OoOoO

"Hold! Heads on hills!"

The call from the scouts at the front of the column brought the entire Fourth Company to an immediate halt. Though it had been nearly four days since their departure from Joska, the Factionists' ambush remained very fresh in Tarun's mind. Yet again, the rebels proved themselves keen to leverage unfamiliar terrain against their enemies. The Running Road had at that moment led Princess Ellorae's entourage into the bottom of a gully. The Fourth were easy targets, a fact which even the inexperience mountainfolk became uncomfortably aware of as dozens of dark heads appeared around the rim of the valley. They were clansfolk – that much was obvious – and they had the Fourth Company totally surrounded.

'Shields would have been good right about now' groaned Tarun to himself, although in truth carrying a heavy shield across the Hanara desert was the last thing any man wanted to do in this lifetime.

"Close ranks," barked Pedrum.

As the soldiers hurried to draw together into protective blocks, the Knights of Amenthere likewise placed themselves in a solid ring of horse and armor around Princess Ellorae's carriage. Lieutenant Neel however did not join the formation; he and Captain Jerriod sat astride their horses at the front of the company, heads craned up to stare fiercely through the piercing sunlight above.

"You are impeding a royal caravan," announced Lieutenant Neel, his voice echoing off the sandstone authoritatively. "Identify yourselves at once and yield the road, in the name of King Mahir Amenthis."

A man's voice called out in answer, the throaty, vowel-laden accent of the clans on full display. "It is you who are trespassing upon the lands of Clan S'Dir, Westerners. None may pass through these lands but by leave of our eimir, Hadasna S'Dir."

Jerriod visibly bristled; even his horse laid its ears back flat against its skull. "You disrespect your royal house, rascal! As rulers of Goran, the blood of Amenthis claims the right to pass unhindered upon any road. Now, withdraw your folk, or the Fourth Company and Knights of Amenthis will repay this insult with force."

Tarun counted at least sixty clansfolk, their headwraps easily marking them out against the brightness of the eastern sky. Between the soldiers of the Fourth and Princess Ellorae's guards, the royal forces numbered over five hundred. On numbers alone, it seemed the S'Dirs posed little serious threat. When one considered their positioning though – the Fourth in the bottom of a steep gully and the clansfolk surrounding them from above on all sides – it did make an armed skirmish that much less appealing.

A drop of sweat rolled down the back of Tarun's neck. His half-healed back tingled beneath damp, day-old bandages. He could hear Joar, the cobbler, shifting uneasily from foot-to-foot behind him. Borse subtly moved Berin inward, toward the protective center of the soldiers' column. There came a rustle from the royal carriage; no doubt Princess Ellorae and her ladies were all huddled together inside, watching and waiting in fearful anticipation.

The ringleader scoffed. Tarun at last picked him out; he stood at the southeastern rim of the gully, the mid-morning sun making him nearly undistinguishable beyond a vague silhouette.

"So quick to violence against the king's own subjects? You needn't be so. We are but servants of Eimir S'Dir, guarding our clan's stretch of The Running Road as is our duty."

"Well then, consider your duty fulfilled," said Captain Jerriod. "You see we are a royal caravan. Now yield the road."

"Who are you to say when our duty has been fulfilled? You are the travelers, and we the guardians. For you to tell us that our duty here would be akin to the camel telling the herdsman where it ought to be going!"

"What is it that you want from this company?" Lieutenant Neel asked wearily.  

"No more or less than any other traveler seeking to cross S'Dir lands; a copper ignum a head. By my count that makes...ah yes, five gold sols and two silver luns!"

"Five sols!?" Jerriod sputtered.

"Five," the ringleader confirmed. "And that is being generous, seeing as we really ought to be valuing her royal ladyship, Princess Ellorae, at her own sol altogether."

Tarun personally did not think that an ignum a head sounded altogether unreasonable. He could have paid his own way at that rate, in fact. Jerriod and Neel seemed to take offense at the very principle of the matter though.

"You would dare to extort the Princess of Goran and her royal guard for the right to travel in her family's own realm?!" Jerriod was bellowing. Lieutenant Neel sat beside him, radiating disapproval without hardly needing to say a word; Jerriod was being more than outraged enough for the both of them. "Soldiers, prepare to-"

"Captain!"

