Four

The warm, golden sunlight that had cascaded through the leaves of the Ashwood had turned its back on the world the following morning. As Rygeir woke from a fitful sleep to relative darkness inside Quinn and Terys’s ornate carriage, he could hear the soft pattering of rain on the carriages roof from his cot. He sat up and drew the carriages rear drape aside to see a mist filled foggy morning, giving the Ashwood’s ruby color a pale sheen. He drew himself from the cot and stretched as best he could in the small, slightly cramped space within the carriage. He clothed himself quickly with some linens the troupe had gifted him and stepped through the threshold of his temporary living space. Though small, Quinn’s carriage interior was well comforted with empty cots that would have held Quinn and Terys on either side of a round oval in the center before the carriage door. Along side the alcoves of Quinn and Terys’s beds were small slots for their clothing and various nicknacks that the two had collected over time. As Rygeir came to the door to the outside, he took one of the long coats that lay strewn on a small table and stepped out in to the rain.

The wet rain was soft but consistent in the early morning heat, and as he took in the Ashwood he found that all around him there were the signs of bustling activity of the troupe breaking camp for the days travel. Most of the tables and seats used in the previous nights revelry had been packed away, and Rygeir could see Quinn speaking with one of the other carriage drivers nearer to the lake. Rygeir approached Quinn with a smile. The older man waved to him as he came.

“Good morning.” Quinn said with cheerfulness in his voice. “Hope your traveling boots are on. We have many miles to cross today.”

“Where are we headed?” Rygeir asked, watching the bustle of the troupes preparation around him. Some were beginning to disassemble and put away various chairs and tables while others still ate their breakfast and attempted to keep dry under the watchful gaze the trees of the Ashwood.

“Eastern Tamerlayn.” Quinn started as he began walking back towards the makeshift horse range that was south of the lake. “Lena wants us following the Ashwood to it’s edge before crossing the Revelyn river into Tamerlayn. We would take the pass south nearer to Dunhill if it weren’t for reports of banditry on that south road. Apparently they hijacked a merchants caravan headed for Vaden not too long ago, poor sods.”

“How close are they?” Rygeir asked with a small bit of worry in his tone. Quinn shrugged.

“Not sure. Corsin and Drevar and a few others went out patrolling near the edge of the forest before dawn and came back swiftly. Drevar said he saw a roving band moving westward past us, so the road should be clear if we hurry.” As they neared the horse range, Rygeir was surprised to see just how many horses the Wayfarer’s had. There were perhaps forty in total, all dark bays and packhorses from Rygeir’s eye. All looked young and sturdy traveling horses too. A flick of bright red hair passed in between a pair of them, grazing in the damp grass. Rygeir saw Terys brushing one chestnut colored mare. Their eyes met and they shared a wave and a smile before Quinn beckoned him to follow.

“I’ve not asked about having any troubles on the road.” Rygeir said with concern. “As you’ve said, you’ve been all around this earth. How do you protect yourselves?” Quinn stopped and sighed.

“To be honest Rygeir, we’re a big troupe, and most roving companies pay us no mind. We’ve had our fair share of pickpockets and looters looking for coin and whatever they can get their hands on, but the rest leave us well enough alone as luck would have it.” Rygeir found Quinn’s answer weak.

“And what about when you are unlucky? Banditry is on the rise Quinn, even with the return of Rymmyra’s army from Parsenius.” Quinn gave him a stern look but Rygeir shrugged it off. “I was in that army Quinn. Since it’s return the keeps haven’t been remanned, nor the roads freshly patrolled. The army was just disbanded and the men are just beginning their way home. You won’t have safe roads for another month or two at the earliest.” Quinn’s face turned sorrowful.

“This is old, but just as grave news Rygeir. Trust us. We’ve taken the necessary precautions.” Rygeir couldn’t help but scoff.

“Two patrolmen is not an effective means of alarm if a larger band of vagabonds comes to take your goods. Do you have any means of protection?” Quinn nodded.

“Our weaponry is housed in Gregor’s carriage.”

“And what weaponry is that?” Quinn waved him away as he began tending to one of the horses.

“Bah, I wouldn’t know. Find Gregor and see for yourself.” he said with obvious discomfort. Rygeir turned to leave but stopped, turning back and putting a hand on Quinn’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry if I was curt just then. If I am to be one of the troupe, this family, I must know how to protect us from those that would do us harm..” Quinn’s usually light tone came a bit darker by the mentioning of the bandits.

