things, but not always necessary, and sometimes they only damaged the moment.

At times, we tended to our mounts together. She had Bubbles, that strange creature somehow capable of floating, while I had the ever-growing, ever-massive Theodore. The Lumashtu was little more than an armored siege engine on six legs. Still, young Theodore had mellowed somewhat, or perhaps merely simmered lower, allowing the stablehands to handle him and even letting one of them ride him along the beaches near the city. People, and creatures, could improve in time. Or at least become less inclined to murder without a good cause.

Larynda entered the Academy quietly, without pomp or spectacle. Institutions like that preferred discretion. They did not advertise too openly the services they truly provided, nor the sort of people who paid for them. I let her go alone. She was my ward, not my daughter, and almost a woman grown. Though I had to admit, I did not know precisely how the mixed blood of her half-elven nature affected the matter of maturity.

I walked her part of the way to her new place of learning. However, not wishing the link between us to become too well known, we parted before the gates came into sight. I wished her well and told her to refer to me any students that gave her trouble. It occurred to me then that this might be her first true encounter with formal education.

I still remembered her standing there, both hands clasped around her satchel, her Academy robes newly bought. There was a wistfulness about her, though beneath it lay careful determination. After all, she was not there merely to learn and study. Larynda had come to find very specific facts. Very specific knowledge. Namely, information on the ingredients and materials required for the elixir that would grant me immortality.

Still, I was young and had all the time in the world. And being young, I much preferred it when others dealt with the smaller, annoying details. My ward had tried to explain the theory of the elixir’s manufacture to me once. I had listened, truly listened, but her words belonged to a paradigm so different from my own that they made little sense to me. As before, I wondered how I was able to wield magic, or at least a form of it, without understanding what I was doing.

Larynda made it sound impossibly complex, but beneath her explanation ran a thread of frustration. I marked it down as a loss. How could one explain color to the blind, or music to the deaf?

But, it was enough that she understood what had to be done. She would understand the process. My task was material acquisition in this division of labor. And, who knew? Perhaps this next venture with the Crimson Blades  would yield one of the necessary ingredients, or something that might help bring the elixir closer to reality.

Almost as soon as I parted ways with Larynda, a messenger arrived at the residence from the Guild. He was a boy with a Bronze badge pinned to his chest and had about him a rather nervous air.

How they had found me was beyond me, but then again, a man with a pet Lumashtu tended to stand out in Meridian.

The message instructed me to meet the Crimson Blades at the West Gate. Odd, I thought, but I did not question it. If this was to be some sort of ambush, then let it be so. I had dealt with more than one ambush already, and the experience had grown stale. They were less a true danger now than a chore to be endured and completed.

Still, I would not go unprepared. And, so armored and equipped, I rode Theodore in the full panoply of war, the Second Horn sleeping in its lance rest. People moved aside for us like water before the bow of a great ship, and it was easy enough to carve through the traffic of Meridian without actually killing anyone.

They were there, of course, waiting. Waiting almost indolently. Vaska stood with that stupid confident grin on his stupid confident face, his followers arrayed behind him, and the woman Mage trying very hard to look small. Behind them waited several horses and a few spare mounts.

“You summoned me, Vaska? Our business is not until two days hence,” I said, letting irritation enter my voice.

“Thing is… what’s your name again?” he asked, looking up at me while maintaining that annoying grin.

“You know my name. Do not play games with me, and spare me this stupid posturing. What is this about?” I demanded, leveling the Second Horn at him with the ease born of skill and superhuman Strength.

More than anything, it was the lance that seemed to intimidate him. It remained straight and level, without the slightest tremor along its length. Theodore lowed beneath me, a deep bass rumble that passed through the street and into the bones. I saw it then, in the tightening of their posture. Vaska and his crew understood that their silly games had reached their limit. Even if he could defeat me, he would still have the mighty Theodore to contend with.

Vaska held up both hands, his expression fixed in place. “It’s just that the boys, and girl, want to see what you can do. See if you can be a bit of a team player.”

On another day, I might have been tempted to grind them all into the stones for wishing to test me. For the temerity of it. But today the sun was pleasant, and I wished to see what storylines this little side quest’s side quest might unlock.