The high, sing-song voice of Princess Ellorae was easily recognizable without even needing to turn around. Nonetheless, every head in the gully swung toward the doorway of the royal carriage where the princess had just appeared. Leaning out from the shaded, velvety interior, Ellorae looked the very picture of polite dismay.

"O Lieutenant Neel, surely this is a mere misunderstanding that can be resolved easily enough," exclaimed Ellorae. Looking up into the sunlit desert sky, she addressed the clansfolk and their leader. "If you please, good sir, come down and join us. It is hardly gracious nor easy on the voice for countryfolk to stand shouting at one another in such dry heat. May we offer you a drink?"

"Your Majesty, it is not..." Jerriod seemed about to protest the wisdom of inviting an apparent enemy into close quarters. Lieutenant Neel cleared his throat abruptly, and Jerriod's voice instantly shifted back into its pseudo-refined cadence. "Shall I have my men set up a rest camp, Your Majesty?"

The princess smiled, her smooth cheeks giving way to matched dimples. "Yes, I think that would be an excellent idea, Captain Jerriod. We have been traveling since sun-up, and the men are no doubt overdue for a rest."

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

OoOoO

Rest for Tarun and a handful of others soldiers was actually less like relaxing and more like playing butler. They unfolded a set of camp chairs off the back of the princess's wagon, pitched a canopy to provide extra shade, and poured out cups of water not only for the princess and her guest, but at her insistence every single one of the sixty clansfolk. Handing out that much water this close to the Hanara desert was lavish generosity to say the least. Tarun knew from his da's old book on clan law – now gathering dust back home in Trosk – that such an offering was an irrefutable gesture of goodwill, one which all but ensured that the clansfolk would remain peaceable...for now. Even Jerriod's shoulders visibly relaxed though when their leader reached out and accepted the cup of water from Ellorae's own hand.

"With thanks," said the man.

Despite being in the shade, his face still remained covered against the elements. Up close now though, Tarun could see by the white-on-brown colours of their clothing that the man and his folk were indeed S'Dirs. They wore the long tunics of the desert clans, cut to the knee and belted at the waist. Beneath that, loose pants of a light, near-white material were tucked into the cuffs of tall boots that tapered into a peak at the toe. Leaving no room for uncertainty, all carried small buckler shields at their elbows on across their backs, each emblazoned with the crest of the S'Dir clan; a stylized pair of fantastical creature's heads – somewhat goat, somewhat griffin – meeting face to face after emerging from opposite ends of seemingly one curved body. Like their leader, all kept their faces covered, dark eyes watching the men of the Fourth warily from across the floor of the gully.

Tarun also noted that they did not appear to have any griffins with them. Although he could not quite put his finger on why, this unsettled him. With no apparent camp in sight and Derbesh still some days west along The Running Road, it seemed unlikely these clansfolk had trekked across the Hanara Desert on foot. Wherever the S'Dirs' griffins were, they likely were not far away.

Jerriod apparently had come to a similar conclusion. While Princess Ellorae was exchanging niceties with the clansfolk, Tarun overhead him whisper to Pedrum.

"Set a watch around the perimeter."

"Yes Captain."

Unnoticed by many, Pedrum slipped away amongst the men of the Fourth. Tarun could see him pulling aside various sentries though, no doubt assigning them to keep an eye out. The clansfolk appeared similarly alert. Tarun though he even spotted movement among the rocks atop the hillside. It seemed that not all of the S'Dirs had joined them in the open after all. All of the tension in the air was making Tarun jumpy; he flinched when someone brushed up against his elbow. It turned out to be Garrit, and Tarun relaxed when he recognized his cousin.

"What do you make of this?" asked Garrit.

Tarun shrugged. Then he spotted a flash of sunflower yellow out the corner of one eye. The princess's ladies-in-waiting had emerged from the carriage. As Princess Ellorae arranged herself in one of the camp chairs set up beneath the canopy, Elowen moved to place herself at her mistress's right hand. Ellorae glanced up briefly, and Elowen leaned in for the princess to whisper in her ear. Whatever the two said, it was entirely too quiet for any but themselves to overhear. That was when Tarun got an idea.

"Put down your visor," he whispered to Garrit.

"Why?"

"Just do it and follow me."

The two of them slid the visors on their helmet down, hiding their faces just as the S'Dir's leader took a seat and began to undo his own covering. With their identities as mountainfolk – and thus 'untrustworthy by association' – obscured, Tarun and Garrit were able to quietly place themselves in position to act as simply another pair of nameless, faceless soldiers. They stood just off to one side beyond the canopy, behind Jerriod and Neel's backs and far enough away not to attract immediate attention. The narrow walls of the gully did a splendid job of amplifying voices though, and Tarun and Garrit were able to hear every word spoken.

