Days passed like the cold winter breeze. The season was not as harsh here; Welkia had received the worst, it seemed. This made travel markedly easier, alleviating some of the anxiety of having to take a detour south. The hilly region would have been more frustrating to traverse if the roads were in worse condition.

  They avoided villages for the most part, sticking to their purpose. Sometimes Aunt Idwyn alone would integrate and purchase supplies, but on the whole, they kept moving.

  The lack of resistance surprised Artowen. From the way Mav made the dilemma sound, Bardoo soldiers would do everything to slow progress, maybe even draw weapons, but he had seen none of that. True, they had done an expert job at avoiding other people, and the south was supposed to be less guarded, but it did not appear as if they were on high alert. Even though they were heading south because they had closed down the central and northern roads, they would still have been able to at the very least inform the southern soldiers to keep watch. They, however, were none the wiser. Even when they were spotted, nothing came of it.

  Doubts about the legitimacy of Mav’s claims were brought up by Royce one night by the fire. “There has been no sign of what you were describing. Perhaps you are leading us astray.”

  Mav shrugged. “That’s why we’re heading south, runt. Away from their blockade,” He said matter-of-factly.

  Royce growled. There was a good chance he would launch himself at the man. Mav didn’t seem to notice the friction in their relationship, but he was constantly rubbing against Royce’s insecurity. It appeared he was doing it unconsciously, but it was a guarantee for a strained relationship.

  Aunt Idwyn had given Royce a stern look, telling him that she would brook no conflict within the group.

  That action in itself had seemed to perturb Emerii.

  In the following days, the band felt disjointed. It was unfortunate. Emerii had never been very fond of his aunt, but in recent times, it felt like she had finally warmed to her. That was not the case.

  Mav was a valuable asset and a decent fellow, if abrasive. These arguments felt pointless in comparison to the goal of their journey.

  Artowen pulled Emerii away to discuss the issue, to which she happily voiced her displeasure. “Idwyn is so attentive to our new companion. She’s always like this, treating only certain people like they’re human, while the rest fall to her periphery as mere things to be observed with disdain.”

  “That’s not true,” His voice was hard.

  “You know how she treats Royce and me; she does not see us. This issue is hardly Royce’s fault. We will endure, but that does not mean we appreciate them.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll smooth it over. Arguments at the beginning of a friendship mean more things to laugh about later.”

  She finally cracked a smile. “I believe you will, Arty. I have no problem with Mav either. Once we arrive in Rynswater, I’m sure it will all be fine.”

  With that, they continued on, now course correcting and heading south west.

  The land was quiet.

  No birds cried in the air.

  No predators hunted in the trees.

  Though the band had been intentionally avoiding contact, that hardly seemed necessary now as they had not seen another person in quite some time. Aunt Idwyn still rode at the head, making decisions on their direction. Close behind was Mav, offering information of what he knew of the area and any changes that had occurred that she might not know about.

  The silence was strange, putting them on edge, though there should not have been any issue. They were far from the border of the Lost Lands, in winter, and with confirmation that the area was seeing unheard of peace.

  Ahead was a village, barely visible in the distance. No sound emanated, adding to the eerie atmosphere of the forest. Devoid of any patrols, they slowly approached.

  “Should we go around like we’ve been doing?” Mav asked warily.

  Aunt Idwyn’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  As they entered the village, the meaning of her words became realized. There was not a single soul around, but strangely, nothing appeared to be out of the norm. Untainted by war, left without signs that any pillaging had occurred. Devoid of any indication that there had been a harried flight, fleeing from an enemy force. Everything was left where it belonged.

  Aunt Idwyn grimaced.

  Despite their need being great, the curiosity of the sight before them beckoned, causing the band to dismount. A plain, poor village of wood that one could find anywhere. No signs of what might have occurred.

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  “Gather food and water,” Aunt Idwyn commanded.

  They all looked to her with confused expressions.

  “They won’t be coming back here.”

  They did as they were told while the Truthsayer stood in deep contemplation.

  Once they were finished, Artowen approached and asked, “What happened?”

  “It has progressed further than I had anticipated. Do not worry about the people, dear nephew. They simply fled, beckoned by Bardoo soldiers before they had time to prepare for their journey.”

  Artowen released a held breath as the tension in his shoulders let go. Despite no evidence of a struggle, he had harbored worries for his fellow Drajin. Aunt Idwyn then met his eyes for a long time.

  “Our goal is an important one, but a treacherous path lies before us. Would you turn back now, away from danger, while we have the chance? There are still other Kingdoms to visit after all.” As his aunt said this, her eyes did not leave his.

  He felt fire boil in his stomach. “No matter what we charge through. Every path before us is perilous. We must convince the King of Bardoo to unite with the other Dradris Kingdoms. I do not know the reasons for them making our journey so difficult, but we will meet the challenge.”

  A pointed smile on his aunt’s features. “Wonderfully said. Then we must ride. Swiftly.”

  She mounted her horse, then whipped it into a gallop. The rest of the band followed, heading westward.