“I understand, and perhaps I was also sharper than I should have been. You’re words ring true Rygeir. I remember a time when we didn’t have to leave every other day, a time where we could rest near towns, other villages and forests without the worry of defending ourselves. Now we have to clear out and move along at the mere mention of them.” His eyes grew somber then, and he relaxed somewhat. “To be honest I am more relaxed knowing that you are with us. I don’t believe we have ever had a real soldier in our company before you.” Rygeir smiled slightly.

“Then perhaps I can put some of my experience to good use.” Rygeir had been through more than his fair share of battles, and had spilt more than his fair share of blood in the thick of them. Memories of clearing out the Rymmyran border towns that had been put to torch reminded him of many beheadings of any stragglers of those roving bands of miscreants. He remembered those that he put to the sword. Their faces, horrified and blood ridden would never leave him.

“Want to know the worst thing about it?” Quinn said. Rygeir only nodded. “Their pushing out from their boundaries every year. The roaches have their own encampments now where they make their home, deep in the forests of the world. Every league they build their numbers. Every year people like us need to be kept on our toes. We never used to send out patrols in the years past, but now our routes are becoming tighter and leaner every year. Some aren’t even an option to travel at all. None of us, save a few others and you now, have any real training with a blade either. We’re keen on being as guileful as we can, and luck, thank the heavens, has been on our side so far.” Quinn began walking back to his carriage. As his training and countless hours in Lord Sovereign Halkier’s service and courtrooms, Rygeir began running the different scenarios in his head. His new companions were in as much danger as any merchant who had come to court telling tales of many dead at the hands of the roving bandit companies. They were dangerous, well armed, and organized for a clan of miscreants. Rygeir suddenly wished that familiar weight of a scabbard at his hip would be true.

The shade of morning soon came away as the rain did a hour or so later. Bright sunshine of the late morning began peering through the trees as Rygeir walked back to Quinn’s carriage to help pack for the days travel. As they neared it, Rygeir saw Terys appear from the trail leading from the lake. She had washed and cleaned herself in the crisp morning and was looking more beautiful than the day before. She gave Rygeir a smile and bid him good morning before vanishing into the confines of the carriage to dress. Quinn brought a pair of horses to the carriages forward shafts.

“Say hello,” Quinn said patting the horses along the flanks. “to Brela and Hould. They’ve been our companions since Terys was born.” Rygeir watched them with keen interest. They looked like incredibly intelligent beasts, and knew without Quinn’s direction where to stand to be fitted with their harnesses and saddles. Brela was the larger of the two by a few inches, and had a chestnut color to her coat and a dark, thick mane that cascaded down her long neck. Hould was stocky and strong. younger than Brela by at least a few years Rygeir guessed. His strong, beige colored coat had a nick or two here and there, but he stood ever proud as he was fitted with his harness.

Rygeir helped Quinn tie and strap the carriage shafts to either horse. Rygeir had never been fond of the practice, having preferred to ride simple man to horse as he had done in many years of service, yet the horses did not mind the weight of the considerably thick wooden shafts of the carriage they hauled. Both horses actually looked as strong and sturdy as any horse ten years their junior, to Rygeir’s surprise. Quinn placed one foot on the carriages coachman’s step.

“Have you ever been to Tamerlayn before?” Rygeir nodded.

“I went wherever my Lord commanded me to.” Quinn smiled and hopped onto the cushioned seat above the footboard. Rygeir climbed the opposite step and sat next to him. “I haven’t been east in many years though. I hear much of it has changed since Empress Olene took the throne.” Quinn nodded and took the pair of reins in either hand and struck them against the wooden bannister in front of the drivers seat. Brela and Hould spurred and began a slow trod in line with the other carriages. Rygeir saw Lena’s carriage take the lead.

“It is a beautiful place. Not a river country like Rymmyra. It has wide open plains and thick woodlands teeming with life. Some villages say that they have Faelyn neighbors in those woods as well. I expect Lena will lead us along the southeastern road to Dunhill and Vestridge before the week is out. Then well, we’ll see.”

“Does she know where she’s going?” Rygeir asked with curiosity, Quinn guffawed as the carriage came onto a dirt path that ran beside the lake.

“Yes and no and maybe are all fine answers to that particular question. She’s like the wind Rygeir, flowing in any direction. Should the wind press her back to go northerly, she goes north. It’s oddly freeing if you ask me. It’s the Wayfarer’s way.” Rygeir watched placated and peacefully as the path turned from the lake into the wider expanse of the Ashwood, the grey fog dissipating from in between the silver and ruby colors of the trees.