“You have found me with more patience than I usually possess,” I shrugged, returning the Second Horn to its rest. “And with some time on my hands. What test did you have in mind?”

“Oh, not much. A simple but profitable task. We have to hunt some runaways,” he began, the grin fading from his face like grease from a hot pan.

“Criminals? You have information?” I asked.

His face took a neutral, almost serious aspect. “No. Not criminals in the strictest sense. A certain man has eloped with the daughter of one of the city’s most preeminent nobles, Lord Fanzazino. The fat bastard wants his daughter back in pristine condition, which makes this delicate work. But it is good money.”

I doubted that, at least in the grand scale of things. Still, for the time being, it would keep me occupied.

“Word is they’re traveling along the King’s Road, and we mean to catch up to them. Everyone can die, including the boy she ran off with, but the girl has to be untouched,” Vaska said slowly. “Now, can you keep up?”

I decided not to answer him.

He shrugged and mounted his horse. His men followed. The brawler with the shield on his back held the ropes for the spare mounts.

“Well, daylight’s burning, and they have half a night’s head start on us!” Vaska shouted with a laugh, kicking his horse into a distance-eating canter. “But we can ride hard and we can catch up!”

***

The King’s Road was broad enough for wagons to pass without much ceremony, paved in places with old stone and in others, older stone still. The land around it rolled gently, patched with farms, orchards, dry grass, and the occasional stand of wind-twisted trees. 

And upon it, Vaska kept a good pace. He and his men knew how to ride. Vaska rode near the front with his massive sword slung across his back. The brawler kept to one side, his broad shield strapped behind him and a heavy-headed mace hanging from his saddle. They all wore, with the exception of the Mage, practical equipment for practical violence.

And Theodore’s long, six-limbed gait proved every bit as fast as the horses. Faster, perhaps, once endurance and Stamina began to matter.

My use of Greater Drain on him while he was intoxicated and subdued, followed by Heal, had no doubt raised his Constitution attribute to absurd levels. The horses could run hard, but horses were still horses. They tired, sweated, foamed, and needed changing. Theodore merely kept going, his armored body rolling beneath me with the steady tread of a behemoth.

Then, halfway through our mad dash along the King’s Road, after the Crimson Blades changed horses, Theodore took the lead of our little formation.

It was not vanity that placed him there, though I will admit to a small amount of satisfaction. Theodore could maintain his speed, but stopping from that speed was another matter entirely. Better he be at the front than at the rear, where one badly timed halt might have ended with crippled horses and broken bones.

The mage rode near the center. Her staff was lashed along one side, and little pouches hung from her belt. Every so often, I saw her fingers move in small patterns against her thigh, rehearsing spells without giving them voice.

Good. I hope you are useful.

It was late afternoon when we found them. The road rose over a long, low hill. Vaska slowed at the top and held and half-shouted for me to stop, so I reined Theodore in beside him and looked ahead.

At first, they were only shapes in the distance, a thin knot of riders moving along the King’s Road beneath a wavering veil of dust. Their pace was poor. Even from where we stood, I could see it. The horses were tired, their heads low, their movements dull. They had pushed hard and were paying for it now.

But, there were more of them than we had expected. 

I counted quickly. The young couple rode near the center on good horses that had been pushed too much. Around them were armed men, perhaps twenty in all, not including a pair of pack animals and what looked to be a servant or two. They had a front and rear guard, outriders to either flank, and enough discipline to suggest someone among them knew what he was doing.

“Vaska,” I half-growled.

“Mm?” he grunted.

“That is rather more than two foolish children eloping,” I  continued, biting back a simmering anger.

He shaded his eyes with one hand and laughed under his breath. “Ah. That explains it.”

I gripped the reins a little tighter. “Explains what?”

“The boy she ran off with,” Vaska said. “Not some penniless stable lad, then. Rich blood. Rich merchant blood, or close enough to it. Daddy Fanzazino failed to mention that part.”

Jean the Brawler spat. “Of course he did.”

Vaska grinned without much humor. “Would you have taken the job if you knew we’d be chasing a merchant’s son with a private escort?”

“For the right price?” Roberts asked, cricking his neck.

“For the price we got?” chortled Vaska.

The Brawler spat again and Roberts just shrugged. That seemed answer enough.

I looked back toward the distant riders. “Who is he?”