  Hooves on frozen ground beat to the tune of travel. The reverberation of the horses and the grunts of the riders were the only noise to pierce the canopy of silence. Thick trees surrounded them on either side.

  Why were things turning out this way? Aunt Idwyn appeared to have a grasp on the situation, but Artowen was like a stumbling toddler lost in the dark. Should Bardoo not want to dispel the reign of the Uxsons?

  Lost in thought, they sped ahead.

  An axe suddenly arced, catching Mav’s horse on the shoulder, cleaving through muscle and bone to cleanly cut off the leg of the animal. As the poor beast tumbled, Mav jumped, spinning in the air, then landing lithely in a run while carrying the speed from the horse he had been riding. Before his body succumbed to the momentum, he jumped again, landing effortlessly on Royce’s horse.

  The Uxson stepped out from his hiding spot, then screeched something in his guttural language. The glints of more axes could be seen ahead.

  “Don’t stop!” Aunt Idwyn yelled. “Ride!”

  Emerii took the rear from Artowen as she drew her sword. A smirk showed what she was thinking. I really am a terrible rider.

  Before more of the warriors could get close, an arrow rang out, catching a Uxson in the shoulder. Another projectile clattered off a shield, holding them back from attacking the band. The archer was Mav, keenly positioning his body above Royce as he launched arrow after arrow upon their attackers. Royce was perturbed, but focused on driving the horse forward.

  “I’ll miss!” Mav yelled out as an arrow caught a Uxson in the eye. “I want to be here! I want to die!” It was a strange chant for a war cry. Despite the rough ride, the man did not fall, contorting his body to keep his balance.

  Their efforts were for naught as the band was slowed, then surrounded. Far too many Uxsons. Artowen and his friends formed a ring around Aunt Idwyn to protect her, then began chopping away. Emerii was the most efficient, with Artowen doing poorly, barely managing anything except to make the enemy wary of approaching. Aunt Idwyn sat on her horse, watching the events unfold.

  Emerii’s horse fell, but she dismounted in time, continuing her slaughter spree on foot. A hand reached up and tore Artowen down from his perch. Forced to the ground, the Uxson barred down on him. Cold sweat on the back of his neck, he broke free from the grasp that held him, then locked weapons with an incoming attacker.

  Strong.

  The common internal strength deity was no doubt bolstering the foe in front of him. But Artowen was stronger. Ignoring the burning of his old wounds, he cut the man down, only for more to fill his place. There was no end to the grinning monsters who spat insults in their strange language.

  Mav bolted into the forest, sprinting away from the conflict. Royce called after him, but even the Uxsons appeared to care little about him. The frenzy continued, no side giving any leeway, but it would not be long before the horde consumed them.

  A shout in their language, a female voice. All of the Uxsons stopped fighting. It had come from Aunt Idwyn. Slowly, the attackers made space, and a new face approached. A typical brute of a Uxson, gold and silver finery rested abundantly on him. He began conversing with his aunt in their language as she dismounted.

  “Any idea what they’re saying?” Artowen asked Royce and Emerii.

  They shook their heads.

  The argument appeared to grow heated as the Uxson raised a hand axe to Aunt Idwyn’s face. Artowen tried rushing in, but his two companions held him back. The Truthsayer smirked, tracing the edge of the blade with her finger as she muttered something. The man paled and backed away, then barked something.

  “Dismount, Royce, we leave the horses. Oh, and do fetch Mav for me,” She said.

  “Aunt Idwyn-” Artowen tried to speak, but she forestalled him with a hand that forbade any disagreement.

  “We will discuss as we go. For now, it is best to begin traveling before that becomes impossible.” Without further comment, she began walking as the beasts parted.

  They traveled north west through a trail that showed little sign of usage. Artowen smirked at Royce’s fierce glare at their new companion, who had run off in the midst of battle. His chosen friend had managed to track Mav down and drag him back, struggling, though that had stopped with one word from Aunt Idwyn.

  “We’re far enough away now, Lady Idwyn. I think you could give us a brief explanation,” Emerii said.

  She shrugged. “I traded the horses for passage. They will eat the dead and use the live ones for some purpose or another.”

  “Why did they stop? They could have just taken the horses after our corpses were cold. Could have had our bodies for a meal too.”

  “Inquisitive today, aren’t you, Emerii? You should know not even the Uxsons will knowingly kill a Truthsayer. We speak for the land, weave fate. The ones who strike us down unleash a blight, their souls and lineage cursed forevermore.”

  “Convenient.”

  “Oh, it truly is. Luckily, I was able to convince them that you were apart of my retinue, and to not touch you all either, even though you did strike down some of their men. With this land in turmoil now, we must travel quietly; the loss of our animals is of little consequence.”

  A dark mood possessed them. Mav muttered to himself, more ominously than before. A sinister, calculating glint rested in Royce’s eye as he examined their new member. Emerii had pressed his aunt farther than he thought needed.

  The only one unchanged was the Truthsayer, who still held her head high with self-assurance. That alone gave him relief. These issues would resolve, he knew. No, he would solve them with his determination. After all, he was supposed to be their leader.

  After all, he was the Promised One.