The merchant assured them that they had made up ground after the sluggish start. Though there were still many miles to go, he was certain they’d reach Geshill's farm on the outskirts of Milstead as they had intended, shortly after the coming of dark.
Ryl easily alighted from his seat on the wagon, stretching as his feet hit the solid ground below. Though he stood still, the ground around felt as if it continued moving past him. A product of the hours spent at the head of a traveling wagon. He made his way back toward the rear, intent on relieving Kaep from her duty watching their charges inside the carriage’s cramped confines.
From the south, the rapid thunder of approaching hoofbeats gave him pause. He whipped his head around in the direction of the road. Without thinking, his hands instinctively drew his hood up over his head before scanning the surroundings for any sign of the Lei Guard. The picture his mindsight painted was thankfully clear.
Andr rounded the bend several hundred meters to the south, his horse at full gallop. Moments later he reined his beast in, sliding off the mount before it had fully stopped.
“It’s a group of five riders. Approaching fast,” Andr announced as he tied his horse off to a small tree growing along the side of the road. “They wear no uniform that I recognize, yet they’re heavily armed.”
“Mercenaries, no doubt,” Aldren hissed.
Andr showed no emotion at the negative tone in his voice. His chosen profession before losing his son to the Ascertaining testing wasn’t always on the proper side of morality. Ryl knew that Andr had existed in that grey area, flirting the line between right and wrong for more cycles than he cared to remember. Though his moral compass likely convinced him that he’d chosen the jobs that aired on the side of what was right, the fine line on which he balanced was oftentimes a matter of perspective.
“Ryl, keep your hood up and neck covered. Move to the other side of the wagon,” the mercenary ordered. “Kaep, have your bow ready.”
Ryl nodded his head as the muffled confirmation sounded from within.
“Do you expect trouble?” Ryl questioned as he circled around the front of the wagon. “Could word have traveled from Serrate this quickly?”
“I don’t expect they come with any knowledge of what happened in Serrate,” Andr responded. “It is possible some could have slipped from the village while we were at the facility. With the attitude of the villagers toward the Lei Guard and soldiers, I’d be surprised if word of the defection didn’t reach our ears before we departed.”
Andr took his place took his place between the wagon and the road. His hand fell to the pommel of his sword.
“There’s no telling who they are,” he continued. “They ride with purpose. We’ll soon know.”
Ryl paused alongside the wagon, lurking in the heavy shadow created by the angle of the setting sun. He pulled his hood down low while stretching his collar up as high as it could go. His face was shrouded in shadow, yet the worry lingered. The brands on his neck would be visible upon any close inspection.
All knew the marks of a tribute.
The steady thrum of hoofbeats in the distance drew closer.
His eyes had been opened to the growing percentage of the population who were opposed to the Ascertaining and the dreadful realities that accompanied it. While few adamantly opposed it, he was certain others made it a policy to hold their tongues. Assuredly, to those with similar sentiment, the vicious murders of the opposition’s vocal supporters, Lord Felloc and his family, lingered still in their minds.
The cadence of the horses intensified. Apprehension heightened his senses. The sound rumbled like thunder in his ears. The force of the hooves on the ground shook the earth as they approached.
The first of the riders raced around the corner of the road on the opposite side of the dried bed of the stream. Moments later, four others rushed after the lead rider. They were dressed similarly, though none wore a standard uniform per se. He could see the tops of shields stretching above several of their backs. The others wore quivers that bristled with arrows. All carried two swords, one strapped to either hip.
The riders slowed as they noted the wagon stopped in the grasses along the side of the road. Their pace was nothing more than a walk as they reached the stream. The riders fanned out into a line, stopping a half dozen meters to their front.
“Who owns this wagon?” the lead rider, who’d taken his position in the center of the line barked. Ryl noted the hands of the others hovering close to their swords.
The armed newcomers were dressed in a varied assortment of road weathered gear. Their plain tunics held no visible insignia or colors of any house. Thick, unadorned yet well-made leather armor covered their chests and backs, wrapping up over their shoulders. All were marred with slashes and gouges giving subtle clues to the lives they’ve led.
Their clothes and armor were undecorated. The glimpses he saw of their weapons showed simple yet effective designs. The saddles of their mounts were made for comfort, yet contained no extraneous design to make them stand out. Nothing in the whole of their gear distinguished it from average utilitarian equipment.
Something about their appearances was off. The men that sat mounted before them had less the look of those who lacked the means to attaining gear of higher quality. Rather, their bland guises
