spoke clearly enough. She wanted to be alone. She didn’t need his help. She didn’t need his leadership. She was perfectly fine without him.
And that troubled him.
Still, Par-Salian couldn’t leave her alone. The Heartlund countryside wasn’t dangerous aside from the occasional brigand or wandering pack of goblins, but still, the danger was there.
Par-Salian stepped forward and matched her progress step for step. He would not intrude, but neither would he leave her alone.
It was only in the deepest recesses of his thoughts that he wondered why he was eager to watch over Ladonna and not Tythonnia. Perhaps it was because the Red Robe was familiar with the wilderness, but the answer came after too much searching; it felt too much like a justification. Par-Salian did not dwell upon that, however, and continued following Ladonna. She needed him more than Tythonnia, he reasoned to himself. He was going to help her.
From the sanctuary of the tall grass, he watched them. The spell of his devising narrowing the distance between Ladonna, Par-Salian, and himself in sight and in sound. He heard them as clearly as his ears heard his own voice, saw them as clearly as his eyes saw his own hand. Despite the mile between them and the shadows of night, he might as well have been standing next to them.
The Journeyman made himself more comfortable and watched Par-Salian keep Ladonna within sight. He observed Ladonna seated upon a rock, talking to herself. He saw Par-Salian maintain a distant vigil, his gaze scanning for danger but returning more often to study Ladonna. Did he know he was holding his breath when he looked at her?
Probably not.
He understood that, the Journeyman did. He knew the history of the two and the events to unfold and shape their lives. But it was Tythonnia’s role that remained intriguing … that and the event that would obliterate almost all knowledge of Berthal’s fate.
CHAPTER 6
The wide, open plains that spread out to the horizon’s sunlit fringes gave way to blankets of bruised clouds. Rain fell in heavy sheets, like a play with a never-ending series of curtains, and the temperature evaporated at the storm’s touch. The three renegades rode the wet days with barely a word; they rarely spoke to one another, each somehow inconvenienced by the others’ presence.
Par-Salian had given up his attempts at banter, much to the relief of the other two. Tythonnia tried her best to teach them the necessary wilderness survival skills, while Ladonna did her best to prove she was equally capable using magic. Tythonnia searched for dry wood for the night, and Ladonna used magic to ignite wet wood. Tythonnia hunted for food to extend their provisions, and Ladonna killed larger game with her spells.
The two women were in fierce competition, and when Par-Salian refused to take sides, he paid for it with their silence and scornful stares.
That drove the three into a deeper, more uncomfortable quiet.
The rain fell harder as they approached a branch of the Vingaard River; they were less than a day’s travel from the river, but they were already well into the fertile delta called the Plains of Solamnia. Here lay the crop and cattle belt of the region, where farmers drove herds to Solanthus to the south and Palanthas to the northwest. A necklace of three mountain ranges surrounded the plains, with the Vingaard Mountains to the northwest; Dargaard to the east; and Garnet to the south, below Solanthus itself. It created a basin where the mighty Vingaard River branched and forked into smaller tributaries. All told, it afforded for rich fields and easier flooding.
Likewise, the communities thinned out, with farmers and cattle owners clustered around the different keeps and river communities. Unfortunately, that little fact exacerbated the friction between the three wizards. Par-Salian advocated staying close to the roads and paths for safety. Ladonna wanted to spend the night in an inn, where they’d be warm and wonderfully dry. Tythonnia, however, insisted on sticking to the wilderness, where they could avoid civilization and the threat of discovery.
“You’re not happy unless we’re all miserable!” Ladonna said.
Tythonnia almost growled. She was tired of that argument every few miles. Couldn’t they understand how their course helped them? What was she supposed to do? Order the elements to comply to Ladonna’s whims? Turn around because their resident Black Robe fretted?
“You can’t spend your life being pampered!” Tythonnia shot back. She prodded her horse forward.
“Pampered? I’ve lived hardships that would have killed you, farm girl,” Ladonna said, nudging her own horse forward. Her skills as a rider had improved substantially, which annoyed Tythonnia. She preferred Ladonna when she was too focused on riding to complain.
“I’m sure wearing all that jewelry is such a terrible burden!”
“Tythonnia,” Par-Salian said, “Ladonna, stop bickering!” His voice was low. Perhaps he was fatigued. But Tythonnia recognized the edge to it, the frayed nerve about to snap.
Ladonna pulled hard on the reins and wheeled her Aban-asinian about. “Perhaps if you chose a side-”
Par-Salian laughed, a bitter guffaw that cut Ladonna off and showed the exhaustion in his rain-streaked face. “Choose a side? Is that what you think? This is what I get for trying to support you both? Fine … here’s my side. How about you show that backbone the Black Robes are so renowned for and stop complaining! You do your order a disservice. And stop trying to undermine everyone’s authority! Until we reach Palanthas, you follow Tythonnia’s lead and my instructions!” He turned on Tythonnia next. “And you … take us closer to the roads where the travel will be easier, and find us a damn inn for the night so we can sleep properly for once. No arguments! I will suffer no more disrespect from either of you. Once you’ve spent another ten years within the orders, serving them to every bloody inch that I have, then maybe you can address me as an equal. Until then, I find you wanting- in age, in skills, and in manners! Now shut up. Do you hear me? And I swear … one more argument, and I’ll give you both a lesson in magic you won’t soon forget.”
They sat there a moment, their horses uneasy in the storm of rain and argument. Both women stared at Par-Salian in shock; they’d never seen him so short-tempered. Until then, he’d taken matters in stride, perhaps too much so. They could see the raw, exposed nerve now. Whether or not Tythonnia agreed with his outburst, it was no time to argue her position. She nodded her head and wheeled her horse about.
“This way,” she said. “There’s a village nearby, I think … maybe they have a barn we can use.”
A triumphant smile began to mark Ladonna’s lips, but Par-Salian silenced it with a glare. He would brook no more quibbling that night, for which Tythonnia was grateful. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold her temper in check. She wasn’t sure how much longer any of them could hold back. She hoped a night spent somewhere warm and dry would improve everyone’s disposition.
Tythonnia, Par-Salian, and Ladonna stared at the village in disbelief. A road eaten into the plains’ grass served as its axis. No more than four or five buildings dotted either side, likely once small shops that catered to travelers and local farmers-a trading post, a smithy, a tavern. Fire, however, had made them indistinguishable. Bodies lay in the streets, some purple and bloated in rainwater puddles, others charcoaled by the flames. The sky seemed to cry harder at the sight, and the curtains of rain drenched the macabre stage.
The three exchanged glances, uncertain of what had transpired here. In the mud lay a sword or two, and an