The troupe came upon the ending of the Ashwood on a warm midsummer eve two days after Rygeir had been welcomed into their company. The rushing waters of the Revelyn ran north to south as the carriages made their way past the tree line into open land in front of them. Rygeir watched in awe as the landscape opened to him. An expanse of twenty eastern miles of lowland plain reached out across the horizon, with the dotted peaks and crags of the Murrain mountains stretching wide in the distance. To his right the Ashwood fell away onto the plain, but continued to run down another mile until it splintered off as the river curved. At his seat next to Quinn. his gaze fell to wheat fields that melded the plains into a whole. Rygeir stood and put a hand on the roof of the carriage for balance as he stood, looking out into the land. He took a deep breath in and reveled in the warm summer air, clean and clear as the bright blue sky above. As he opened his eyes to the sky, a flock of birds crested overhead and ventured with the southern wind. The carriages moved out of the forests edge into a beaten dirt path south to where Lena had said the river was traversable. To the far south, Rygeir began to see small pillars of smoke over the remaining treetops of the Ashwood’s edge.

“That’d be Riversford.” Quinn said with a smile when Rygeir asked, eyes also venturing southward. “Quaint town alongside the Revelyn. Baern says the stillman of Riversford make one of the finest malt brews this side of the Murrain. That’s the last Rymmyran bastion of life this far east.” He pointed out towards the plains. “We’re into Tamerlayn country as soon as we cross the river.”

“Have we really come that far?” Rygeir asked with surprise. He remembered that he had been on the road a week before meeting the Ashwood, and another three days of travel with the Wayfarer’s themselves. Quinn nodded.

“We’ve always made quite good time with the carriages. Lena always has a hand in our direction, so I’d wager she’s the one to attribute our progress.” Rygeir let a happy laugh loose and simply smiled as he gazed out, lost in the majestic beauty of the land. It was all so very peaceful, and this was Rygeir’s favorite time of day. Memories of eating in his families orchard with Tris, the children running and playing on the grass. His wandering mind halted when the carriages came down the hill, and a scream and cries for help rang in his ears.

“God’s above, look!” Rygeir heard someone shout from in front of the carriage line. A sharp ring of fear sounded in Rygeir’s mind. He scrambled onto the top of the carriage, giving Quinn quite the start as he did so, and when he reached the top he placed one hand above his brow, shielding his eyes from the setting sun. From this vantage, Rygeir spied another carriage pinned and smashed against a group of rocks further down the river, the rush of it washing against it. Worse, Rygeir saw that there were people atop of the broken cart, one seemed to be unmoving and the others were trying desperately to save their steed, who was rapidly being in danger of floating down the rushing Revelyn. Thirty years of training came flooding back into Rygeir’s mind.

“Quinn!” Rygeir shouted down to the older man. “Unhook Brela and give me the reins.” A moment later Rygeir sprang off the roof, one foot landing on the coachman’s board in front of the two horses before he hopped onto Brela’s saddle. The older mare neighed in surprise at Rygeir’s impact on its back. Rygeir reached down and frantically unclipped the fastening holding the horse to the carriage shafts. The carriage made a violent halt as Brela was released, Hould neighing angrily as the weight was pushed onto his frame.

“Rygeir!” Quinn shouted from behind. A look back and Rygeir saw reins coming quickly to his back. A lucky grab put them into his hands instead of below the horse. He saw Terys’s face come out of one of the carriages left hand windows, her face full of concern at the commotion. Rygeir placed a quick side kick to the shaft and unlocked the stirrup that held the horse to the carriage, letting Brela’s straps come completely free. The motion allowed Rygeir to maneuver her out of the carriage shafts. Rygeir heard Quinn shout something before he kicked at Brela’s haunches, spurring the mare forward down the hill in a gallop. He raced past Lena’s lead cart and into the open road, kicking a long trail of dirt and dust into the air behind Brela. As the Revelyn and the people in need came into sight in moments, Rygeir sensed the real danger they were in. The Revelyn looked to be at high-water and was rushing quickly, almost become rapids below. The three people on the small rocks were treacherously holding onto their cart, which looked near to becoming completely swept away from the rushing river. Rygeir spied that one of them, a younger woman, wasn’t moving at all. Rygeir brought Brela to a stop on his side of the river, the rock and people many yards away.

“Please help us!” a man shouted from atop the rock. Rygeir dismounted and unpacked a length of rope stored as extra reins from a saddle bag. It was far too short to throw across. Rygeir heard the wood of the cart creak and stretch as the water came incessantly across it. He was sure it was near to breaking.

