Jarod could hardly believe what Nikolao had said. Their whole group was beaten up, injured, and exhausted after battle. Jarod, by his own account, had been flirting with death so much that she might sweep him off his feet and drag him back to her place from the slightest misstep. And yet Nikolao was saying that they would have to leave for Chath without delay.

  “Now?! We can at least get a night’s rest before we have to travel,” Jarod protested. It was a long path back to the Cath, made even longer by their lack of horses, and it would be hard work on the body if they had to travel at any speed.

  “Unfortunately our schedule doesn’t allow it.” Nikolao spoke commandingly, with a brazen confidence Jarod expected out of gentry, but he did notice a glimmer of sympathy and understanding in the man’s eyes. He must have been nearly as exhausted as Jarod was.

  Nikolao went on to explain. “We were scheduled to give our report of the border villages the day after tomorrow. It was to be given directly to the king. Three days thereafter, the king is leaving to inspect the northern front in our skirmishes with the Tildan Republic. If he leaves before we arrive, we may never get the troops we need to defend against the trifleys.”

  Jarod frowned. The performers who’d come to town around the same time as the surveyors had mentioned there were tensions with the kingdom to the north. He hadn’t realized that there might be full-blown war brewing.

  One thing at a time though. “I know we have to rush to rally troops, but the bodies aren’t even cold yet. Isn’t there a guard captain or something we could meet with?”

  “A guard captain?” Nikolao said, as though he could scarcely believe the suggestion. “Whatever would they be able to do for us, send a unit of the city guard to run away at the first sign of real combat? No, we need the king for this. Our report is a direct line to him, and the only way of guaranteeing a fast enough response with a large enough force.”

  “Then go on your own then. Filgrin and I will catch up in a few day’s time.”

  “Need I remind you the terms of your deal with us. We were agreeable enough to help defend your pocket-sized village, at great cost to my own men, mind you.”

  “That wasn’t my fault!”

  “It doesn’t matter whose fault it was, it has happened. If I’m to salvage any of this situation, it’s by bringing you back to Chath so you can explain the attack to the king and secure a proper platoon for our defense. Not some pushover city guard. A dispatch from the army. The only way that will happen is if we have enough of you villagers to describe the attack and intimate the severity of the situation. Even an advisor in this situation will do nothing but dither to the point of destruction. Now you understand our predicament.”

  Jarod could follow the cold logic, but he didn’t like it. “It’s just not fair to expect this from me,” he said. “Why am I always the one to get dragged into this?”

  Nikolao smiled, and Jarod nearly punched the man, then and there. But his smile didn’t have humor in it, it was a smile of recognition, of understanding. “It is the price of controlling your destiny,” Nikolao said. “Fate may have played its part to thrust you into this situation, but the blame is not on fate alone. You‘ve made your decisions to act when others have not. Perhaps you’ve tempted the gods by showing your mettle, and they will do no more than test it further. Regardless of what divine destiny you might believe in, this is your path now. To step off it would risk losing all you have gained.”

  The words settled over Jarod like a spring waterfall. They were cold and exacting, yet they carried a refreshing force with them. He saw their truth, and stepped away from them cleansed of his indignance. He could shoulder the burden a bit longer.

  “I’ll gather my travel supplies then,” he said. “But I expect a hot bath when we get to Chath, and all the privileges of the city.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Nikolao. “No guarantee we’ll have more than a night in Chath, but I’m sure someone can manage to find you a bath house.”

  Jarod nodded and the two men looked each other in the eye. An unspoken understanding passed between them, of two men just doing their jobs, and Jarod walked off.

  * * *

  It was nice to be home, even if only for a moment. He’d spent the last two nights out of the house he’d lived practically his whole life, and he’d soon be spending many more on the road. The trifleys had busted down the door and run through the house, leaving dusty foot prints of bare feet, but they’d mostly left it alone. Maybe once they saw there was no one inside, they’d lost interest.