The leader of the clansfolk was speaking to Princess Ellorae. "My name is Oshaher S'Dir, and I am the Road Warden in these lands. You are of course aware, Your Ladyship, that your father granted the clans the right to tax the use of The Running Road through their ancestral territories?"

"But of course, Warden Oshaher! I fear that I was only a child when King Maheadron passed the edict. Perhaps you might advise me though, seeing as I was so young at the time and thus my memory in this matter cannot be relied upon..." Ellorae sighed, sounding more like a sheepish little girl than a royal dignitary.

"What is it that you wish me to clarify for you, princess?" asked Oshaher.

"I seem to recall that there was an amendment written into the edict, only a short while after it passed. Something to do with the nature of taxation and royal use of The Running Road...?"

There was a pause. Tarun snuck a glance through the grill of his visor toward the group beneath the canopy. Oshaher had fully removed his headwrap, revealing a clansman of similar age with Lieutenant Neel and perhaps Borse. He wore his beard curiously styled to the eyes of a mountain-born man; meticulously, neatly trimmed, with black sideburns narrowing and extending out across his cheeks to meet the corners of his mustache at the mouth. His nose, broad and prominent, looked like it had been broken at least twice. He seemed to Tarun a man not casually trifled with, although perhaps a tad fanciful if the beard had anything to say about its wearer.

"There was such an amendment, but its terms are no longer true."

"Even so, could you please remind me of its specifics?" prompted Ellorae.

"Very well. Under the terms of the amendment, any member of the royal house of Amenthis could pass without tax along The Running Road. The understanding being, of course, that the capital would tax the clans of the east ten ignums less a head each year. Our taxes have risen since your brother became king, Your Ladyship. The edict however still stands, and so too does our right to the road toll."

"The clans have grown wealthy of late, good warden. Your taxes have risen only in proportion to your wealth. The proportion asked remains the same."

"Some clans wealthier than others, it seems," said Oshaher slyly with a meaningful glance toward the wagon and its burden of chests and trunks. Within those trunks, Tarun knew, was carried Princess Ellorae's wedding dowry. Clan A'Khet stood to become very wealthy indeed with the marriage of an Amentherian princess to their eimir, Rhadu. "Even if the royal exemption to our tolls still stood, I am afraid that it would still apply to all the soldiers in your entourage. By my count that is five hundred and ten, not including your servants and ladies. At one ignum a head, that is still five gold sols and two silver luns, minus an ignum."

"O by The Teeth" grumbled Garrit to Tarun under his breath. "Surely she can afford five wretched gold coins. Just pay them their toll and let's be off! It'll be midday soon, and we'll all melt on the road."

"It's not the money, it's the principle of it. Shush!" Tarun admonished Garrit.

Thankfully, those under the canopy were too engrossed in the conversation to notice two whispering foot-soldiers. Jerriod was already bristling again, puffing up with pompous capital pride. "The amendment to the road agreement was never annulled, you cannot just ignore it based upon your own opinions! You are behaving as little better than highwaymen, holding the princess's arrival in Derbesh hostage upon a handful of coins."

Elowen was yet again bent over Ellorae's shoulder, hands clasped in a courtly fashion behind her back and eyes lowered respectfully. Ellorae's doe-like brown eyes remained set upon Oshaher though, and her smile was pleasant, expectant even as it was turned upon the Road Warden.

"Not to worry, Captain, I think I know a means by which all can be glad of this fortuitous meeting on the road. Warden Oshaher, would you be prepared to accept ten sols as a gift of gratitude, reward for safely escorting myself and my caravan the rest of the way to Derbesh?" 

Lieutenant Neel's intake of breath was audible all the way from where Tarun and Garrit stood, to say nothing of Jerriod's reaction. Princess Ellorae had left Amenthere with a royal escort of ten Knights of Amenthere. In Geristan, that number had risen to over five hundred with the addition of the Fourth Company. Even for a time of such unrest, for a princess to be escorted by five hundred and sixty armed men was unprecedented, extravagant, outrageous!

"Your Majesty, surely there is no-" Lieutenant Neel began to interject. He did not get far though. Just as sweet and cloying as her performance in the barracks of Geristan, Princess Ellorae continued her entreaty to Oshaher.

