Far to the southeast, on an old dry road, a lone horse pulled an old worn cart. Its frame creaked in time with its warped wheels, leaving an eerie song in its wake. Faded green cloth draped over the rusted frame imprinted by a large dark wing.
The cart slowly trundled through the darkness leaving a shallow depression in the path.
Atop the driver's seat sat an old man dressed in thick, travelling robes covered in a fine coating of dust. His grey beard swayed in time with the wagon as deep lines around his eyes shifted while examining the path before him. Tired, bloodshot eyes blinked up at the moon for the hundredth time that night, then back towards his sole companion.
“That’s it, keep it easy,” he said softly to his horse aptly named the Duchess.
Maze was confident in his mare's navigation skills as she’d led him faithfully for many years. He looked up once more. The moon was drifting closer to the horizon.
A new day was fast approaching.
Maze smiled. There was just something about sunsets that soothed his soul. Soon, he would be safe within Sorina's border, and they would finally be able to rest. His cart had been his hearth and home for many years, and he had trekked all over the Eastern lands in search of food, supplies and, most importantly, stories.
For stories were his trade and what he had become quite famous for. Often enough, his arrival was known well before his actual appearance, for men, women and children of every age loved the tales he brought with him. Word play was his craft, his voice his instrument. His words delivered the wild and fantastic stories of the past and present.
For the longest time, the heroics were always a popular choice. For years and years, he had spoken of men, beasts and giants, however as time grew more serious, the masses' interests changed. The people cared less about the fantastic and more of the terrible. And most recently, he was known more commonly as the deliverer of dark tidings. The bearer of bad news.
“Not too much further now.”
He sighed. He wondered if those times, the ones spoken of in his favourite stories would ever come again.
Maze had left the city of Fordryn the night before and had been travelling west to the river town of Sorina. He had been riding from town to town with the worst kind of news. The southern countries had been infested by a plague of vermin known as the Swine. These mutated half-breed creatures had ravaged the lands far beyond the southern borders, leaving only desert behind.
For many years, they had been seen as little more than a pest, nothing out of control. A fully grown Swine had not been seen in the Northern lands for hundreds of years and it was so rare to see one older than a single year. Every juvenile creature ever found had been swiftly disposed of quickly.
It was just common law to do so.
However, something had changed. With no actual explanation, they appeared all over the place. Aged nearly to adulthood, some even stood as high as a young child.
People are afraid, thought Maze.
If left to their own devices, even a single adult creature could multiply and, within months, cause an outbreak. A devastating infestation.
Maze looked down at the fastened scroll beside him and frowned. It carried news of the latest epidemic. A large host of vermin had begun to move north. Confusion and fear swept all over the southern territories. Towns boarded up their gates and food stores were slowly drying up. Critical supply caravans from the cities are getting attacked before they arrive, and the people were starving.
The king's men had been arriving at the nation's border for months, yet no foreseeable solution was in sight. Maze had seen the beasts firsthand. He shuddered at the memory. Their animal instincts were aggravated by an obscene appetite. They ate anything and everything in sight.
“A war against the tide might just be on its way,” he said softly to himself.
Only fire and steel could stem the flow of the infestation. His brown mare flicked her ears as an uneasy wind changed, sweeping behind them, carrying the familiar faint stench.
"Shhh... calm down," Maze whispered as he looked behind him. There was nothing there. Just a long and empty expanse of road. As Maze turned back, he clasped the reins firmly and corrected the mare's course.
As he released the reins' tension, the horse's hooves quickened, leaving a trail of dust that billowed behind. Dawn was fast approaching, and he hadn’t made enough progress.
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The signs of Sorina should have appeared by now.
Maze felt uneasy, even though he knew he was in no real danger. Whatever fight would happen far from here. And even if it came to that, he had travelled on his own for many years and was confident in his own abilities to keep himself safe.
His right wheel whirled and screeched in protest. His aged eyes drifted over the part responsible and frowned, knowing he would have to fix it when next he stopped. In his peripheral vision was his blue book, never too far out of his reach or sight.
His final destination lay far beyond Sorina and the Brancourt river. His wagon needed to make it west of the Northern lands. For the news he bore was not for the masses, rather for a single close friend. One who needed to know. Once he travelled over the Sorina bridge and away from the king's reach, he would be safe, life would be calmer and quiet days would embrace him with open arms. Maze smiled. The vision of white sands, the blue ocean and the smell of salty air held kinder memories.
"It would be nice to see the sea again," he whispered to himself. Reminiscing about the times he spent with his bare feet in the sand. Across the river lay a country independent of the troubles plaguing the kingdom. A country of dense forests and cultures untouched by battles for many lifetimes. There he would be safe from the King's wrath and the Swine. Maze didn’t want to be caught up in a war he had no business fighting in. He was far too old for such matters now.
