A soft wind blew across the roof of the abandoned guard post. Brunhilde and Hope had climbed the broken stairs to get a better view of the valley they were in.

Brunhilde closed her eyes and turned her face into the wind. She could stay here all day, enjoying the fresh breeze.

Hope patrolled around the edge of the crumbling parapet. The landscape was rocky but tufted with grass and bushes. They were in a valley that ran north to south, besides an old road that was now just a dirt trail dotted with chunks of stone.

“Imagine how boring soldiers would have been, stationed here,” Hope said. She put her booted foot against a cracked stone. The crooked block slid off with a gritty grinding sound and plummeted into the dirt below with a satisfying thud. She looked down, then swayed back and closed her eyes. Her stomach turned. Too high.

“Nothing lives up to your princess requirements,” Brunhilde said. She opened her eyes.

A hawk with outstretched wings clung to the winds by its feather tips. Brunhilde stretched her fingers out in sympathetic imitation of its pose. To feel the wind and be held aloft by it would be a wondrous power. The hawks’ gaze locked on something out of sight on the other side of the hilltop. Its wings tucked in and it dropped like an anchor let loose.

“Good hunting,” Brunhilde whispered as she watched it disappear behind the hills.

Hope shielded her eyes against the sun and peered to the south.

“North or south, which way is best?” she wondered aloud.

“I’d wager north, I can smell something in the wind, people live that way.”

“You can’t smell that on the wind.”

“Really? I’d wager a wineskin that north holds a settlement,” Brunhilde said. She turned round; her red braids skipped in the wind.

“Wager accepted. Where is your wineskin?” Hope said, and held out her hand.

“I have none. When we reach some northern village, you can buy me one.”

Hope rolled her eyes and span her back to Brunhilde. “You’re obsessed with gambling and chance.”

“It keeps your senses sharp. Every spring I came closest to predicting when the seals returned to our bay. I won sixteen hogsheads of mead from my cousin Galen Knifewalker one year.”

“How wonderful for you. I propose we go south.” Hope leant against the parapet and peered southward along the trail. “Hey, look! Travellers. They must have come from somewhere, I win the wineskin.” She looked back with a smug smile.

“That was not my wager.” Brunhilde came to Hope’s side and pushed her shoulder playfully. “They are heading north, to somewhere.”

They watched five travellers on foot approach the guard post in a loose group. At the head a tall, square gentleman with a ruddy red face and white hair walked upright with a large pack across his shoulders. Then came an older woman dressed in fine black travelling clothes, leather jerkin and walking boots. Two youngsters dressed too ornately for travelling were next, the man and woman both had dark coiffured hair and clung to each other as they walked, whispering to each other constantly. Then far behind them was a smaller figure, he looked to be hunched and aged, dragging a heavy case not made for travel at all.

Brunhilde sat on the cold stones, and lay her chin and hands on the parapet to watch the group approach. The man at the head strode casually but with determination, he looked comfortable and prepared to hike the route.

“I’d wager he’s a soldier,” Brunhilde said. “His stance, no- not just a soldier, a drill sergeant. He’s confident and disciplined”

“He looks like a butcher,” Hope said.

“Why would a butcher be travelling like this? You have less insight into others than you think, little gold-flame. You take any chance to belittle others.”

“I can’t help being of refined and noble blood. A gold coin says I am right. He’s a butcher. He cuts meat.”

“A gold coin says I am right. Deal,” Brunhilde said. She held out her hand. Hope took it and submitted to the fierce handshake she knew was coming.

“She looks like a noble, the old grey hair,” Hope said.

The woman walking second sometimes skipped forward to keep up with the first traveller. On occasion she peered back at the others to wait for them. She looked around the valley constantly, peering up the slopes and starting at rocks and dust disturbed by the wind.

“Cheap and gaudy, she’s more like a singer. An operatic dame, too old to play the mother, but pompous enough to play an old fool.”

“Look at her hair, still fine and luxurious in old age, she must have lived a very comfortable life. A gold coin says she’s a noble! She’s exiled from her lands, those clothes are her last finery,” Hope said.

“You’re in a generous mood today, to give me so much gold. Let’s make this a proper battle of insights. A gold coin for each traveller’s true soul that we see before they arrive. She’s a confused old song-bird.”

“Wager accepted. Look at these two, nobles as well. Their dress, the latest fashions of the south coast, young idle nobles with nothing better to do,” Hope said.

The two youngsters clinging to each other nervously were so similar in dress and behaviour that they must have been siblings or cousins, it was obvious even from this distance. They waved to the older woman now and again, but mostly kept to their own conversation.

“No, too nervous. They’re rogues, thieves dressed up in fine clothes to allow them to get close to true nobles. A cut of the knife to a purse and they make off.” Brunhilde’s smile was smug and mocking.