“Don’t know the name,” Vaska admitted. “But look at them. Those aren’t dock toughs. That’s paid steel. Good steel, too. The boy’s family had money enough to send men after him, or with him, before the girl’s father could lock the gates.”

“Romance,” I commented, tasting the word. “How expensive.”

The Brawler rode up on Vaska’s other side, frowning beneath the rim of his helmet. “We’re outnumbered almost four to one.”

“Almost,” Vaska said.

“Close enough for the dead to call it four,” Jean replied. “We should follow. Let them ride themselves empty. They’ll have to camp before evening. We hit them when they’re tired, unsaddled, and stupid. Kristoff is good at that…” he advised nodding to the man with more knives on his person than sense.

The suggestion was not without merit. In fact, it was the obvious choice. Let exhaustion do its work. It was the blade that ate away at man, every bit as insidious as my own magic. And, a man woken from sleep died with far less argument than one who saw you coming. It was also rather boring and would take more time.

Vaska rubbed his jaw. The grin had faded now, replaced by calculation. “That might be best,” he conceded.

I looked at him pointedly and noticed. “What?”

“What are the Crimson Blades afraid of?”

Several heads turned toward me.

Vaska blinked once. Then his smile returned, slow and sharp. “Careful.”

“We have a Lumashtu,” I added. “And we have me.”

There was a moment of silence before Vaska laughed. It began low, then rolled out of him loud. He slapped his thigh and shook his head. “Gods below. I hate that you’re right.”

The Mage made a small, unhappy sound. “That does not make them less numerous.”

“No,” Vaska said. “But it does make us much more unpleasant.”

Kristoff sighed. “I say night would be better.”

“Night is always better,” Vaska said. “But the shiny Bronze has a point. If we follow them too long, they might reach a village, or some other miserable place with witnesses and complications. We catch them before that.”

That settled it and we descended the hill, continuing the chase.

The riders ahead saw us before long. Of course they did. We were not trying to hide, and Theodore was as subtle as a fortress on fire. Their rear guard turned first. Then a horn sounded, short and sharp, and their whole formation slowed.

By the time we closed the distance, they had arranged themselves across the road, and not badly, either.

The young couple were kept behind the first line, with several men between them and us. The guards dismounted and formed a crescent, shields forward, crossbows and spears ready. Their captain sat at the center on a gray horse, his helmet tucked beneath one arm. He was a hard-looking man with sun-darkened skin, a trimmed beard, and the tired eyes of a professional.

A Mage sat behind him, or something that looked like a Mage. The man wore traveling robes reinforced with leather panels, and his hands were already making shapes.

The captain looked at Theodore first, because he was not blind. Then at me, and then at Vaska. “State your business,” he called.

Vaska laughed, but the captain’s expression did not change.

“You know who we are,” Vaska said, drawing his great sword and resting it against his shoulder. “And you know why we’re here.”

The captain’s eyes hardened. There was resignation in them, too.

A young man pushed his horse forward despite the hand one guard immediately placed on his bridle. He was handsome in the way annoying people are handsome, with good skin, good teeth, and the confident air of someone who had never truly believed the world hurt.

Beside him rode the girl. Lord Fanzazino’s daughter, I assumed.

She was pale, exhausted, and lovely enough that men would call her worth dying for. Her riding dress was stained with dust at the hem, and her hair had come loose beneath a hood. Even tired and afraid, she held the young man’s hand.

“Please,” the young man called. “You don’t have to do this. We love each other. We have harmed no one.”

The girl leaned forward, her voice trembling but clear. “My father will not listen. He never listens. We only want to be free.”

Vaska rolled his eyes. “Gods save me from noble daughters and their stupid, fancy words.”

““It is my life!” she shouted. “Not stupid, fancy words. My life, and my freedom to choose who I give myself to love.” 

“No,” I countered slowly. “It is your father’s. You are property disputing its chain.”

She stared at me as if I had slapped her. The young man flushed with anger. “She is not property.”

“No?” I asked. “Really? Her father would think you a thief.”

The captain glanced between us, and I could see him assessing the ground, the distance, Theodore, the Crimson Blades. 

His jaw tightened as he explained. “We were hired to escort them. That is all. No one here wants blood.”