The road veered around alongside a large cluster of trees. The pathway straightened as it followed the dense forest, and the light of the new day entered his view. Up ahead was a minor break within the solid layer of trees.
As Maze trundled down the road, he approached the gap and saw two small, huddled figures.
An odd sense of interest crept its way into Maze's thoughts. There on the side of the road stood a man and a woman. They wore the most peculiar clothing.
Suddenly, the man leapt up and held his arm out with his fingers clenched and his thumb pointing towards the sky.
What did that mean? Maze wondered, puzzled.
The two of them looked more out of place than anyone he’d ever seen. Maze searched his mind however, he couldn’t recollect any townspeople or remote tribesmen with these garments, nor in any of the tales, and Maze knew them all.
To his astonishment the second figure, the woman, was wearing men’s clothing. As Maze drew near, he could clearly see they were covered in dirt.
They look desperate. Could they be escaped slaves?
He considered the thought, but the case was unlikely, as slaves weren’t common in the area. Besides, they’d never be garbed in clothes like these. As the cart drew alongside the two strangers, the man lowered his arm and approached it.
“Hey, mate.” The stranger, friendly, called out. He surveyed the wagon with a calculating gaze.
"Salutations! The name’s Maze." Maze gave them a wide smile and inspected the two even closer.
The girl stood up and swiftly moved to the man's side, grasping his arm with both of her own. She was a head shorter than the man and wore a hood concealing her face. As they approached, the wind changed, catching the woman’s hood in a gust, revealing a vibrant tousle of red hair.
Maze fought against the urge to gasp. It was no trickery. This woman somehow had bright crimson hair.
From his perched position, he had trouble seeing the young woman's face. She was fidgeting while looking downwards and her fiery locks covered most what little he could see. She seemed to clutch something in her hands.
Maze looked down from her hair and understood the reason for her discomfort. A long streak of dried blood ran from the inside of her ears, down the sides of her neck.
"Hi Maze," the man said. "Where’re you headed?"
His greeting was as intriguing as his clothes. His speech was strange, and accent unfamiliar.
"Sorina,” he answered.
The man’s face looked puzzled.
“That’s west," Maze added.
His face brightened.
Maze grinned back and addressed them both. "I’d say. Where in Ren Daral did you get those garments? I’ve never seen the like of which in my entire life."
The girl didn’t respond. The man stroked the girl's back and looked at the cart.
"I’d tell you where we’re from, but I'm not sure where we are," the man said and seemed to make an internal decision. His voice croaked and Maze recognised his expression.
Yes, they are desperate, Maze thought.
The stranger looked rather sturdy, with light brown hair and blue eyes. His chin had been lightly covered by a thin layer of growth but not by much.
Early twenties maybe? He studied the stranger's face. No. not quite twenties.
Either way, the man looked to have been away from a comfort for quite some time.
"Aye. This is the road from Fordryn to Sorina. In the Northern Lands of Ren Daral. Does that help you at all?"
The man looked up, perplexed. Maze continued to study his face and continued. "Never heard of Ren Daral, have we? You must be from the shadowed land!"
"Shadow land?" asked the man. “Never heard of it sorry.”
Maze looked down at the girl and lost himself in thought. Their accent didn't sound familiar at all. Maze then made a decision of his own. He cleared his throat.
"Yes. Well. I must confess I’ve a reputation to uphold and am known to help a lady when she’s in need." Maze chuckled. "Even when she’s not. Ah, well. Yes. I’ll take you both with me to Sorina. That's if you wish to accompany me?" Maze spoke with a flourish and performed a smooth bow.
The stranger nodded, unsure.
Maze twisted in his seat and kicked a bag over to make some space.
"Yes. You two on the wagon, no time like the present."
The man pivoted on his heel and guided the girl towards the rear of the cart, positioning himself beside the driver. As the girl settled herself in a cozy nook, taking in her surroundings, Maze’s gaze fell upon the object she clutched so delicately. He couldn't help but notice a subtle shimmer emanating from it, casting a soft glow on her hand.
Maze grinned. He was not about to let this interesting tale slip through his fingers. A mysterious woman with red hair and a man from a foreign land.
How peculiar. Was this a start of a new heroic?
Rare, very rare indeed, he thought. Something was about to happen.
"There we have it," Maze spoke cheerfully. "So? By what name shall I call the two of you?"
The man found a comfortable spot beside Maze as the woman lay back in the cart and stared out blankly into the distance.
"My name's Charles and the other one back there is Ellie."