The Dain River, established long ago by the conservative and unremarkable Emperor Hadrian as the northern border of the Novissime Empire, now flowed at Brennus's feet. It was a wide spot in the river, perhaps three kilometers, they had guessed, yet it flowed slow and shallow here. It would call for a longer crossing, and it was too far for any hastily built bridges, but the dugout canoes and rafts made from the surrounding trees could be better controlled.

The Empire had yet to respond to messengers requesting asylum, but Brennus had made up his mind to cross with or without the Novissime's permission. There was hardly any plan regarding what the migrating nation would do once they reached the other side. As his king stared across the waters, Otto approached.

"My King, we've over fifty craft ready to cross." Brennus gave no answer. Otto let the gentle lapping of the water fill the silence before continuing. "Titus got everyone in line and moving well. We should be ready to begin at first light. I'm sure you heard of the issues though."

"Ah, good. Good. Be sure no one works too late. A good rest will serve these people better than another boat," Brennus said without looking back. "Have all the villages come?"

Otto didn't need a direct answer. If there was no answer it meant that the issue made no difference to Brennus. And if it made no difference to Brennus, it meant nothing. There had been fighting and Titus, one of Brennus's advisors, had killed a few men. The Urzoth had lived most of their lives in small groups of no more than forty people scattered throughout the Tuculli. They knew gathering everyone together so suddenly was going to cause some infighting. Otto dropped the topic. "It appears most have come. The Worm was helpful in spreading the terror,"

Brennus lowered his head at the word most. "I understand their choice. Otto, it should be understood by a king that decisions like these, like this crossing — though we've picked the best place, and we've planned and prepared ourselves adequately — is the type of decision I have to make that will cause the death of many Urzoth people. No matter which path I would have chosen for us, these people would suffer. Either from the horse people, or whatever awaits us on the other side of that river."

Chief Otto, a good five years older than the Urzoth King and well into his fourth decade, paid little mind to this type of talk. This preparation for succession that Brennus tended toward would be better suited to a young heir, but perhaps he was just practicing. And if King Brennus wanted to talk about a thing, who was Otto to stop him?

"I have to say it. The individual will suffer, but the Urzoth Kingdom will go on. We won't all make it to the other side," Brennus continued. "The sheer number of people crossing presents such a likelihood of mistakes and accidents. Maybe one of these accidents will kill some of my people. Perhaps a young warrior who still hasn't tasted Alan blood, or an old woman that would rather have stayed in her home. Children might wash away and be unable to grasp a stronger hand. Then upon reaching the other side, the empire's legion might be lying in wait. Urich tells me no messengers have returned with either acceptance or refusal of our request for safe passage. We may be ambushed as we cross or soon after attacked with a large force of cavalry." Brennus paused and the chilled, silent evening hung over the two. "And so many tell me to rush to a plan. It is a fool who rushes to action and a fool who gets caught by inaction. So we move forward at a steady pace. Always forward."

Otto shrugged and kicked the water with the toe of his boot. "The way I see it, a man follows the path in front of him. When he dies he's called a fool by some and a hero by others, as it suits them. Then everybody moves on and forgets him."

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"A comforting thought, old friend." Brennus said gravely. He patted his chief's shoulder as he left Otto by the river bank.

At first light, a select group of women roused the Urzoth people with booming animal skin drums and choruses of traditional fight songs. There would hopefully be no battle today, but the Urzoth faced a challenge of a different sort, and no less significant.

It was still early as the men readied the first group of canoes. The shadows dipped and rose along the surface of the earth and the working men, stretching as far west as they ever would. Otto helped set the rear wheel of a loaded down wagon inside a dugout canoe. He thought he recognized one of the shadows as Brennus's. He could picture the king, overseeing their efforts from atop a nearby hill, weighed down by a stress no one could understand. Then he laughed to himself and imagined it was simply the shadow of a tree. He waded through the ankle deep waters to the next wagon, feeling the mud squish between his toes. He looked east, and there was Brennus, on his hill.

The first group of ten canoes was loaded and began the crossing. It was a test run of sorts; much of the food and critical supplies remained in wagons set to go on the north side of the Dain.

Otto joined his King on the hill. He sat on a large rock while a young, heavyset woman cleaned and dried his feet. "I think shoes are the most important part of a man's outfit," he called to Brennus. "You can't fight if your feet are all messed up."

"Sure."

It was the first time Brennus had acknowledged anything but the crossing. Otto made a face to the woman. She giggled, but Otto knew she did not understand. "I prefer these lower boots. Can't say why, I think I'm just used to them. The man told me they were made from a couple foxes," Otto said. He gave the woman a teasing pinch as she finished and scurried away. He pulled his second shoe on and stood by Brennus. The king patted Otto on the back. It was all the acknowledgement he needed, and the two watched the crossing in silence.

As planned, the canoes crossed and unloaded with no incident. As the boats made their way back, the next larger group of boats crossed. Again no incident and the remaining boats set off. When they reached the southern bank, a messenger sent to the nearby Novissime garrison emerged on horseback from the tree line. He crossed with the boats to relay the message to Brennus.

"My King, General Archaeus has granted our request for safe passage, however, he has instructed the Urzoth leadership to travel to him to discuss the matter. He gave the location as Fort Annius. It's a fair distance east of here."

Relief would be expected with such news, however, by looking at him, Brennus felt no weight lift from his shoulders as he thanked and dismissed the messenger. A commotion from the river sent everyone rushing to the bank.

One boat had flipped in the water, setting off a reaction that capsized canoes carrying four food wagons and 8 horses. One horse managed to swim back to the North bank, but the wagons, food stores and remaining horses were lost. Otto looked to his king. Again there was no change in Brennus's demeanor.

Brennus, seeing the reluctance of the next grouping of boats to set off, ordered that he would board the next boat with his advisors, except Otto who would stay and coordinate the remainder of the crossing. This eased the people's fears and the crossing continued. With the exception of a handful of interruptions, Otto spent the day alone on the hill. He passed the time idly braiding long blades of grass and fiddling with fallen branches. The work has been done, Otto thought. Now they just have to go.

Two more wagons, one of food and one of general supplies, were lost to the river. A total of twenty-three men were lost; no children and no women.

The crossing took the day and Otto was the last to leave the Tuculli Forest. As the Urzoth made camp and enjoyed a mild celebration of their accomplishment, Otto felt out of place. Not as an individual who did not fit among the Urzoth, but a feeling that his entire race did not fit here. He could not say why and did not care to define it further, even to himself, but he knew it the moment he felt the dying, knee-high grass on the southern bank of the Dain.