“Hold on!” Rygeir shouted back fearfully. What was he to do against a powerful river? He waded slowly into the shallows, cold water rushing in to greet his socked toes. He made sure to keep his foot true as the water rushed around him. He kept the saddle rope high and made large loop. “Come to this side!” he called, fastening the rope tight in knots. A large crack of splintered wood made his eyes shoot up to the rock from his rope and watched a length of the cart begin floating downstream. The two men along the rock scrabbled across the slippery length to face Rygeir. He saw the troupes carriages begin to come down the riverside. Rygeir twirled the length of rope around his head before letting it fly towards the rock. “Catch it!” he called. The first throw was too short and splashed into the water. More groaning and creaking came from the carriage.

“Hurry!” said one of the men. Rygeir threw it again and found purchase as the man caught it.

“Tie it to yourself and grab your friend! I’ll pull you to shore.” Footfalls came from behind him, and Rygeir looked behind to see Quinn and Terys running towards him. One of the men on the rock sank into the water, the other looking trepidatiously at the prospect. Rygeir held the rope firmly as the weight came to him, though his left foot began slipping against wet earth and rushing water. Strong arms came around him and grabbed his waist. He looked behind to see Quinn’s large frame holding him in place. Terys was there in an instant and she moved to Rygeir’s aid with the rope. The two began to pull as the other man held fast to the first, both coughing and sputtering as the water came at them.

“What about her?” Quinn shouted. Rygeir’s eyes went to the woman who lay motionless at the peak of the rock. Rygeir shook his head and kept pulling.

“I’ll think of something!” he shouted back, gritting his teeth as the rope was tossed and turned by the rapids of the Revelyn. What came next simply defied Rygeir’s reasoning. A swift wind rushed past him, and in a blur of motion V’Layn began skimming the water as if an insect. The Faelyn reached the main stone outcropping in little more than a few strides. V’Layn took the woman into her arms atop the rock.

“Get them to shore!” V’Layn cried out as she sheltered the unconscious woman from the rushing waters. Rygeir began pulling the rope mightily, his hands burning from the effort. Quinn took some rope in his own hands as he braced against the ground, Terys keeping her hands on them both to keep them from slipping. Soon the two men were by the shoreline, sputtering and gasping for breath as Rygeir and Quinn pulled them from the river. They slumped against the dirt as Quinn and Terys began tending to them. Rygeir only looked to V’Layn and the other woman at the rock.

“Quinn!” Rygeir shouted, beginning to tie the rope about his waist. “Tie me off.” The older man had shocked eyes when they met one another’s.

“Are you mad?” he exclaimed, but Rygeir had already taken a step into the Revelyn.

“Hold me steady damn it! I’m going for the woman.” Quinn wrapped Rygeir’s safety line around his arm and steadied himself. Rygeir saw the rest of the troupe had parked their carriages along the road, with some rushing over to help. Rygeir gave a firm nod to Quinn before stepping into the Revelyn. The water chilled Rygeir to his bones as he began wading to the rock. The force of the river was tough on Rygeir’s boots, and he found trouble find much purchase in the sand and rock that dotted the waters bed. Twice Rygeir slipped underneath the river, cold water splashing against his fact and dazing him with its chill. Both times Rygeir fought to remain above the water. He finally reached the rock outcropping with the aid of grabbing carriage splinters that had hung onto other rocks, and he soon found V’Layn’s hand as he gripped the rock. Rygeir took a once over of the woman. She was ghastly pale, no doubt from the river, and was not breathing.

“Pull me up!” Rygeir said. With remarkable strength V’Layn did so, gripping Rygeir’s arm with a single, slender hand and pulled him out of the water. As soon as he was out of the water, Rygeir straddled the woman and began pumping both of his hands above her breasts. He opened the woman’s mouth as much as he could and breathed air into her before he began pumping again. V’Layn looked on helplessly as he did so. Rygeir did this twice more before the woman started to cough up the water that had been in her lungs. She coughed and sputtered as Rygeir sat her up slowly, water draining from her lips before air entered her lungs once more.

