I lay within thee close and bright,

Awaiting our breathless wedding night,

All the world before us waits;

To yield to us our sovereign right.

The fielded foes before us fly

For all in opposition, die.

- Credine's Promise, Unknown Author

The heavy foliage and great stands of pine thinned as we traveled, giving way to eruptions of rock-scattered grasslands. The world sloped upwards, and mounds and hills were everywhere, so that views of the horizon were rare. Darkness and a billowing vastness of stars canopied us, but on the ground, our world seemed small and close. Brock stopped at the top of every hill, sighting on stars unfamiliar to me, leaving me to follow in faith.

Brock led on, his heels briskly lifting and falling. The sibilance of boots breaking through matted grass and the swish of our leggings were the only sounds save for a constant background of wind and insects. It was the kind of night that left you wishing for the hard feel of a torch in your hand, or a bright moon. Its not a good feeling, being dependent on others, forced to follow or be lost. I tried to make note of landmarks and such, but in the dark, only managed to heighten my personal sense of helplessness, and frustration. At the top of one rise, Brock threw back one open hand, squinted, then motioned me forward to his side.

"Do ya see that brightening over the next hill?"

I looked, and there was a slight halo nimbusing the next and, as always of late, a higher set of mounds. I appreciated it more as a slight dimming of the ever present pincushion of lights in the eternal span of the heavens that caved us over, but there was...a difference.

The Nublin went on, and sketched the scene with an extended finger "... and those blacked out areas beyond that?"

True, the starry bowl terminated higher above the hill's outline than formerly, leaving unpopulated rifts spiking upwards from the limned rim of the next rise.

"What exactly am I looking at?"

Brock grabbed my shoulder saying, "The mountains behind Dervin. The town of Dervin. That be the border twixt Wayland's Lands and all as is Felway's. That break to the skies be the northern range. Dervin sits the pass to it. Wayland's men will be thick there, things being what they are. The garrison sits furthest north, though. We might as well stop here. The pass 'tween Dervin and Tark be a narrow canyon as divides the range, maybe a mile and more long, and the only clear way through from Wayland to Fellway. The pottery contraption will have to stay behind, unless you wants ta give the town a miss. There's ways around strollin' through it, if ye want. Some of my cousins mine in the north range."

"I would like to see Dimanda. There are things unsaid between us, but I know that it might not be safe for us or her, as it is. Would there be anything save satisfying my desires to be gained from going to town?"

Brock shrugged. "Supplies, more food, information. Thavis may have delivered Chord's daughter there by now, as ye say," his eyes twinkled, "though best you forgo that as ye also said, under the circumstances. There would be few other safe contacts in town. Would mean askin' questions and nosing about, is my point, but unless you want to go slow, and hunt yer supper down regular, yer choices be few. I don't remember seein' any snares or traps in the packs. We are neither of us fixed with bows. There's an Inn a bit west of Dervin, serves mostly eastbound traffic, if you've common trade-goods about ye. Likely get hard supplies there as well, if you prefer. Thavis would likely seek us out there, if he stuck around. Lot of gambli'n there. Heard he likes to game."

I ran a quick mental inventory. I still had two of the stones Orton had pressed on me, and a few Iron tokens, surely of no use this far from Chord's district. I again cursed the lack of a common tender.

I fished out the two rubies from the bottom of my scorched pouch, and showed them to Brock, who dug into his vest, retrieving six glittering stones, that looked to be a collection of tourmaline and at least one opal.

"I've a decent size bag O' salt, too, and there's that ring of gold you've taken to wearing." Brock noted. "We've more than enough fer trades. 'Tis your call, though."

I started, having forgotten entirely about the gold recovered from Mount Esh. I hadn't removed the circlet since I had shoved it on my head, which was odd, as I am not one for jewelry, hats or headbands. I didn't categorize the thing with trade goods though, as I had promised Orton to show him anything I had found there, so really there was no reason that I should have considered it disposable. For that matter there was no reason for my having made it into a headband, which made me to wonder how much of my will was still my own. Mostly, I yearned for the distant lights, at the thought of Dimanda's presence there, and worried for her safety.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

We talked it through, and decided to make for the inn, get supplied, ask after the local mage from there, and get the town gossip. We could afford lodging, and a night off the ground would be welcome. The extra troops doubtless pouring into Dervin wouldn't be looking closely at eastbound internal roadways, but at the northern border.

"If Orton's done his job a-right, you've nothing to fear, lad. You are by accounts a court hero, carried off by an enemy of the state, sort O' thing. If we get discovered, I simply don't know you, and you've a story to manufacture 'bout a brave escape from villainous captors."

"Yes," I agreed, "and then a fast trip back to Corbell under guard, and an end to our little fact finding mission."