“Then hand over the girl,” Vaska said. “Walk away with your purse and your skins intact.”

The young woman went white at that, but the young man shook his head. “No.”

One of the escort guards was breathing too quickly. I saw it in the rise and fall of his shoulders. He was young, perhaps younger than the couple he had been hired to protect. His crossbow was raised, though not properly shouldered. His finger was too tight on the trigger.

The bolt loosed and it hissed across the space between us and passed so close to one of the Crimson Blades.

For a moment, no one moved. Then Vaska roared and his great sword came free in a long flash of worn steel as he jumped off his mount. “I have faced worse odds than this!”

The Crimson Blades surged forward.

Carlo yelped, nearly dropped her reins, then flung herself off her horse with more speed than grace. She struck the ground on one knee, slapped both palms into the road, and shouted a word that Earth answered.

A ridge of stone burst up before the first line of escort guards, breaking their formation and forcing three horses behind them to rear. One man fell.

The enemy earth mage moved at once. He raised both hands, and the ground between his people and ours hardened into layered plates of packed stone. The ridge the girl-mage had raised cracked, slowed, and sank back down as if pressed by an invisible weight.

The young mage snarled as she thrust her staff forward. Spears of stone snapped from the road and shot toward the escort line. The enemy mage caught them in a wall of earth, each impact thudding like a hammer into wet clay.

“Damn it!” Carla shouted.

The enemy mage had chosen total defense. No flourish. No ambition. No attempt to win glory. He merely denied her.

Vaska hit the first line with the impact of a butcher’s cleaver.

His sword came down and smashed through a shield, the arm behind it, and enough of the man beneath to make further argument impossible. The Brawler was beside him a moment later, shield now on his arm, mace rising and falling with ugly rhythm. One of the Crimson Blades put a crossbow bolt through a man’s throat. Another hooked a spear behind a knee and dragged a man out of the saddle.

The escorts fought back because they were not cowards. That deserved some small respect. Spears came down. A horse screamed. Someone tried to circle left and found Theodore there.

My Lumashtu lunged. One moment he was beneath me, all coiled weight and armored patience, and the next his forelimbs slammed into the road, his jaws closing around a man’s upper torso with a crunch.

I remained calmly seated as I observed. After all, there was no need to hurry, I thought to myself as I reached back and took up my great Adamantium warbow.

There were many ways to kill the men in front of me, but today, I felt like using this one.

The warbow was not a graceful weapon. The bow was built for monstrous strength and committing war crimes. The arrows it fired were not arrows, but solid steel bolts thick and heavy enough to make a siege engineer smile with pleasure.

I set one to the metal string, drew, then released.

The first bolt crossed the distance like a modern missile. A shield did not stop it. The breastplate behind the shield did not stop it. The man behind both ceased being a man, and so did the next three behind him. This was the weapon that had laid down titans low.

You have killed a Human…

…

…

A pathetic amount of experience was the sum total value of their lives.

I drew again and the second bolt struck a rider on the wings in the chest and lifted him from his saddle, carrying him into a tree and impaling him there. His horse panicked and ran off.

I ignored the death notification.

By then, some of them had begun to understand. The captain shouted something. Retreat, perhaps. Reform, perhaps. It hardly mattered.

The enemy mage turned his attention toward me and a slab of Earth rose between us.

I fired, infusing the steel with the heart of an entropic inferno. The Inferno Bolt flew and punched through the earthen shield, destroying in an explosion of superior magic, scattering molten metal into the formation of mercenaries. 

The enemy Mage flinched, face gray beneath his surprise and the young Clara mage used that instant. She thrust both hands forward, and the ground beneath the enemy Earth Mage’s mount softened. The animal sank to its knees with a panicked neigh. The man cursed and pushed more power downward, hardening the earth again before it could swallow him.

He was a skilled practitioner, but he was also distracted.

I nocked another bolt, three more in my fist.

In response, he raised a thicker barrier this time, three layered walls packed with stone and Earth.

I released smoothly, the steel bolt punching through the first wall even as it flared with great heat. Then I released a second, then a third Inferno Bolt.

Then I released a fourth, just a normal bolt not kissed by magic, and it struck the mage just below the sternum and carried him off the mule and his magic died with him.

You have slain…

Another death notification… this time for a paltry four experience points.