"We are still a long way yet from Derbesh, and the road is not without its perils, as you well know. How grateful my brother will be, to know that the noble folk of Clan S'Dir ensured his sister's arrival for her upcoming wedding!"

Even Oshaher had to laugh, although he graciously kept it down to a brief chuckle. "You are not wrong when you say that the road between here and Derbesh is not without peril. And it is for that reason which I must refuse. Not half a day east of here begin the lands of the R'Tor clan. They would be even less pleased of our presence than they will be yours."

"Then in that case, all the more reason for you and your folk to aid us in our journey," replied Ellorae. Looking back over her shoulder at the loaded wagon, she sighed and shook her head. "Can you imagine? How unfortunate it would be if such royal gains were to come into the possession of Eimir Enyat R'Tor?"

Tarun, begrudgingly, adjusted his opinion of the princess upward a notch. It was clever, and showed very deft understanding of the politics of the clansfolk. The R'Tors and S'Dirs hated each other, were only kept from open warfare with one another by the knowledge that such conflict would inevitably bring interference from Amenthere. Thrymm had tried to teach Marden, Tarun, and Lhara a little bit about what he knew of clan politics, although the three of them had all been somewhat too young to understand more than the most general facts. The last thing a proud S'Dir would ever want would be for the kind of wealth Ellorae was bringing with her to Derbesh to fall into the hands of the Lion Clan of the East. Especially, that is, if they could lay claim to a portion of said wealth for their own clan.

Just as Oshaher began to speak again, a sudden scrape of metal on metal very nearby sent a spike of surprise through Tarun and Garrit. The two of them had been so caught up in trying to eavesdrop, they had stopped paying attention to their own surroundings. They had been caught. Fully expecting to find an angry Pedrum awaiting, Tarun and Garrit turned to face their fate. Tarun could feel the half-healed lash marks on his back twinge ominously.

It was not Pedrum, nor even any of Jerriod's lesser officers. Another foot-soldier leaned nonchalantly against the canvas pole beside them, their back likewise to the conversing dignitaries. Their visor was also down, but Tarun recognized the slender frame and entirely too laid-back body language.

"Derrian?!" He spoke just above a whisper, still trying to avoid attracting attention.

"Who??" Every single mountain man who had been drafted into the Fourth had known one another all their lives. It was all too obvious that it was not a mountain man whom Tarun was addressing. Garrit's head turned toward Tarun, and even through their visors Tarun could feel his cousin's incredulous stare.

"Shhh! Of course it's me, who else?!" Derrian actually had the gall to sound somewhat offended. "Now pipe down, the lieutenant is looking at us!"

"Bel, I swear by the stars, if you give us away..."

"Hey! I would be getting in trouble right along with you two ogres. Now hush up! I'm trying to hear!"

Tarun could have swallowed his own tongue from sheer disbelief. He and Garrit had been there first, and Derrian had the nerve to tell them to be quiet?? Unable to get any more involved without attracting more of Neel and Jerriod's notice, Tarun had little choice but to do just as Derrian said. Swallowing his seething indignation was made a little easier by also wanting to hear what was being said.

"-be far more likely to encounter the R'Tors, the size of our party being what it is." The fact the Oshaher was apparently referring to the princess's caravan as 'our' did not escape anyone's notice. Garrit, Derrian, and Tarun all exchanged a brief glance through their visors.

"If they have any respect for the name of Amenthis, that should make little difference to our journey," said Jerriod, still sounding distinctly put-out.

"We are agreed though, Road Warden?" Princess Ellorae peered across the rim of her goblet at Oshaher, eyes wide and hopeful.

"We are. I will dispatch a rider back to Eimir Hadasna to inform her of our absence. Clan S'Dir will see you and your party safely to the doors of The Weeping Keep, Your Ladyship. Although..." Oshaher laughed, an unexpected and hearty sound. "We would be even happier to make the journey if it were a S'Dir awaiting your hand in marriage in Derbesh!"

"Alas!" Ellorae joined Oshaher's mirth, albeit more of a coy giggle. "I fear that Lady Hadasna might be less intrigued by the notion of a royal bride than Lord Rhadu. Perhaps in another generation."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps Your Ladyship and I might grow so charmed by one another on the trip to Derbesh, we decide to elope and leave poor Rhadu A'Khet standing on the steps of The Weeping Keep!"