  He ran his hand along the center beam of his house, feeling the familiar wood in a manner he’d done a hundred hundred times before. It had been his father’s house before him, one of the few things he’d given in his passing. The house, his smithing knowledge, and the sword.

  He sat down heavily in his chair. It felt good to stretch his legs out, to lean back and let his arms hang limp. It was easy to reminisce from this spot. Memories of long days at the forge and late nights at the tavern came rushing back to remind him of a simpler life. A life where he wasn’t a warrior, just a tradesmen working his craft. Hoping to one day forge iron and steel with a skill that rivaled the learned ones in Chath. To forge a blade like his father’s.

  That sword. Another catalyst that had kicked the chain of unfortunate events off. There was no way of knowing for sure it had brought the trifley’s attention, but it had at least contributed to his sentence. It was tempting to go back for it before they left, but there was no way Jarod was going to risk stepping down into that chasm now.

  He got up out of the chair with a grunt, rocking forward onto his feet. Once they’d convinced the king to lend them support, he’d allow himself the luxury of relaxing. Until then, there was work to do.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  There wasn’t much for him to pack. He grabbed his backpack, a bedroll, and some rations he kept handy, and he was practically ready to leave. He wasn’t sure what else he would need, he hadn’t done much travelling in his life.

  Jarod had made a few trips to Eraford and Blackpool Outlook, but he’d almost never gone further than a day’s journey. Once, a long time ago, he’d made the trip to Chath, curious about the city and their blacksmiths. It was a few years after his father died, and he’d begun to grow overconfident in his blacksmithing skills.

  When he’d arrived at their workshops, eager to show off his speed making nails and horseshoes, he’d been embarrassed to see the elaborate and technical work that they were able to do. There were nails and horseshoes being made there, but mostly by the apprentices. Their masters were making intricate locks, beautiful swords, and all manner of decorative metalwork for the rich. Jarod had returned home embarrassed, but also with a newfound desire to improve his own skills.

  He just hoped he’d be able to get back to that work one day. He’d gotten more skilled at the profession, much farther than even his father had, but he had a long way to go still.

  Footsteps at the entrance diverted his attention. It was Filgrin.

  “Did you…” Jarod started

  “I left Wilfurd with Warin,” said Filgrin, already knowing what was on his mind. “He’s puttin’ together a funeral pyre for him ‘fore we leave. No time for a burial, but we’ll get a memorial at least.”

  Jarod nodded. “I take it you’ve talked with Nikolao.”

  “Aye. Much as I hate to admit it, the boy’s right: we need to get a move on. Not just for the king, there’s no telling when those trifleys’ll come out again.”

  “I’m ready to go I suppose. Don’t have much to pack.”

  Filgrin raised an eyebrow. “No? I can already tell there’s one thing yer missing.”

  Jarod opened up his pack, double checking his tinder box, mess kit, and some spare money were all there. It seemed Filgrin had other ideas, and he reached around the corner for something he’d left outside.

  “Seems one of those boys got it in his head for this to find its way to you before you were meant to leave this morning. Damn fool, but it’s here now, so you might as well have it.”

  Filgrin pulled his surprise inside and revealed it to Jarod. There before him, shined with a hasty polish, was his father’s sword.

  “Filgrin, I… I can’t believe you got it back,” said Jarod, still in shock at the weapon’s reappearance. “Thank you, I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  “Yeah, well ye should be thanking Dean, he was the one that went back down there before even the sun rose,” Filgrin said. He smiled, pleased that he was able to give Jarod at least a little bit of joy in the moment.

  “You’ll be needing it too,” he said, taking a seat at Jarod’s table. “Way I hear it, roads aren’t as safe as they used to be. Not many regular patrols roaming about, what with war brewin’. Surveyors ain’t seen much trouble with a group as large as theirs, but last merchant that came to town lost half his wares to a bandit, and claimed he’d nearly lost the other half to something else roamin’ the forest.”

  Jarod fastened the shortsword snugly around his waist, grabbing the scabbard Filgrin had also brought with him. “As long as we don’t come across more trifleys until we’ve got the army on our side, I’ll manage.”