I sighed, feeling annoyed before I noticed our Mage staring at me, her mouth slightly agape.

With the enemy mage dead, the battle became much shorter. But, Vaska had wanted a fight, and for a few bright moments, he had one. He became a whirlwind of steel, his strength and speed an easy thing that sent men flying. Then the escorts saw their defensive line broken, their magic user killed, their men reduced to explosions of gore by arrows that should have required a giant ballista came from who rode atop a tame Lumashtu that had no reason existing this far to the North.

Death became very real for them.

The captain threw down his sword. “Enough!” he shouted. “Enough! Yield! Yield, damn you!”

One by one, the others obeyed.

The leader of the Crimson Blades stood over a kneeling man, massive two handed sword raised.

The captain looked at him. “Mercy. We surrender. We were hired to protect them. That is all.”

Vaska stared down at the kneeling man. The man trembled and for a moment, I thought Vaska would split him regardless. Then the big swordsman exhaled through his teeth and lowered his blade.

“Gods damn it,” he muttered as he turned away in disgust. “Get out of here.”

The captain blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” Vaska said. “Take your wounded and get out of here. This job was never worth the coin… And you, too. Get off with you, and may you find happiness.”

The captain bowed his head, relief passing over his face so nakedly that it was almost embarrassing. “Thank you.”

“No,” I countered, cold as winter.

Everyone from both sides looked at me.

Vaska’s shoulders tightened before he turned, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword that little bit harder. “No?”

“We had a job from the Guild,” I said. “We are going to do it.”

The girl made a small sound. The young man drew her closer, as if his arms were a fortress and not merely two breakable things that I could easily snap.

Vaska stared at me. “The job is cancelled, it was never worth it. Not worth ruining someone’s life over. We don’t need the money, there is only so much gold a man can spend in his life.”

I looked at him cooly. “But, your reputation? And, I find that a man’s inability to spend his money is tied with his lack of imagination.”

I saw some of the Crimson Blades nodding.

“We weren’t able to catch up to them,” Vaska answered with a carefree shrug.

I decided to press the issue instead of convincing them. I looked at the young man. “By Aranthian law, you have kidnapped the daughter of Lord Fanzazino,” I explained, dredging up what I learned from the libraries.

The girl’s face twisted. “He did no such thing!”

“Did your father give permission for this union?”

“No, but—” she started in protest.

“Did the head of your house authorize your removal from his protection?” I inquired, plowing on.

She continued to blubber something meaningless. “That is not—”

“Then under the laws of this land, you were taken. No?” I insisted, my voice cutting in its tone.

The young man’s eyes burned with hatred. “Law? You call this law?”

“Yes.”

“It is tyranny,” he shot back, as if that could make this all go away.

Vaska looked at me, shaking his head slightly. “Leave it. It is not worth it”

“No,” was my response. And, though the word was quiet, it carried.

I turned Theodore a few steps forward. Men moved away from us as if we had the plague.

“The law is clear,” I said. “A daughter of a noble house cannot be carried off to force a marriage. Not by twenty hired swords and in the name of love.”

The girl was crying now, tears running lines down her cheeks. “Please. Please, he did not force me. I begged him to take me.”

“How romantic. And how utterly irrelevant,” I asserted.

Jean stepped forward. “We should never have done this. It was a test, that’s all. The Gilgamesh fella has already proved enough. Let’s just head back!”

Kristoff looked at the others and shook his head. “Can’t say I care much to come back empty-handed, like.”

“Very well. Then let us complete this test properly,” I said with a laugh of my own this time. “To see it to its proper end.”

Vaska looked at me with something almost like disappointment. “If you want to deal with them, go ahead. But it’s on your conscience, if you have one.”

“My conscience is well ordered,” I replied. “The laws of the land compel me. For without laws, we are animals.”

I looked at the young man again. “You may spare the lives of your escort.”

He swallowed hard. “What?”

“Kill yourself. Fall upon your sword,” I offered, as if recommending wine at a restaurant.

The girl screamed at me, but I spoke over her.

I continued with my explanation. “Your men surrendered. Their lives may be spared. Yours is the only offense that matters. End it cleanly, and they walk away.”

The young man stared as if I had become something impossible before him. “What sort of god do you think you are,” he whispered, “to deliver judgment like that from upon high?”