"There's that."

"Better we expose ourselves as little as possible, I think."

"Suits me, lad."

We bedded down for the night. My odd dreams returned with a vengeance, and I awoke sweating, unsure who or where I was.

This passed quickly as sleep's fog lifted however, and I kept it to myself. In the morning, I had my clay companion bury himself in the ground. We covered him as well we could, and took careful note of the place. Brock snickered. "If'in we can't find this swale again, he'll stay buried fer good, you know."

I threw Brock a sour glance. "I'll find it, time comes. Let's get on with it."

I was happy to be traveling under blue skies by daylight again. It irritated me to be sneaking about in the dark. I was no criminal. I had done nothing wrong since I had come to this primitive place; had helped everyone I'd come across, one way or another, and even earned a bit of respect along the way. Yet here I was, still stumping my way into dangerous situations, as much for the benefit of others as for my own purposes. Jailed and knocked around by a suspicious and politically wary ruler, shot at by thieves, mugged by people after the very coinage I'd invented for this place, pushed mercilessly into wilderness treks by friends, beset by demons, my very body and mind made a toy in some mythic god's bid for power and incarnation. I was brooding, I knew. There was nothing to be gained by poring over the unanswered issues, save depression.

A burning determination filled me. I would not be used further. I had my own ideas, my own life to fulfill, and I damn well would start following my own nose as to what shape my future here would serve. If I had something others needed, they could bargain straight with me for it. Outside of the military, I had been a businessman most of my adult career, and giving for getting was almost a philosophy with me. I would carve out a life here, for myself and Dimanda, or return to my own world, would she come. Either way, there would be no more walking away from what I built, or the friendships I made, or the yearnings of my heart. I increased my pace, ignoring the odd gaze of my diminutive companion.

We managed to intersect the west-east trade route a little west of where the Inn should be, and I was treated to the sight of a few fellow travelers. Five men, one older traveler dressed in yellow breeks, white shirt and sash, leading four younger ones dressed in dun, pulling travois--basically lashed poles tied with bundles and dragged behind, leaving scores in the dirt of the trail; kind of backwards wheelbarrows without the wheels. Brock and I caught up with these fairly quickly at our pace, to be slowed by a hello in passing from the older gentleman.

"Good day Sir! Off to Dervin, is it?" Then to Brock, "Live and breathe! A Nublin are you not? Rare to see on the roads. Rare."

He pivoted, and walking backwards, continued on at the same pace, crying to the younger men. "Careful there! Watch where you drag those - mind the pits, you'll overturn and spill my goods!" He turned again without missing a beat or a step, and favored us with a broad smile. "Got to keep on top of em', right on the top, all the time, you know."

I returned a rather more moderate smile. "A trader then, I take it."

"Brann Cour's the name, loomer's merchant, sir! Fine rugs, tapestries, curtains! I convey special orders too, not just ready weaves. I've lead trains of as many as twelve porters at a time out here, when demand is up. This load's almost an afterthought. Dervin bound as well, of course. Need to make it before the caravan leaves over the pass to Tark, in the Dukedom of Felway.

Some of these," he theatrically confided, "are destined for the Duke hisself. I've a few extra though, I could part with, still unspoken for. I could make you a good price if you are stopping at the Inn, seeing as how I'd not need to cart them all the way into town. Be faster for me, and a good buy for you, or," he hesitated, "for your...companion there, if he'd like."

"We're traveling light, Brann. I assume you are going to travel with the convoy to Tark then?"

The gleam of my substantial Roundel caught his eye, though he nodded while he ogled it."Eh? Oh yes. Yes, to Tark. Through Dervin and then to Tark. That's beautiful workmanship, that blade of yours. Unusual. Costly, I'll bet."

"Couldn't say. Made it myself, it's not for sale." I kicked myself for letting this chattering merchant pull that out of me, but it was hard not to let slip in the barrage of good cheer and salesmanship that poured forth from the man.

Brock, who had stoically marched beside me, quiescent till now, cleared his throat warningly. "We should pick up our pace a bit. I'm hungry and built of thirst for all the dust. The merchant can catch up with us there at his leisure."

The merchant bobbled his head, making agreeing noises. "Yes, yes. No good reason to crawl along at our pace sir. Your friend is quite right. We will make the inn soon enough, consider my offer on the way!"

He waved brightly as we passed on. Brock raised his hairy brow when we had gained enough distance not to be overheard. "If you fall to jawing with his like again, you might tell him you're a Tinker. Not mentioning you're a blacksmith might be wise, in case he flaps off with someone else." I reddened, and nodded. Ahead the roadway made a bend, and beyond it, what could only be the Inn.