“And the fellow at the back?” Hope said.

They watched the pathetic figure dragging along his immense case. He tramped along behind the rest of the group, who ignored his struggles. Time and again his case would catch on a rock, or slide into a hole in the dirt road. He pulled from the front, ran round to the back to push, wiggled the case back and forth. Each minor collision brought forth a frenetic inventiveness in his attempts to free his cargo, no struggle was the same. He fought a lonely and singular battle as the others strolled ahead of him.

Hope and Brunhilde watched in silence for a while.

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“He’s an odd one,” Brunhilde said at last.

“I won’t wager against that. Who is he?”

“He’s carrying something heavy.”

“Forfeit your gold now if you can’t make a guess.”

“Don’t sharpen your sword too long before battle, what’s your guess?” Brunhilde said.

“Oh, he’s a minor bureaucrat. Probably carrying documents that nobody else cares about. And your guess?”

“I can’t see anything in him. He’s a rangy fool, struggling with a load far too heavy for him. He looks like he’s going to get chased down and eaten,” Brunhilde said.

They watched the group’s approach a bit longer, until the man at the head spotted them. He stopped and called something back to the others. They all stopped at his word. He waved his hands in the air. Brunhilde stood and waved back.

“What are you doing?” Hope asked.

“He wants us to know he’s seen us, and he wants to make sure we are safe. Let’s give them a friendly welcome.”

They descended the tower, on the way Brunhilde grabbed the large cook pot from the abandoned sleeping quarters. She filled it from a nearby well and then hung it on hooks above a fire pit beside the road. With flint and tinder, she started kindling burning in the fire pit.

“This is big enough to make soup for about twenty guards,” Brunhilde said.

“Or ten fat ones,” Hope said. Brunhilde’s throaty chuckle put a smile on the Princesses’ face.

Brunhilde climbed the hillside a bit and took a seat on a boulder. She checked behind her, the slope was rocky and loose, there was no easy way they could circle her. If they were dangerous, she would have the uphill advantage against them.

Hope straightened her dress and cloak. She scuffed the dust from her boots and waited for the lead traveller to approach.

“We are pilgrims, we have no coin or goods to pay any toll,” the man shouted out.

“I’m not a toll guard!” Hope shouted out. Her eyes flashed with anger and the man stepped back.

“She’s a princess. From a strange place. We’re travelling like you, we’re no bandits or toll takers,” Brunhilde called down to him. “We have a fire ready to cook at.” She gestured to the fire pit, and two rabbits hung up nearby. “Share food with us.”

The man stared back and forth between the two. “Are you pilgrims?” he asked.

“No,” Brunhilde said. She slowly walked down the hillside with her hands open. “You?”

“Yes. I am travelling to the Sponsor of the Omphalos. We are travelling,” he said, with a nod of his head back to the others. They were huddled in a group at a distance.

“Come and share food,” Brunhilde said. “Tell us more of your pilgrimage. Are you the guard for them?” She sat down on one of the crude stone benches beside the fire and stoked it.

“No. I am just a pilgrim. I gave up my past life so I may see the Sponsor,” he said. He approached warily and placed his pack down. Hope stared at him with continuing irritation.

“You were a soldier though?” Brunhilde said.

“Nah! I was a butcher,” he said. He rustled in his pack for something.

Hope sidled to sit besides Brunhilde. The barbarian felt a bony elbow in her side.

“Oh really, how fascinating. You must have trained with all sort of blades and cleavers. Have you never even touched a sword?” Hope said.

“Nah. Never touched the handle or the sharp end, better luck for me,” he said. He found a pack of dried vegetables and emptied them into the warming water.

Hope slapped her open hand onto Brunhilde’s knee, who begrudgingly slipped a gold coin from her purse into it.

“You can cut our rabbits for us?” Brunhilde said.

“Of course, hand ‘em here,” he said. He pulled sharp knives from his pack and made quick work of skinning the rabbits. “Oh, I’m Baram, a pleasure to meet,” he said.

“I am Hope, a Princess of a very important place that you have never heard of. This is Brunhilde,” Hope said.

“And your companions?” Brunhilde said. She waved to the waiting travellers, who muttered to each other.

“We are all pilgrims, we met on the road and travel for safety.” He turned and called to them. “Hey, come over. They’re safe. We have rabbits here!”

The others made their approach. The grey-haired woman curtsied and introduced herself as the Comtessa de Res.

“Oh, how splendid, how splendid!” Hope crowed. “Another person of noble birth.” She slipped her hand over to Brunhilde and another gold coin fell into her palm.