I considered the question, and then I simply shrugged. “Not a god.”

I raised one hand and cast Corruption, the syllables of the spell coming as if provoked from within. As it reached completion, the spell left me, staining the fabric of this world.

The young man flinched, then looked down at himself. His breathing came fast, but his body remained whole. His armor shone beneath its dust.

Interesting.

The magic had touched him, but not taken hold. There was resistance there. Perhaps from something worn, carried, or bought. A charm perhaps, or a blessing from the Temple. The sort of protection rich families purchased for beloved sons.

I felt annoyance, then I simply cast Corruption again. But, this time, I reached deeper as I laid Overboost upon it. Power moved through me, ugly and eager. It sank into the spell and thickened it. 

The young man gasped.

A spot of rust appeared on his breastplate, then another, and then a dozen. And then I started to chuckle.

The polished steel browned, blistered, and flaked. The straps darkened. Buckles weakened and snapped. His fine armor aged in heartbeats, years of rain and neglect crawling across it in a breath as he began clawing at his chest.

“Stop!” the girl screamed in protest. “Stop it!”

The rust spread to the mail beneath. Rings split. Leather cracked. The sword at his hip tarnished in its scabbard. Then Corruption found the softer things.

His fingertips blackened first. He stared at them, uncomprehending, as the nails darkened and lifted. The corruption crawled slowly inward from the extremities, cruel and patient. Skin grayed, then split. His lips peeled back from clenched teeth as he tried not to scream and failed almost immediately. The girl fought to reach him, but Vaska himself caught her as she threw herself from the saddle.

The captain looked away, but I watched closely for there was value in understanding one’s tools. The spell did not destroy like fire or force. It made time impatient. And, finally, it made the young man fall from his horse. By then, most of his armor had collapsed into rusted scraps around him. He struck the road on one side and curled around himself, making sounds that had no dignity left in them. The girl screamed his name.

When it was done, there was very little of the young man. Just dust that would soon be blown away by the wind.

Silence followed my display of true mastery.

I looked to the captain. “Go about your merry way then before I decide to make you all join him.”

He stared at me, and I met his gaze hard and unflinching. Whatever he saw there convinced him not to argue. He bowed once, stiffly, then began gathering his surviving men and mounts with the mechanical movements of someone who had looked into the abyss.

Vaska pulled his sword from the road and wiped it clean on some nearby grass. “I don’t know what that was, but I know that you're a cold bastard,” he stated. “And, that, well, that was not necessary.”

“Necessary is defined by those who need it,” I replied sardonically. “I think it best if you focus on the task at hand.”

The girl had gone limp in Vaska’s arms. Not unconscious, not quite. Her eyes remained open, fixed on the dust and ruin in the road. She made no sound now. That, more than the screaming, seemed to unsettle them.

“Get her on a spare mount,” Vaska growled, voice rough.

The Brawler and the Mage moved to help. Gently, to their credit. Clara looked sick, but she did not refuse. Together they guided Lord Fanzazino’s daughter onto one of the spare horses. Her hands hung slack until the Earth Mage placed the reins between her delicate fingers and closed them there.

“She won’t ride like that,” one of the Crimson Blades muttered.

“Then tie her to the saddle,” barked Jean sharply.

The surviving escorts withdrew from the road, carrying their wounded and dead with them. None approached the young man’s remains… or what was left of them, at least.

The veteran captain paused once before leaving. “She loved him,” he said softly.

I looked down at him from Theodore’s armored back. “Then she will remember him when she compares him to whoever her father chooses, though I daresay Lord Fanzazino will be harder pressed to find a match now that she is damaged goods.”

His mouth tightened, but he said nothing more. He could say nothing more. He turned and walked after his men, leading a tired horse behind him.

So, after a brief rest as we watered our mounts, and began the long ride back toward Meridian. And, for a while no one spoke.

“This was meant to see if you could fight with us,” Vaska started, breaking the silence.

“And?” I replied, taking my helm from head and hooking it to my belt.

“You can fight at least,” he admitted gruffly. “But, that’s not the problem.”

I decided that silence would serve me better than sarcasm.

He looked ahead at the road, then at the girl being led back to the father who owned her future. “You always like this?”

“No.”