“My bones chilled! I feel fost crawl in their marrows!” Soraya whined. Her voice was muffled under two layers of rugs in the back of the wagon. Clattering teeth matched the tune of the horse’s trots and the shaking vehicle as it hurried along in the early morning.

“Well, you got what you wanted,” Agravain sneered, “What did you expect? A dignity’s fist rate carriage? We’re fugitives. And you’re a fugitive princess now, yup, there’s a nice ring to it.”

“But must we depart so early?” she groaned again, “The sun isn’t up yet, it’s basically still yesterday!”

“There, there, princess,” Rania huddled together with the girl in the wagon, “try rubbing your hands together.” She turned to Agravain with a frown, “Can you not be so uncouth? Mind your manner towards the princess, please.”

“What? Do you want me to lend her my coat? Can't you see that I have none?” The barbarian waved his hand dismissively. “She’ll learn to bear with it. This journey won’t be all smiles and sunshine. You know that.”

“For a lack of trying, it’s looking to be.”

For a being supposedly emotionless, the maid nagged too much.

“You’ll have to work on your glare a thousand years more before you can act my mom,” he brushed off her scathing look.

“At least put something on. You stand out too much in that jacket. Isn’t that defeating the purpose of our secrecy?”

“On the contrary!”

He did have on something: an unbuttoned waistcoat and a pair of breeches.

It wasn’t exactly half-naked, but surely not something you would expect the servant of a princess to wear.

Besides, it was liberating.

Not that he was an exhibitionist or anything.

“I don’t mind it,” Jophiel agreed, “it suits the barbarous aesthetic. Not my type but you’ve got to commit to the aesthetic. And besides, we probably won’t have to worry about your armor class until much later, if ever. Heavy armor or stark naked, neither will affect my plan for you. That’s just the sort of class yours is.”

Just as himself, the angel was not bothered by the cold, and, still in her tracksuit, was lounging in an unseemly posture next to the girls from the royal household.

In the driver seat and wrapped in a woolen coat was Iranon, who still stole glances about as they left the city. “You sure don’t hear horse hooves or something, I swear I heard some just now.”

“Pipe down if you’re so scared,” the barbarian growled. He rode abreast the wagon on his newly purchased steed, a black stallion who restlessly stirred under him, as though begging to break into a liberating gallop.

It was such a refreshing morning.

These had been their only purchases for this trip: the wagon, two horses and some meager supplies. The plan was to make for the nearest town and there stock up for the next part of the journey. Soraya did not think it wise to withdraw her personal money from her factor in the city, but the fund they robbed from the gang was more than enough to keep themselves fed before they could source money from somewhere else.

Or resorting to banditry, as suggested by Jophiel.

Some angel.

Not that the barbarian cared. Making ends meet had never been an immediate concern for him, either in this world or his old one. What will be, will be.

Nor was his family’s business back then in the clean by any means.

The only thing occupying his mind was the exceeding excitement of starting on a trip. All carefree, he breathed in the freezing morning breeze as they crossed the sleeping town.

As for Iranon’s fear, it was insubstantial. For all the caution they had taken yesterday to hide Soraya in the attic of the abandoned house he had slept in the day before, the palace’s soldiers never did visit the wharf house.

The first sign of waking life they found was on the city’s outskirts. Half a league from the city, tents and campfires huddled together in the dozens, forming by themselves a small village.

He tapped on the wagon’s hood. “Soraya, look at those funny people.”

“What do you mean funny?” Iranon said, “They look just like you.”

Unlike in the city, the camp was bustling with activities even so early. Men and women were milling about, wearing garments of the poorer, coarse and meager sorts compared to those in the city. All of them had a darker complexion than the city folk. Some of the men were bare-chested, and every one of them carried weapons: spears, broadswords, or even primitive stone hammers and axes.

Despite her complaints, Soraya poked her head out with the handmaid’s help. “Oh, the barbarians from the West! I heard they’ve been camping outside of the city for some time now, but this is the first I’ve seen of them. They really do look like you, Agravain!”

“What do you mean like me? Ragged?”

Even as they passed, the campers exited their tents in increasing numbers and were pointing at the wagon.

“I wonder what they find so curious about us,” Agravain said, “Are they known for robbing travelers?”