  The two of them sat there for a while, delaying for the inevitable time that would come when they must leave. Jarod hadn’t known the old bowyer well in what felt now like his past life. Everyone in town knew everyone else a little bit, but he’d never so much as shared a drink with the man. Now, after what they’d been through together, he felt like an old friend, easy to sit in comfortable silence with as they rested weary bones.

  They were interrupted by another visitor at the door, this time Basma, with her hands on her hips. Nikolao was behind her, following the barmaid up to the door, while the silent Tex’ana crouched watching in the back.

  “Please tell me you aren’t planning on going to Chath,” she said.

  “I know it’s soon,” Jarod responded, “but Nikolao has a point. We need every advantage we can get if we’re going to take on the trifleys a second time.”

  “I’m not talking about your schedule, although that’s bad enough. Why are you going to Chath at all! You served your sentence! You were nearly killed, then you go and save half the town and whatever surveyors managed to make it out from these monsters. What more could they want from you!?”

  “Basma, I know it seems bad, but this is our best chance.”

  “Even if you were able to convince the king, there’s no telling what they’ll do to you. They might imprison you anyways just for the fun of it.”

  Jarod glanced at Nikolao, but the surveyor seemed unbothered by her remarks. The sight servant was stolid as always. “It’ll be okay,” Jarod said. “They wouldn’t do that to me, not after what we’ve been through. I’ll admit that they aren’t my choice of friends, but I trust them this far at least.”

  She glared angrily back at Nikolao. “He said you’d be like this.” She whirled around back to Jarod, daring him to challenge her. “Fine, then I’m coming with you. Someone has to keep an eye out to make sure you don’t get thrown into a prison somewhere.”

  “What? No, absolutely not, there’s no reason you’d need to come.”

  “Nikolao says he could use as many witnesses as he can get.”

  Nikolao spoke up here. “I’d take all of you if I could, but it would slow us down, and I recognize there’s need for hands to help relocate your people to another village.”

  “Besides,” said Basma, “it’s not like it’s some dangerous trip. We’re just going to the capital.”

  Jarod recognized that his initial objections might have been a little misplaced. After everything that had happened today, it was easy to assume that the rest of the mission would be just as fraught with peril, but it was just a trip to the capital. Filgrin had said the roads were dangerous, but they had Tex’ana if things got hairy. “That’s fine, I guess,” he said begrudgingly.

  “It’s settled then,” Basma said. “Give me two jiffies to get packed, and I’ll be ready.” Without another word, she was off.

  Jarod looked to Nikolao. “You had some part in this, didn’t you?”

  The surveyor looked at Jarod, an unreadable look on his face. Following Basma’s lead, he turned on his heels, and took off.

  Tex’ana rolled his head broadly, and made some deep, resonant, throaty sound. Jarod took it for laughter.

  * * *

  The fire burned brightly, sending snapping embers whirling into the sky. Warin had organized the memorial quickly, giving what peace he could to Jarod in so doing. Esther had still not returned from the city. If she did, it would be to a ruined village, and a dead partner. Jarod hoped that they’d run into her, either on the way, or in the city itself, so they might lessen the blow.

  Warin had given a nice speech, and Jarod thought their mayor had done a proper job recognizing the sacrifice Wilfurd had made to defend the town and save others’ lives. In the end, he would be no more than ash.

  It was over quickly. Many villagers had nice things to remember about Wilfurd, but they had their own futures to worry about as well. Soon, they would have to pack what they could and make the trek to the next town over. Warin had decided on Blackpool Outlook, but he would send a messenger tomorrow to Eraford, warning them of what might be to come.

  For now, the villagers of Cleftshire would have a chance to rest, and to mourn those they lost. The same could not be said for the five figures that started their journey early in the afternoon. They would have no chance for rest, at least not until they reached Chath, and perhaps not until the trifleys were defeated once and for all.

  Four of those figures gave one last look back at the dying remains of the fire, and then began their long walk to Chath.