Aarav watches him go and makes a mental note. The big man is dangerous. Not just for his size but the way he moves suggests training.

  Seren releases a small breath, breaking Aarav from his thoughts.

  “I do not like him,” she says once Marden is safely out of earshot.

  “I don’t like him either, but we don’t always get to choose our travel companions,” Aarav replies.

  “Can we trust these people?”

  He doesn’t answer straight away. The wagons are quickly getting into order. Their wagon eases in behind the first and the third follows like a patient animal. He and Seren climb up and settle again by the brake.

  “Trust and faith get tangled,” he says, as the lead wagon begins to move. “People use one when they mean the other. I trust what I can count on. I trust that men eat when they are hungry. That a purse left within reach will grow legs. I trust that a brute will try to start a fight after a few drinks. I trust that a driver cares more about the weight on his axle than the quality of the view.

  “That,” he adds quietly, “is trust.”

  “And faith?” she asks.

  “Faith is for what you cannot prove.” Aarav keeps his eyes on the road. “I have met men who tell me I should have faith in them. It usually means they don’t yet have anything to sell me except a promise. I have never relied much on faith.”

  “And Marden?”

  “I have known men like him all my life,” Aarav says. “I trust that he will do what serves him. If we are useful to him, he will treat us as useful. If we are not, he will discard us. He will not wake in the night worrying whether we ride comfortably. He will wake to count what could cost him coin. That isn’t evil. It is practical. The problem we have is he sees you as valuable, and men like him don’t like to lose valuable things.”

  She doesn't reply, with a thoughtful expression on her face. The caravan has begun to move in earnest now. The line creaks into motion. Hooves lift the weight cleanly out of the first set of ruts. Each wagon hits the same ruts left by the wagon before it with a bump, but they get moving without issue.

  “You make it sound like faith is not important,” she says at last.

  “I have never found a use for it, outside perhaps tricking someone into believing me without any proof,” he answers. “The alarming part is how easy it can be.”

  She gives a small smile that never quite reaches her eyes and draws her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Perhaps faith is a subject best left alone for now.

  The morning carries them through the same patchwork of fields and hills they crossed the day before, shifted sideways by a few miles, as if the world has been picked up and set down again at a different angle. New rhythms make themselves known quickly. A steep rise that needs people to get out and push. A shaded run that blesses everyone with a break from the sun. A brook that crosses the road and takes some strict maneuvering to cross.

  They work without break. Aarav keeps a steady hand on the brake when the slope changes and calls quick warnings back when a strap begins to creep loose. Seren keeps him company easily as they talk about nothing important and it helps the time pass.

  By midmorning the pace drops.

  Aarav looks ahead, past the shoulders of the men on the lead wagon, and finds no reason in the road to explain it. Then he sees Marden sitting beside the driver, his head turning now and again to look back down the line.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “It feels like we have been moving slower than yesterday,” Seren says, noticing the same thing.

  “We have,” he answers.

  “Why?”

  “Go and ask marden, I am sure there is a reason.”

  “I would rather not.”

  “Neither would I, so instead I will sit here and wonder about it instead.”

  The wagons continue their march onwards. Going seemingly slower by the minute. Even Aarav begins to think about going and asking Marden what is going on, he could walk faster than this. Not that it would likely do any good.

  They cross a shallow ford that slicks the wheels and leaves them shining, then climb and take a long curve that unwinds along the shoulder of a low hill. The land opens up all aroudn them. On one side, empty fields where even grass grows poorly. On the other, shallow hills lying like sleeping trolls under a sheet of grass. The sky widens and the sound thins with it.

  Aarav feels it before he hears it.

  A tremor in the air that does not belong to the wagons. A pattern that does not match the hoofbeats ahead. He lifts his head and listens.

  There it is. Horses. Not plodding mules. Not a farmer’s tired nag but horses moving fast.

  The sound comes from behind, low at first, then clearer as it carries along the folds of land. Aarav looks past the third wagon, past the last, to the bend where the track disappears. Nothing yet, but the sound grows quickly.

  Seren is trying to look too but there is nothing to see. Her eyes sharpen and muscles tense.

  “Stay calm,” Aarav says, though he does not expect her to do so. There aren’t many good reasons for a group of horses to be running down a wagon.

  Men are standing on the rear wagons now, hands braced, faces tipped to listen. Drivers glance at one another and then stare ahead, the way men do when they would rather let someone else deal with the problem. On the lead bench, Marden doesn’t appear to be worried at all and calls the wagons to stop.

  The riders come into view on the next breath, spilling around the bend in a dark braid. Four. Then six. More shapes coming in behind them.

  Black coats. Black tack. Riders in black uniforms cut close to their bodies, and horse black as night.

  Sunlight flares on metal armor. The horses’ eyes shine red at this distance where the light catches them, causing a shiver to run up his spine.

  This isn’t good and everyone realises this at the same time.

  Shouts of panic run along the line. Aarav isn’t listening. There is no time for panic, he moves.

  He has already seen where the best route away is. They need to get out of sight and then away to the cover of the trees in the distance. Before the riders get to close.

  “We need to go,” he says. “Now.”

  They go over the side together. The ground hits hard, a jolt that races up the bones and costs the precious seconds. He looks north at once. Where the hill dips hard and should give them some cover. Enough to break a line of sight if they are quick. He reaches back and grabs Seren by the hand, then turns his body to guide her.

  They have only taken a few steps when a shape resolves at the edge of his vision.

  Ivo.

  The big man comes out of nowhere. He moves toward them with unhurried certainty as the caravan grinds toward a stop. A weapon rests in his hand now. A large club. Designed for beating, not killing, or not killing quickly anyway.

  Aarav feels his body getting ready to fight or run.

  Behind them, the thunder of hooves swells until it fills the hills with its noise. Ahead, Ivo just puts himself between them and escape.

  Seren stops moving but Aarav doesn’t let her. He shifts half a step in front of her without missing a step and keeps moving towards Ivo. He is big but he has seen him move deceptively quickly with those long legs.

  The ground tilts slightly underfoot. The wagon's other passengers are starting to scream. The riders behind are a storm about to break. The man in front of them is slowing them down.

  Aarav sets his heel and meets Ivo’s eyes.

  “Move,” he says.

  Ivo does nothing, doesn't even respond. Just stands there blocking them. A barrier between them and the danger behind them.