Old Menathinion was a less of a city and more of a large flat campsite surrounded by the remains of what used to be great stone towers, now crumbled and covered with lichen. When Hirodias and the three Gamesh boxers hopped off the rear of the supply wagon from Banningtown, it was the most green they had ever seen. Rolling fields of meadow and dried green pools with yellow and white vernal flowers stretched in every direction. Oaks were sporadic but old, with the largest trees within the camps.

The driver Remy had been quiet the entire ride, but there wasn’t much to talk about as Hirodias wanted keep their secrets close. But as they arrived at the outskirts of Old Menathinion, he stopped the wagon, took off his cap, and turned to them.

“I’ve driven political refugees, prison escapees, spies, and more,” Remy said, his face hard and lips thin. “In my line of work it’s never my business to know why I’m taking my passengers to where I’ve been asked to take them. And like the rest of your kind that I bring here, it’s obvious that you’ve haven’t seen much of the world beyond what you’ve been forced to see by your previous owners. But what makes you different is because of what Inspector Singis said to me. That you are not like the others. That you mean much more to her.”

“We don’t know her,” Andreus said. “We cannot vouch for her opinion of us.”

“It doesn’t matter if you know her, or what you say about her, because the only thing that matters is what she says about you,” Remy continued. His voice lowered even more than its usual low gravel. “So now that I’ve brought you here safely, and I’ll give a piece of advice—only one. Everyone here is your people. Born in the West, maybe share the same language, maybe even the same childhood stories. But that’s the only bond you have with these people. Remember that you don’t know them. You have no money, nothing of value that can serve as currency. The only thing you have to spend is trust. But be cheap with it. Take care in how you spend it, else you’ll find yourself betrayed, alone, bound, and back to where you came from.”

Hirodias and the others climbed off the back of the wagon.

“I take your advice like I take this ride, with gratitude,” Herodias said. “Know that the deserts of the Smote is not where I come from. I wish you good travels.”

Remy put on his cap and started his wagon to continue on the road.

“Where are you going now?” Palimedis asked Remy.

“I wish you all well.”

They huddled together as they watched Remy drive away. The morning chill was upon them and Hirodias pulled his cloak closer to his body.

“He is wrong,” he said. “It is you who are of value to me. Let us go into these camps.”

Smoke from various morning camp fires streamed into the pale blue sky as they walked down from the Old War Road toward what looked like a tent city. They walked past a half wall built with river stones and into the camp. Hirodias ran his hands against the stones. He smelled fried potatoes.

The residents were living almost in squalor, Hirodias noticed. Sheets and clothes hung from clotheslines, pots of morning porridge bubbled over, and neighbors shouted at each other over some offense or another. Children ran between campsites without shirts or shoes but beyond all the noise, it was the children’s laughter that caught Hirodias by surprise. He had not heard that many children laughing before. These were free Arkromenyon children. There were no shackles on anyone here.

They eyed a family breaking their fast at a fire. A broad shouldered freckled man with a rough hewn tunic rose and stood between them and his family. He looked Hirodias up and down. “You’re new here. We want no trouble. All we have are some boiled eggs. The children need to eat."

"I smell fried pork," Palimedis said.

"We will not force on your fast," Hirodias said. "Though we are hungry. We are not beggars but will take anything if you offer it."

Stolen story; please report.

"Four eggs then," the man said, watching Hirodias. He reached behind him and retrieved the boiled eggs. He handed one to each man and sat with his family. The small boy glanced up at Hirodias but his father snapped at him to look down.

The three boxers peeled the eggs. Hirodias knelt to one knee and handed his egg back to the boy.

“Tell me your name,” he sad to the boy.

The father put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and moved him behind him. “Please. My name is Jerom. We’ve only been here for three months. We have nothing to give you.”

Hirodias stood back up. “I want nothing from you.”

“Why do you live in such fear?” Andreus asked. “What is this place?”

The man’s wife sat still by the fire, her hands over her mouth, but nothing covered her pale fearful eyes.

“Point me to your chieftain, Jerom,” Hirodias said.

"Hefaistas is beneath the Prayer Tree," he answered, pointing to a large oak tree with painted blue stripes around its trunk. “You’ll want to talk to her.”

“A woman chieftain,” Hirodias looked at the Gamesh boxers and continued toward the oak. “Beneath the Prayer Tree.”

Palimedis started walking behind. “Thanks for the egg.”

The others finished their eggs and followed.

They walked along a small brook ran toward the oak. Others in the camps stared at them as they passed, all of them having the same expressions.

“They’re all afraid of us,” Symian said under his breath.

“We are boxers,” Andreus explained. “We have the look of harm and danger. Like we could force ourselves onto them. Would you not be afraid?”

“Which means they’ve experienced it before, to be forced onto,” Palimedis said. “They’re free folk, aren’t they? What’s happened to these people?”

“The answers lie down there,” Hirodias said, standing beside the stream as it spilled over the edge and into a pond at the bottom of a large cavernous gap in the earth below. “Beneath the Prayer Tree.”

Beside the pond was a small and humble hut with a thatched roof, with various stringed glass and wooden beads hanging. They walked down crude wooden steps toward the hut and stopped at the door with simple calf leather stitched into a flap that was rolled up and pinned. Two unarmed men with turbans stood outside the hut.

“We come from the east, from Banningtown," Hirodias said. "I will speak to your chieftain."

The two men looked inside. Hirodias peered in and saw a husky older woman lying down on a mat, smoking on a pipe. She also wore a turban, but wore it loosely wrapped around her head with the ends of the cloth hanging down her shoulders. She had multiple necklaces, medallions, and beads hanging from her neck, and she wore a loose yellow gown with intricate patterns down the front of it. She poked her head out, saw them, and waved them in.

"Mother’s blessing to the chieftain of this burghal,” he said.

"Burghal?" she sat up, her necklaces rattling. "This isn't a burghal. Just a settlement of tents more than anything. I am Hefaistas. You call me chieftain, and I suppose you can call me that. I set the rules here and I find people work. Giving people better lives is what I do."

"That is what I seek also," Hirodias said. "We have only arrived this morning. The people in the camps seem fearful of new arrivals.”

“They are simple people with base needs,” she said, returning to her pipe. “What little they have, they fear losing. Could be trinkets, or food, or family. You came this morning, you say. Are you in need of work?”

“I do not seek work,” Hirodias said. “I am going west, into the homelands. I will bring any who would come with me.”

"Going west?" Hefaistas said, chewing on her pipe. "Why would you want to do that? People flee the forests of the west to come here. You know, there are dragons and other beasts to the west. And warlords fighting each other.”

“Monsters, all of them,” Andreus said.

“The best chances for people are here,” Hefaistas said.

“The people here are lying around living like animals,” Palimedis said. “They are all free. Why wouldn’t they choose to return home?”

“For these people, this is home,” she replied. “Home is where family is, home is where work is. Not the west. Not back deep into the forests. To the eastern peoples in their kingdoms we are Barbarians. Aredunians, Kiennese, the Yghrs, it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing for these people out west.”

“Still, that is where I will go,” Hirodias said.

"And how long before you go?"

"As soon as I can. I will begin rallying them now. As chieftain I thought you should know."

Hefaistas nodded, studying Hirodias and the boxers. "Good luck to you when you talk to them. Every one of them has their own story. Some are worth listening to. I suppose I could provide a caravan to take you and whomever wants to go with you. The caravan can be here by tomorrow. I'll make sure it is ready for you."

Hirodias thanked her and motioned for the others to leave the hut. They climbed up the steps back to the camps.

“That was easy,” Symian noted.

“Too easy,” Palimedis added.