Because Walter asked a request, the prince ordered a small rest for the wagons.
Elin found Rabecca flirting with three guards.
Rabecca sat on a crate, cross-legged, with one of her thighs exposed through the slit on her dress. She smiled; they laughed. She nodded; they agreed. While Elin didn't appreciate their relaxed attitude in the open, the ex-paladin noticed a sparring-like quality to the witch's conversation.
"Walter asked for you."
Rabecca hopped down and dusted off. "Excuse me, boys. My master is calling."
Elin silently reminded herself not to let her jealousy run amok.
The men, making moment-long glances at her collar as if they realized they were talking to someone owned by the Black Mage of Eovamund, stiffened and cringed. They made excuses to perform a hasty retreat and returned to work. Rabecca released a practiced giggle.
When the men scampered off, Rabecca said, "I am at Lord Walter's disposal."
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"I refuse!" Rabecca snapped.
Walter tilted his head, "What? Why? Didn't you say you wanted to cast your magic? I think I can figure out a way to improve your spell."
"Yes, I did!" Rabecca put her hands on her hips, "Defending the wagons, so I can earn my freedom quicker! I don't want to be an experiment!"
"Yeah, but--"
"Is my master giving this slave an order?"
"Of course not, I won't make you. That would be a bit too much."
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"Then, no! Besides, the spell will ruin my clothes, and I don't feel like prancing naked in front of a bunch of soldiers."
"You don't have to cast Ice III. What about Ice I?"
Rabecca rolled her eyes. "I don't know Ice I, only Ice III."
"That doesn't make any sense. If you know the third level spell, then you should know the first and second," Walter shook his head to keep his thoughts on track, "That's fine. I said I won't make you. Can I cast 'Scan' on you, instead?"
"Lord Walter!" Rabecca put her fingertips on her temples, "That's worse than being naked! I can't do that, either! Why are you asking me these things? Is there anything else? Can I go?"
"Yeah."
Rabecca huffed and turned on her heel. She stopped to say something, lost her words, huffed again, and stomped off.
Walter turned to Elin and shrugged in confusion, askance of an explanation.
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The Wagoneers planned to camp next to a small pilgrim town. It demonstrated two immediate features: a misaligned log wall surrounding it and disorganized farmland packed against the wall. Birds attacked the crops, and the sun withered them. So far from the shelter of a larger town or the protection of the military and Adventurer's Guild, farmers only tilled and planted minimally.
Elin remembered, according to law, Prince Peterby and his guards could demand to be housed, but they chose not to. She, herself, made short trips around the Necropolis and utilized that very same rule. Soldiers of this number could tax them to the point of collapse. The expensive fleet Prince Peterby employed was intended to alleviate his costly presence.
A dirty child peeked, with tired eyes, from the gate, wearing little more than a sack and mud. The doll in her hand swayed limply. While the child held the doll's hand, she did obviously did so only because she recalled that children should play but did not feel the sentiment any longer. A moment later, an adult's hand reached out and tugged the child back inside.
"This is like the elf outpost. Is it like this everywhere?" Walter asked. He continued to stare at the empty gate. "Even in this kingdom?"
"Walter, this is the reality of it."
"They're not going to make it, are they?"
Elin opened her mouth, then closed it when the words failed to form. What could she say? The truth stood apparent. She didn't want to state the obvious because she would feel complicit in their suffering. Finally, she said, "Come, beloved. It's been a long trip, and you're tired. Rest." She tugged on his arms, and he followed.
The wagons circled. Ropes, tied from the horse yokes of one wagon to the hitch of the next, formed a fence, and the horses rested in the center.