The Comtessa sat down on the crude stone bench and grimaced as she tried to make herself comfortable. She pulled a kerchief from a sleeve and wiped her nose with it. She eyed the cooking stew with hunger and uncertainty.

The two siblings sat down, still clinging to each other. Their dark eyes peered out from pale and tight faces. They had similar angular features with pert noses that made them look very young. But the lines on their foreheads and around their eyes looked like centuries of worry.

“Are you two also blessed with noble birth?” Hope asked them.

They froze slightly and the brother spoke. “Yes, not much of a blessing. I am Nevio Fontana. This is my sister Liara.” She nodded politely.

“Do you have anything for our stew?” Brunhilde said. Hope’s hand was squeezing her thigh insistently. She took two more gold coins and slammed them into the mage’s hand.

“We have nothing, absolutely nothing!” Liara said.

“At least you have your memories!” the Comtessa cried.

Baram the Butcher stirred the stew and gave Brunhilde a weary look. He shook his head, showing that he had heard this conversation many times before.

“What cruel memories! If only we could discard them as we were discarded by our father,” Nevio wailed. Liara closed her eyes and gripped his arms tighter.

The Comtessa wrenched her kerchief back and forth in her lap. She stared wistfully at the fire. “I remember a face, I think it was kind. It must have been my father, perhaps it was a guardian of mine. Even if we parted unkindly, I would still wish to remember his face.”

Liara bit her lip and let out a sigh of pain. “I can remember father’s face, dark and angry, when he disowned us.”

“Sent us out into the world,” Nevio said.

“Denied us our lands, our inheritance!” Liara cried.

“I remember a tower, high and above green lands. It was hot, perhaps summer. We were singing, perhaps it was my mother, perhaps a guest. Oh, happy days,” the Comtessa whispered almost to herself. A tear dripped from her eye and she dabbed at it.

“We all have out hardships, but the stew is as ready as it can be,” Baram said. He looked up at Hope and Brunhilde. “Shall we eat?”

“What about him?” Brunhilde said, she nodded her head to the last traveller who was still fighting with his heavy case.

“That’s Zorzio,” they said in unison.

Brunhilde went over to him and lifted his case up. It was heavy and awkward but easy enough to carry over her shoulder. Zorzio ran after her as she dropped it down besides the fire. He dragged it closer with a few grunts and then sat on it, perching like a heron. He was tall but bent over, his fat cheeks hung down like pouches either side of his downturned mouth.

“My thanks, although I have already hurt my back, hnmp” he said to Brunhilde. He made a swallowed whimpering sound at the injustice of his late rescue. He groaned and shifted on the case, rubbing his back. “There isn’t much in there for all of us. I don’t mind not eating if you would all like some more.” He looked around at the other travellers. Baram ignored him by staring into the stew, the Comtessa and the twins said nothing.

“We have enough for all of us.” Brunhilde said

“I will eat a half portion, hnmp,” Zorzio said. He made a whimpering sound to show the painful sacrifice he was making in eating less.

“Good for you. What is your trade?” Hope said.

“It’s hardly a trade. I did work in the ports, or at least tried to, hnmp,” Zorzio said. His whimper told of the hard and unappreciated work he did.

“You were a sailor?” Brunhilde asked. She recognised a chance to prove Hope wrong and win back at least one coin.

“No, an emissary. I dealt with people from many other ports. I would call myself a diplomat, at least I try to be diplomatic, hnmp,” he said. Another whimper punctuated the end of his sentence.

Brunhilde reached her hand out to grasp one of the coins in Hope’s palm, but the mage kept her grip tight.

“You have to deal with a lot of paperwork?” Hope said.

“Oh yes, of course. Much more than I would like, hnmp.”

“And what are you carrying there? It seems very heavy.” Hope said.

“Just things.”

“Documents?”

“Well yes, I suppose you would call it that. Paperwork, all very important to me, hnmp,” Zorzio said.

“You did a lot of bureaucratic work?”

“Yes. Many people would describe me as a petty bureaucrat, I would call myself a bureaucrat who can be petty,” he joked. “Hnmp,” he whimpered at the silent response to his joke.

Brunhilde relinquished her grip on the coin. She dropped another of her coins into Hope’s wriggling fingers. Five gold coins lost to the princess. She would have to think of another wager to win them back.

Baram dished out the stew into bowls and they ate. Amongst the twins’ glum murmurs, the Comtessa’s strange half-formed memories and Zorzio’s whimpering self-flagellation, the talk turned to the reason for their pilgrimage.

“The Sponsor of the Omphalos,” Baram said in a serious tone. The other pilgrims stopped their talk and a reverent silence fell over the group. They dropped their gazes, and none seemed ready to talk more.

“What is that?” Hope said.

Baram cleared his throat, wiped rabbit stew from around his mouth and explained.