Soraya shook her head. “If they were, father would have driven them away long ago. But they've been doing nothing but sitting around and occasionally sending delegates into town.”

“Didn’t they also send a delegate to the palace or something,” Iranon asked, “Quite a stir in the city, it was. There were talks of the savage prince wanting the princess’s hand. That is, I mean, yours.”

“Some stupid rumor.” Having had her fill of those barbarians, the little princess retreated into the wagon with the help of her maid. “I heard they did request a meeting with my father, but that probably came to nothing, seeing as they are still here.”

“So long as they don’t cross our path,” Agravain said, urging his horse on.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

They did not, and the group passed safely.

The angel probably knew who the campers were, if not their purpose. But Agravain didn’t feel like asking. He was the type of traveler who enjoyed the sceneries more than any minute details any tour guide could babble on and on about.

So they followed the road that wound around hills and laid across rivers on stone bridges until noon. Only when the last trace of civilization besides the occasional waymarkers had vanished for hours did Jophiel call them to a halt.

They parked in the middle of a grassy plain under a large, lone acacia, near a stream where the horses could be watered.

After having breakfast they couldn’t afford the time for during the hasty escape from the city, Jophiel summoned the barbarian and the maid Rania out of the shade.

Under the tree’s great boughs, the bard and Soraya sat watching the first of Jophiel’s training sessions unfold.

Rania, hands clasped demurely before her, allowed the angel to examine her without a word of protest.

Then when the examination was done, which only really amounted to a minute of intense gazing from head to toe, the angel dragged Agravain to a distance.

“What now?” he asked, “having second thoughts about bringing her along?”

“Nope, the girl’s fine as it is. Nothing to complain about, nothing to praise either. I said she was a blank slate, didn’t I?”

“Except for her vision, that’s one hell of a disadvantage in battle.”

“Hey, that's her charm! Don’t you dare take that away from her! What I mean is, and this has always proved a problem in my experience, don’t you think the girl is just full of pride or what?”

The handmaid was just standing there, all alone, hopefully out of earshot. She didn’t even seem bored, just looking straight ahead, intensively.

“Pride? Didn't you say them genies had the emotional range of a coffee maker? Do coffee makers have pride?”

“Who knows? Maybe the human variants do. But that isn’t important. The girl’s self-assured. She has no idea what we are going into, a bit more than the little princess, sure, but it won’t be common street thugs I’m going to throw her at, you know. She would be squatted like a fly if we don’t do something about it!”

“If you don’t do something about it. Just say what you want me to do.”

“Well, you gotta show the girl her place.” The angel grinned, and it wasn’t a cutely mischievous grin, but one of malice and cruelty.

Some angel.

“You mean haze her?”

“What?” she twisted her face, “what sort of monster do you think I am? No, just beat her up.”

“Is there a difference?!”

“Just do it!”

“Fine.”

The barbarian strode over to the waiting girl. She turned at his approach, placid face betrayed not a sign of emotions, either anxiousness or boredom. The picture of a perfectly poised royal servant. But not for a moment had the barbarian forgotten the chair in the face he had received from these deceptively dainty arms.

“Let’s spar,” he said.

“Why?” The girl frowned, eyeing him strangely and then the angel in the distance.

It's sort of a trope that people with bad eyesight appear as though they’re glaring all the time, when in truth they’re just squinting. Not with this girl. What with her having her glasses secured on her little nose. There was no need to squint. Girl’s just easily prone to glares and distrust. Which on this occasion wasn’t exactly unwarranted.

She was sharp, perhaps already guessing some prank was going on.

Only it would be no prank.

But the real thing.

“We went over this, didn’t we? I can’t guarantee I will always be there to protect Soraya. So you will have to pull your weight too. That ang--that thing,” he thrust a finger in the angel’s direction, “knows her stuff, she can improve your combat prowess.”

“So we spar? Is this some sort of training?”

“You may think about it like that.”

The girl nodded. For all his effort to make her agree to it, the girl did not seem any less wary.

And he thought the angel was perhaps on the mark this time. It was not exactly pride, but Rania seemed to be preoccupied with keeping a distance, still treating him and the angel as though they could turn on her and the princess at any point. An attitude like that just wouldn’t do.

“Let’s then,” he said, “what manner of fighting are you accustomed to?”

“I was trained in personal, close-quarter combat. I can use a dagger, but not as well as Lamia.”