“It’s all right.” Rygeir comforted. “You’re going to be all right.” The woman only nodded before she started to shiver. Rygeir untied the rope at his waist before retying it to house them both. “Get back to shore.” Rygeir said to V’Layn. The Faelyn gave him a reassuring nod as she set off on the water, dancing across as she did before back to the troupe. Rygeir turned his attention to the young woman in his arms. “We’re going back into the water now. Hold onto me tight and try not to go under.” The woman nodded weakly before wrapping her arms around his neck. With a shiver Rygeir set them both into the water and before long felt the sharp pull of the river as they were pulled along it. Water lapped over both their heads as they were pulled along, but it did not last as they met the shoreline in a few moments.

Rygeir wiped water from his eyes and stood, the young woman still in his arms as he was pulled onto the shore by Quinn and various other members of the troupe that had arrived. Terys and Quinn began tending to him as the other members tended to those waterlogged.

“Are you all right son?” Rygeir heard Quinn saw as his strong hands came to Rygeir’s back. Rygeir nodded and winced as Quinn brought a hand to the small of his back .

“You’re hurt.” Terys said. It was only then did Rygeir notice the burning pain in the small of his back. He reached back with a few fingers and they came back bloody. Quinn rolled up his sleeves and began gingerly taking Rygeir’s sopping wet tunic off his frame. When it was off, Quinn hissed with discomfort.

“You’ve got a gash on your back. Terys give me that scarf so we can bandage it. Garma will have to see to it for sewing.” They helped Rygeir to his feet and gingerly made their way back to Quinn’s carriage. Rygeir was laid on his stomach inside by Quinn as Terys went to fetch the medicine woman. Soon the front covering to the carriages private quarter came open. Rygeir saw Terys shift into view along with another woman carrying a wicker basket and cloth. She was middle aged, slender, and fair, with deep brown hair that resembled brightly colored pottery clay. She smiled and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Not to worry, I’m here to help.” Rygeir nodded and grunted as the broken skin flexed outward as he came into position. Quinn and Terys looked on in worry and concern. Rygeir suddenly felt vulnerable with the three gazing at his back. He hadn’t seen the many scars that crisscrossed along his frame in years. All were well earned from blades in service to the Lord Sovereign, and Rygeir could tell that the sight of them widened eyes. He felt a warm compress come down upon the wound at his lower back and he hissed loudly as the old acquaintance of considerable pain burned him. “The wound is deep.” he heard Garma say from behind him. “Your lucky whatever hit you didn’t break deep enough to touch your spine. We would be fishing you out from downstream and there wouldn’t be any need for my medicine.” The compress came off of the wound, giving air to it. Garma began moving her hands through the wicker basket of what smelled of familiar herbs and poultice compounds.

“Since you wound isn’t quite that deep, a simple stitching and a mixture of Grenara and Folest root will suffice to clean it out.” Rygeir heard the scraping and grinding of what he surmised to be a mortar and pestle. After Garma finished she applied the paste to a long, thick piece of linen. “Now this is going to burn.” She turned to Quinn. “Do you have something he can bite down on? The pain can be great.”

“I’m no stranger to it Garma.” Rygeir relented with gritted teeth. “Just get it over with.” The woman sighed and readied the poultice. Rygeir felt something tug at his fingers and saw that Terys had placed her hand in his, her smiling down on him reassuringly. He felt Quinn’s stronger hands at his back as they steadied him. Rygeir felt the pressure of the poultice come down on the wound, and soon the pain was upon him. It was familiar in the worst way. It was as if tiny spiders and stinger ants had buried themselves in the wound. Rygeir’s breath came in ragged breaths as he fought the pain, veins bulging in his forehead. He squeezed Terys’s hand as a harsher wave of pain came. Quinn kept him still but the pain bested him, and he let out a cry of pain as the wave crashed over him.

“There,” Rygeir heard Garma say from behind him. “That’s it placed. You can take your hands off him.” Rygeir felt Quinn’s weight release on his shoulders, and he sighed into the pain. He looked to the side to see that Terys had not let his hand out of hers.

“Thank you Garma.” Rygeir said with as much of a smile as he could muster. The medicine woman patted his shoulder.

“Just keep that poultice on for an hour or two and I’ll be back to finish you up.” With that the shutter door to the carriages back compartment slid open and Garma slipped out. From the brief moments of daylight that peered in as she left, Rygeir could see a sizable presence of the troupe waiting for news.

“Seventy one hells Rygeir,” Quinn said angrily and with a hint of awe. “that was a brave, foolhardy thing you did saving those people. Could’ve gotten yourself killed.” Rygeir laughed, though the twinge of pain from the wound turned it into more of a cry.

“I’ve fought in wars Quinn. What I did today is nothing in comparison.”

“I thought you were very brave.” Terys said, giving his hand a squeeze. Quinn grumbled before stepping out of the compartment.

