Zander awoke on the cold, hard earth. The night clung to the sky, but the first rays of dawn were creeping through the hedgerow where he and Paladin had camped. He gazed east, taking comfort in the promise of sunrise.
A frown tugged at his lips as a familiar solemnity settled over him. He gripped his locket, thinking of his mother and the many mornings he’d found her staring at the horizon. Melody of Mirrevar wasn’t unhappy, but her purple eyes often lingered on the eastern sky, as if searching for something beyond reach. Her voice echoed in his mind: Never forget the Sunrise, my air. Someday, she will be yours.
“What were you looking for, Mother?” Zander murmured, his thumb tracing the locket’s edge. “What did you see on the eastern horizon?”
With a sigh, he stretched his stiff limbs. The bite from the wolf still ached, but it was the dampness seeping through his clothes that he cursed. His breeches were soaked, and he had no spare loincloths. The prospect of a day’s ride with chafing made him groan.
Zander glanced at his meager coinpurse. Hardly enough for an inn. Another sigh escaped him, this one tinged with resignation. The idea of charming a local lass flickered through his mind, but it quickly fizzled. He groaned again, louder this time.
“Road and rash it is,” he muttered, fastening his scabbard to his belt. He knelt by Paladin, rubbing the horse’s head to rouse him. But a flicker of movement behind a tree snapped him into alertness. His hand flew to his sword. “Who’s there?” he called, voice low and wary. “Be you friend or foe?”
“A friend,” came the reply, familiar and teasing.
Zander squinted at the figure edging around the tree. “Alfread?” His disbelief made him blink, as if seeing a double sunrise.
Alfread slipped into his usual theatrics. “Thus, I was named,” he announced grandly. “Tis not ‘aresehole,’ so distance it from thy tongue.”
Despite himself, Zander felt a rush of warmth at seeing his best friend. He almost tackled him in a brotherly hug but restrained himself. “I told you not to follow me.”
Alfread’s grin faltered. “Zander, your words say one thing, but your face says another. You’re glad to see me—admit it.”
A bray from behind Alfread startled Zander, drawing his gaze to Workhorse, Alfread’s stubborn mule. Zander shook his head, smiling despite himself, at the thought of Alfread battling the intractable half-ass yesterday to track him.
“Fine,” he relented. “I admit it—but that doesn’t change things. You’ve never had the passion for swordplay like you’ve had for stories. Go to Rubinia. Go where you belong, Alfread.”
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Alfread crossed his arms, standing tall. “I won’t defeat whatever controlled those wolves with storytelling.”
Zander bit back his empty rebuttal. He couldn’t debate the truth of that. Hadn’t he spent years trying to convince Alfread that the sword was mightier than the tongue?
“I’m a free man,” Alfread pressed on. “I’m going to Urzport whether you like it or not. Why not let me ride beside you?”
“Because this isn’t some story, Alfread. You could die.”
“I know that!” Alfread’s voice cracked with passion, light shining in his eyes and fire burning in his soul. “But I need to know the truth! I won’t sit in some library, surrounding by people who think I’m a mistake, while you fight our battles alone!” The fire in Alfread’s words softened. “The world’s clearer, the mead sweeter, and the heart beats stronger with a friend by your side. Don’t cast me aside like a book you’ve finished. Turn the page and see—our story continues.”
Zander knew Alfread wouldn’t back down. With a groan, he relented, offering his hand. “Let’s write the next chapter—together.”
Alfread’s smile lit up brighter than the stars. Ignoring the offered hand, he pulled Zander into a bear hug that lifted him off the ground, cracking his back. When his feet touched earth again, the world felt lighter, clearer. The scent of pine and dew filled the air, and the distant rush of the river hummed in the background.
Laughing, Zander pushed Alfread away, wagging a finger in perfect Mirielda fashion were one of her boys to “forget” to clean his dishes. “Don’t get too happy. I’m still mad at you."
Alfread rummaged through Workhorse’s saddlebags. Without looking at Zander, he pulled out a clean loincloth and tossed it over his shoulder. “You sure about that?”
Zander caught it, shaking his head. “How did you even find me?”
“It wasn’t exactly difficult,” Alfread replied with a smirk. “Tracking you is like tracking an ogre. If only the creature at the end of the trail were as pleasant to look at.”
Zander rolled his eyes as Alfread snorted at his own joke. He’d ridden until sunset and crossed paths with at least a hundred other travelers, taking care to mask his tracks and stay out of view of the road when he settled in the hedges. Either Alfread had a backarsed definition for hard or he could track a ghost in a fog.
“We passed Ferrickton yesterday,” Alfread said. “We should reach Urzport before sunset.”
“Then let’s be the first to arrive for the dinner bell.” Zander mounted Paladin and rode south along the River Road.
As they rode in the pre-dawn light, Zander’s thoughts drifted. Guilt gnawed at him. “How was Melissa?”
Alfread shrugged. “She was asleep when I left.” He narrowed an eye at Zander, then frowned deeply. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” Zander confessed.
Alfread’s silence was more judgmental than any words. Zander gripped his locket, feeling its warmth in his palm. Please, Leverith, send me a sign. Let me know that I’m making the right choice.
The road bent, opening to the east, and the sun broke over the Bear River, its light golden and warm, bathing the landscape in its glow. Zander’s breath caught in his throat.
A beast’s roar shattered the moment. Ahead, three travelers fought off river bears. Among them, a woman’s hair caught the sun, shifting from brown to gold with the light’s caress.
Zander’s heart raced. Eyes on the eastern horizon, he rushed toward the Sunrise.