“Do you prefer the dagger then? We had some in the wagon, take one if you like.”

Of the items they had robbed from the wharf house was the armory full of weapons. Nothing impressive to be found there, to be sure, only some garden-variety weapons--axes, swords and spears. The angel had insisted they brought along at least one of each type.

“What about you?” Rania asked.

“I’m fine as is.”

“Then I’m fine too.”

Quite a stubborn one.

“If you say so.” He shrugged. “I’m not going to beat you up too hard, but I’m not going easy either, good?”

“Yes.”

With the maid’s confirmation, he dropped into a fighting stance, but was instantly startled by the angel’s voice. It had the same disembodied quality as the voice he had now used to, loud and clear as though next to his ears, but was without a doubt Jophiel’s voice.

“I’m sending you the girl’s information for reference. Use your judgment accordingly.”

Rania

Class: Bodyguard

Focus: Endurance, Dexterity

Trait: Journeyman Fighter, Adept Housekeeper, Genie, Honest, Near-sighted

Str 6 | En 9 | Dex 6 (-1) | Int 6 | Wis 6 | Cha 6 | Luck 6

Yup, nothing amazing.

The barbarian took a few steps back, allowing space between them. Then he came at her.

A plain throwing of his fist, nothing fancy, though with the might behind it, he was sure he could fell a tree with one strike. Still, it was a clumsy, inelegant blow, even if it was faster than most ordinary folk could react to.

Rania dodged it well enough. Ducking under his blow, she lunged at the barbarian, thrusting her naked hand at his abdomen. It was a trained piece of movement. Nothing less than expected from a bodyguard.

Yet her fist bounced away, having done no more damage than she had with the chair yesterday.

A wild guess, but this probably wasn’t among the situations she was trained for.

Credit to her quick awareness. Instantly she acknowledged that her strength was insufficient to break his defense. She squeezed away, trying to put a distance between them instead of following up with another attack. But already the barbarian’s elbow had come down, striking the girl’s shoulder as she sprang away.

With a painful cry, she staggered, stumbling her retreat. He did not give pursuit.

She turned to face him. The bruised arm where the barbarian had struck trembled.

Having allowed her a moment to somewhat recover from the shock, Agravain closed in again. Another crude punch with no thought behind it.

Even fully on guard this time, she could not cope with the strength. Her guarding arms merely blocked her head from taking a direct blow. But her entire body felt the spreading tremor of the devastating impact. As though hit by a charging bull, she staggered back. And in stumbling, she exposed herself to any following strike. There was no prospect of it, at any rate, as her legs which could no more hold buckled.

She fell with her mouth aghast, both from pain and helplessness.

Agravain approached steadily and slowly, looming like a mountain taking its time to crush all creatures beneath with sheer force of pressure.

The maid was reeling still, unable to catch sufficient breaths to rise to her feet.

“Stop!” Soraya cried. The wheels of her chair bounced and struggled over the hard and uneven ground, but with an effort she had got close enough to make her voice heard. “Stop it, Agravain! This isn’t a fair fight! Just plain bullying,” she shrieked, looking as worried as she was annoyed.

“I wasn’t bullying her,” he grumbled, but already stopped in his tracks. “We were just sparring.”

Although it was true Jophiel’s intention had been quite close to bullying. No, perhaps it had already gone beyond that, crossing straight into hazing.

“He’s right, princess.” Rania struggled to her feet. Really struggled, for her legs were wobbling even when she was on her feet again. “And I’m not done.”

“Nah, we’re done,” Jophiel declared gravely. She strode towards the pair with the codex under her arm.

“You sure?” the barbarian arched his brows, “I also think it’s far from enough.”

The angel gave him a sidelong look, “I’m not questioning your method of teaching, Mr. Ex-Professor, I’m all for it. But this isn’t going to work. Even should you beat her to death, it won’t. Girl needs a taste of the real thing.”

And having said this, she spread the codex before her, the heavy thing looking light and deftly handled in her slim hand. He doubted it was any heavy at all, seeing that it was only a substitute for the floating displays to suit her aesthetic taste or whatever.

Then she pointed, eastward, at the treeline of a dense forest, whose shadow curtained the ground further in.

“There’s a settlement in the forest. For our new recruit’s first test, we’re going to rob it!”