A team of riders and their mounts careened around the bend in the road, coming upon us with obvious determination. The newcomers surrounded the camp in the next minute. Horses whinnied while their riders ordered them to be still. Women screamed and the tension in the air grew as thick as the smoke from the day before.
I reached for Oliver’s hand, grasping it tightly in mine. “Who are these men?” I whispered to Eret. I searched for Tenovia’s coat of arms on their breastplates or tunics but did not find it.
Eret stepped back to cover me more fully with his body. “A sworn enemy,” he whispered back.
My heart dropped to my toes and I thought I would be sick. I wasn’t ready for another life or death situation.
At the very least I needed a weapon to protect myself.
The lead mount dropped from his seat and hollered out a gruff greeting to Arrick. The two men met in the middle of the camp. Arrick looked as though he could kill. And the expression on the stranger was no less severe.
“I didn’t think it was possible for you to get stupider, Arrick the Imposter.” the stranger bellowed.
Arrick pulled his sword and returned, “And I didn’t think it was possible for you to get uglier, Gunter the Abominable.”
My skin prickled with anticipation. I scanned the camp. Leaning nearby was the closest thing to a weapon I could find, a fire poker, still red at the tip.
Just when I decided to make a move to grab the iron poker, Arrick and Gunter reached out with strong arms and clasped them together while slapping each other on the back in greeting. Their heads tipped back and they began to laugh.
I looked to Eret. “Sworn enemy?”
He gave me a sly look and shrugged. “They’re also loyal allies.”
I opened my mouth to ask how that worked when Arrick turned to the camp and shouted, “Prepare a good meal, my friends. Tonight, we celebrate that help has at last arrived!”
“I thought we were the help,” Oliver mumbled.
I shared a look with him. “At least we’re not the meal.”
13
As it turned out, not all of Gunter’s riders were men. Women and children mingled among the strangers, equally as hardened and weathered as Gunter himself.
This was the Traveling Horde, better known as the Cavolia. Rumored to roam the nine kingdoms with little respect for the law of the land. Notorious for their ability to rob an entire village before help could arrive.
I paid close attention to them throughout the evening, never setting my satchel down for a moment, keeping it nearby even while I bathed and changed into fresh clothes.
Their coppery skin was neither as dark as the Kashans nor as red-tinged as the Vorestrans. Their big eyes pulled up in the corners. They all boasted full lips and thick, dark hair and yet they were clearly not from Barstus.
Their origins remained a mystery. While I knew land existed outside of the civilized realm, I had never met someone from across the Crystal Sea or the Serpent’s Sea.
I looked over to where a cluster of Horde women chatted around the fire as they added spices to a savory stew. Their dark eyes, lined heavily with kohl, sparkled in the setting sun and their pink-painted lips opened wide as they laughed. I couldn’t help but admire their beauty. Even dressed in muted tones meant for riding long stretches, I could see that their clothes were well tailored and made from fine leathers.
“You are not Tenovian.”
I jumped, nearly screeching at the sudden voice behind me. I whirled around and came face to face with Gunter the Abominable. “You… I… No. No, I’m not.”
“I can see that your friend is Heprinian,” Gunter continued, eyeing Oliver with a shrewd gaze. “His fair skin and monk’s cut give him away.”
Oliver ruffled his burnished hair, touching the tips of his ears. Everything under that was shaved closely to his scalp. Although after more than a month on the road, his hair was beginning to grow in. He grumbled under his breath but did not deny Gunter’s declaration.
“I am indeed from Heprin,” I countered. “My companion and I have journeyed from the Temple of Eternal Light.”
If possible, Gunter’s eyes narrowed further and something akin to recognition lit his expression. “You might have hailed from there recently,” he argued, “but you are not from there originally.”
“I am not.”
“And you’re not Arrick’s wench.”
I nearly choked on air. “I am not that either.”
Gunter’s wide mouth split into a smile. “So what brings a fair maiden well into treacherous territory with only a novice monk by her side?”
I squared my shoulders and suggested, “Maybe it was the novice monk that dragged me along instead?”
“No,” Gunter decided. “The monk has the look of terror about his face. You, my dear, are something more than afraid.”
“And why does there have to be a reason?” My fingers felt cold and shaky. If Gunter was the mercenary his reputation declared him to be, the crown pressed against my hip was in more danger than ever. “My only goal was to see more of the realm. To see, after all this time, what my homeland looks like.” Lie. “I can hardly remember it.” Another lie.
“I have sworn to kill Arrick Westnovian,” Gunter replied.
My gut curled with fear for a man I had known scarcely a month. “Does he know this?”
“He does.” The stranger leaned in, smelling of leather and spice and something sweeter, something like peppermint. “He has sworn to kill me in turn.” I nodded. That seemed reasonable. “So until either I kill him or he kills me, no one shall get in the way of our intentions.”
“You’re warning me not to kill Arrick because you want to?”
“Aye.”
“That makes no sense.” When he opened his mouth to reply, I held up a hand to stop him. “It’s no matter anyway, as I do not wish any harm on Arrick