Even as Jerriod and Neel bristled at Oshaher S'Dir's blatant cheek, Tarun too found himself grinding his teeth. Elowen tittered behind her hand with laughter though, and a second later Princess Ellorae giggled along as well.

"I fear that a man of your esteemed generation is already too late for that, good warden! The future is yet to be written though..." With a coy wink, Ellorae gathered up her skirts and stood. "Come then! How would you and your folk be best suited for traveling with us? There are only horses enough for the officers and Knights of Amenthis, unfortunately, but surely one could be loaned for your ease at least."

"No need, dear lady! You see..." With a broad wave of his arm, Oshaher gestured to the bright yellow sky above the gully. "We brought our own means of travel."

However many sentries Pedrum had dispatched to keep an eye on the rim of the gully, it clearly hadn't been enough. A cry of warning went up only a moment before dark shapes suddenly filled the sky. Pointed wings blotted out the punishing brightness of the late summer sun, and sharp, bird-like screeches echoed off sandstone. Dozens upon dozens upon dozens of griffins circled the gully, most if not all with riders upon their backs.

Suddenly, the men of the Fourth were very, very thankful that their surprise meeting with Clan S'Dir had not come to violence.

OoOoO

Later that evening, some leagues further east along The Running Road than where they had been, the Fourth company stopped and pitched camp for the night. Still apparently on permanent leave from guard-duty, Tarun was only too happy to join the other mountainfolk around one of the Fourth's many campfires. Together, they sat nursing bowls of day-old root stew and dried meat gone even drier in the desert air.

"The Bear's got even more guards on tonight than usual," Erland, Trosk's carpenter, was noting. "Almost like he doesn't trust the S'Dirs, eh?"

Borse shrugged. Then he cast his flinty eyes to the stars. It was a clear night, and every last pinprick of light sparkled as brightly as the stones in the cavern where Trosk buried their dead. "He'd be better off worrying about the R'Tors. I'm guessing by how low The Ewe's hanging on the horizon that we're just about at the borders of their territory."

"The clans' quarrels are none of our affair, I say." Thyge, the baker, shook his head. His hand found the grey stubble on his chin where his beard used to be, and he stroked it mournfully. "Not that it'll make any difference to the R'Tors if they see us in Amenthere's red uniforms."

Setting down his bowl of stew, thoroughly licked clean, Garrit cast a questioning eye toward Tarun. Garrit had yet to comment any further on Tarun apparently being on a first-name-basis with one of the Fourth's lowlander soldiers, and for that Tarun was very grateful.

"Hey Tarun, wasn't your da a S'Dir? Thrymm lived in Anset before he moved to Trosk and met your ma, didn't he?"

Tarun didn't particularly like speaking about his parents. He'd always hated it when Marden or Lhara tried to bring them up after the accident and Myra's winter fever. The question was fairly justified though, given their current circumstances, with almost two hundred S'Dirs camped out less than a stone's throw away. The Fourth could clearly see the light from their fires and hear the honking of their griffins.

"No, he was an U'Krell. Or at least, his da was."

"And your grandma?" pressed Andris, curiously.

"Oi, finish your stew!" Borse interrupted, narrowing his thick black brows warningly. With Hengar gone, it seemed the tanner had taken it upon himself to keep watch over not only Berin – who grew quieter by the day in his twin's absence – but Andris as well.

"What?!" Andris protested.

Tarun didn't really see the point in hiding something that was simple fact, even if some of the older folk in Trosk thought it was a fact worth hiding.

"Da's ma was a bawd, Andris. I think she was cast out of her clan, for some reason or other. We never met her though; Da said she died just before he left Anset."

"Oh..."

Andris began sheepishly eating his stew again, gaze downcast against the disapproving looks of Borse and Thyge. Garrit, ever the peace-maker, was quick to step in with a different topic of conversation.

"I wonder how the women and elders are making do back at Trosk."

At first, nobody answered. In the orange glow of the firelight, Tarun observed a myriad of emotions at play across the men's faces. Garrit; wistful, no doubt thinking of the widow Quella and her little daughter. Joar, similarly staring deep into the fire even as his heart stretched out across the darkened desert to where, far away in The Teeth, Devina would be tucking their children into bed. Borse, who had no women awaiting him in Trosk, only frowned and silently reached out, patting Berin's knee as if to reassure himself that his remaining son was still there. Andris sighed.