“I’d better get to Lena before she blows a hellwind over here. Expect a lashing when she arrives. Tend to him wouldn’t you dear?” Terys nodded and tied her long hair into a bun. “That’s a good girl.” Quinn said, and with that he was gone from their sight. With Terys’s help, Rygeir half crawled his way to his cot, laying face down with his arm hanging over the end. Terys brought a water skin from another compartment in the carriage and, with dabbing a washcloth in its contents, began cleaning Rygeir’s face of the dirt and grime from the rivers edge.

“You know,” Rygeir began, “You don’t have to fuss over me Terys. Like I told Quinn, I’ve had much worse.” Terys did not hide her smirk well, and Rygeir thought as soon as he said it that it was a folly statement.

“We take good care of our own.” she said, wiping grime off his cheek. “What happened to you that could have been worse than this.” she said pointing to the wound. Rygeir laughed.

“When the Sovereign had gone out on patrol inspection-” he stopped mid sentence but the damage had already been done. Terys’s eyes grew wide.

“You knew the Lord Sovereign?” Rygeir took her arm by the wrist, silently chastising himself in his mind.

“Don’t speak of it to anyone damn it.” He tightened his grip slightly. “I mean it.” Terys only nodded as he withdrew his hand. “Yes,” he continued, “I knew him. I served as commander to his guard.” The brightness that came from Terys’s eyes made Rygeir curse himself further for having not a lick of caution.

“You’re a knight!” Terys exclaimed quietly. Rygeir nodded but put a hand over her mouth to hush her.

“I was a knight. No longer. Look Terys, you mustn’t tell a soul about that. It’s dangerous information thats well enough forgotten. As far as the others are concerned, I was just a soldier. At least that is somewhat true. I am one of you now. That is all that matters.” There was deep thought in Terys’s eyes as he looked into them. She nodded her head slowly.

“I won’t tell I swear it.” There was a silence for a moment before Terys squeezed the excess water back into the basin. “May I hear more about it? You’re life?”

“I’d rather leave it well enough alone, but out of curiosity, why would you want to listen to an older man’s stories?” Terys sat back on her heels and eyed him with seriousness.

“Rygeir I’ve been with the troupe all of my life. I’ve traveled from this side of the world to the next, following the road. I’ve never stayed in one place for more than a week or two.” Rygeir could see her eyes betray her emotions as she continued. “I’ve never settled down, so at least I want to know what it’s like to have a home, a family.”

“But you do have one.” Rygeir protested. “Your family is the troupe. Your home is this carriage.” Terys was about to speak again before voices sounded from the outside of the carriage, one of them a cursing and shouting Lena. The older woman swatted the courtesy cloth that shielded Terys and Rygeir from the rest of the carriage with nonchalance. Quinn followed close behind.

“-and I’ll have no more of this nonsense from you.” Lena stared at Rygeir with a hawks eye. “And you! You may have been a solider of an army before but you are no hero to that end. You are lucky to be alive.” Rygeir recoiled his arm in pain as the blunted end of Lena’s walking stick came sharply down upon him.

“He’s already hurt enough!” Terys protested before the shaft of the stick came in her direction.

“You keep your mouth shut little one. This is tall talk. Out!” Terys was about to rebuke before a sharp rap of wood came on her shoulder, and she stomped out of the carriage past her father, muttering curses. “You as well Quinn.” The older man nodded gravely, gave Rygeir a pitying look before making his way out as well. Lena turned her attention back to Rygeir, her face a smoldering visage.

“Have you lost yourself?” Rygeir growled. “Why are you punishing me? With V’Layn’s help we saved three lives today!”

“And you would draw attention to yourself Knight Commander.” Rygeir’s words left him as she uttered his old title. Her eyes drew grave and her voice became quiet. “Oh yes, I know of your past. Your exile. Murdering your brother in cold blood before being given a mercy by your lord.” There was a long silence between the two as Lena’s fuming eyes seemed to burn into Rygeir’s.

“Lena I...” Rygeir began, dumbfounded.

“Be silent!!” Lena hissed. “I will not have you drawing unwanted attention to this troupe, my family. We get enough grief from marauders, vagabonds, and sneak-thieves without having Lords and Kings gaze down upon us. We follow no master but the wind. Should you bring danger to us Rygeir Baleron, I will see you gone from this world and the next.” She struck him hard across the face with the back of her hand. Rygeir let her and felt a sting wash over his cheek. The old woman left the carriage without another word.