"Do you think Lhara will miss me?" he wondered aloud.

Tarun made a sound in the back of his throat; too loud. Andris's expression went from dreamy to annoyed in the blink of an eye.

"You weren't there! We had a real moment! Besides, I doubt your sister ever told you what she was thinking when it came to men."

"Oh by the elders..." Erland groaned.

"All I know is that she certainly never spoke of you as anything other than 'the butcher's bothersome boy'." 

"That's rich, coming from a man who's never courted anyone in his entire twenty-one years!"

"Twenty-two."

"As if that makes-"

"Excuse me."

Andris and Tarun's growing quarrel was instantly forgotten the moment the men of Trosk saw who it was that had interrupted them. Standing there, just beyond the circle of firelight, stood Derrian Bel. Tarun immediately flushed, mortified. Why this pesky lowlander seemed so intent on following him every-which-way he went, he couldn't begin to guess.

Derrian wasn't alone though. With him were four other young soldiers, all glancing nervously between themselves and the back of Derrian's head. Clearly, they were having second thoughts about whatever mad idea it was that Derrian had talked them into.

"Mind if we join you? All the other firesides are full-up, and those clansfolk are getting a bit much over on the other side."

The men of Trosk were completely caught off-guard. Ever since the attack on Trosk, there had been an unspoken agreement between them and the lowlanders; 'Stay away from us, and we'll stay away from you'. None of the five soldiers standing before them could have been any older than five-and-twenty though, no older than Tarun, Berin, Andris, and Garrit. Derrian held up a small cask; a peace offering.

"We brought some of the mead. Pedrum said we could share it around."

After days of drinking only warm water from skins that smelled of goat, the notion of mead – even the watered-down variety stocked by the army - was very, very appealing.

"Your name is Derrian, isn't it?" asked Garrit slowly.

Derrian's grin nearly took in his ears when he nodded. "And you're Tarun's cousin, aren't you?"

The other men of Trosk were now openly staring at Tarun, who would very much have liked to just sink into the sandy soil beneath his boots and be swallowed by the desert. Thyge, who had once questioned Tarun's loyalty to his kinsfolk, glowered like a mountain cat on a ledge. Garrit however seemed oblivious to it all. Likewise pleased at the other man's recognition, he shifted over to make room.

"That's right, I'm Garrit. If you're bringing mead, then you might as well pour it out before Pedrum comes looking for it!"

"Wait just a minute..."

A rumble from Borse stopped Derrian and his companions in mid step. The tanner was an imposing man even to those who knew him well, and the five lowlanders stood as if frozen.

"What's your family name then, boy?"

Another man might have bristled at being called 'boy' by a total stranger. Derrian seemed too momentarily intimidated by Borse to even consider such a reaction.

"Bel."

"And where are you from?"

"Vaelona. Or rather, just outside Vaelona."

"What do your parents do?"

"Well...my father keeps sheep, and my mother keeps house." Derrian attempted a shy joke. "My father often jokes that he has the easier job of the two, between me and my four siblings."

"Sheep?! What kind of soft-footed animal could you possible keep in the lowlands?" protested Joar, startled. Every mountain man present was obviously thinking of the hearty, spiral-horned argalis herded by the people of Trosk.

"Well, my father mostly raises Blacknoses. They're quite cute, some of the nobles in the city even borrow the lambs as pets. We tend to take them back once they're breeding age though. Nobles don't seem to like them in their homes quite as much once they're grown."

"How small are these Blacknose things to begin with, if people are trying to keep in their homes?!"

"You must not get back a handful of wool off them at sheering!"

"Never heard of that breed, you sure you're not mistaking a shaggy dog for a sheep?"

That was all it took; between the offer of mead and the sudden discovery of common ground, Derrian and his friends were quickly absorbed by the circle of mountain men around the fire. Many like Thyge remained stone-faced though, and the other young lowlanders were nowhere near as free with their words as Derrian. They did not leave though, and no one asked them to. Tarun, to his eternal amazement, found himself sitting with Garrit on one side and Derrian on the other.

And to think that, only a month or so ago, everyone sitting around that fire had likely been trying to kill one another on the hillside beneath Trosk. Some might even have succeeded, Tarun realized, remembering Gerdiom, Andris's da, and Cassel, Berin's twin.

For one night at least though, there was only the company of men, gathering around a campfire and sharing cups of watered-down mead.

OoOoO