So, I don’t pick up my dagger on waking. But I do throw a pillow at my dad as he comes in the door. That’s better than covering my head with it, at least. My dad disagrees quite ardently.
I take off my armor and leave it on my bed, then run down to the bathhouse. I return wearing a clean set of combat clothes. I have two other clean sets in my backpack, which I notice is packed and leaning against the wall in my bedroom.
I gear up. The last thing I do is clip my dagger to my belt. I hold my dagger up to it, trying to decide which side it should sit on, maybe the right? Or do I need to draw it across my body? I hold it up to the right side of the belt and it clicks into place. It feels firmly adhered, it is awkward to draw though, the length of it just a little too long to be pulled with my right hand.
I pull on the sheath, trying to get it off the belt, and it pops off easily. Strange. I examine the sheath. There is a sigil, a small one, that matches the belt. When I look at the left side of the belt, I notice one there too. I line up the sigil on the sheath with the on that side of the belt and it clicks into place. Then I draw the dagger from the sheath, reaching across my body; that feels better.
I look over my room. I don't have much decoration. I collected a few stones as a child, a small painting of my mother and father walking together, and a wooden figurine of a dog that my father carved. I want to take something with me, something that reminds me of home. I pick up the dog, pet it fondly, and then place it in my bag. I remember watching my father work away at the wood for days by the fire, each night trying to conceal his work from me by sitting strategically.
I say goodbye to my bed. I’m sure I’ll miss it soon. Then to the room, my room. I bend down to pick up my backpack and walk into the living space. My dad is sitting there with his tea, his eyes look heavy. This has been a long week for us both. The sleepless nights are adding up.
“Good morning," he greets me.
“Morning, what's the plan?" I don't sit. I am too eager and anxious. Part of me wants to stay, and the other part wants to leave SO BADLY. I hate drawn-out goodbyes, and this whole week has felt like one.
“The caravan will be boarding in an hour. Have some tea with me, then we'll walk down." I can sit. I don't really want to, but I can do it.
The silence is only broken with the sound of little sips.
“You don’t have anything else to tell me? Any other wisdom to dispense?” I ask.
“Nope, I think I’ve said everything. Are you ready?” he asks.
"I'm ready," I reply. He nods, and the quiet is back.
“Keep the dagger close,” he says. “Practice drawing it often and reaching for it when you wake.”
“I knew it! I knew you’d come up with something. Some wisdom to share.” He gives me a small smile.
“I am going to miss you, Noelle.” He says. I smile anxiously, his reaction to my teasing catches me off guard.
"I'll miss you dad," I say. "I'll be back before you know it" I say with forced cheer.
“Probably too soon,” he grumbles into his tea, looking up at me teasingly.
I say goodbye to our home next, then the shop altogether. Soon, I am saying goodbye to the merchant district, the hustle and bustle unaffected by my departure.
The caravan is grouping up at the south gate, the same gate I ran to only last week with all the other children. Thinking that watching a caravan arrive would be an exciting way to spend an hour. My life has changed a lot this week; now, I will be riding out those same gates.
My dad taps my shoulder and points off to the other side of the ring of people around the carts. “Looks like some people came to see you off,” he says. I look over and see Godfrey and Laney waving at me with smiles, they are speaking to each other out of the sides of their mouths and when I wave back, they laugh. We walk over.
“What are you guys doing here? Who’s watching your shops?” I ask curiously.
“We are here to see off our investment!!” Godfrey announces.
“We wanted to see the results of our work. You look great, girl.” Laney chimes in.
“Thanks, but what do you mean investment?” I ask, turning to my dad.
“We are splitting the shipment,” my dad tells me. “The monster parts will make good clothes, good armor, and good weapons. The money you’re carrying is all of ours. They wanted to help by equipping you.” He smiles.
“Wait, how did I not know that?!” feeling the pressure grow as I realize that the list of people relying on me has just tripled.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” my dad says with a sigh. “And they were happy to help. They quite like working together when they have the chance.”
“And this was a fun one,” Godfrey says. “Kitting out a true newbie, did you see those enchantments? Eh? And the one that holds your sheath on, that’s a new one. I see it’s holding up fine. Draw the dagger.” He says.
I reach across and draw it as quickly as I can. It halts momentarily as the hilt clears the sheath, but I think it was pretty good.
“Not bad” Godfrey says, looking at Laney, then back to me. “Practice it during the journey, get good at it, you should be able to draw in one quick breath.”
"If you pull it straight out of the sheath instead of at an angle, the hilt shouldn't catch like that," Laney interjects. “It just takes practice, and you can angle the sheath with the other hand if that helps. It won't disconnect from the belt unless you want it to.”
I put it back, trying to keep the blade in line with the sheath the whole way, it enters smoothly. That is a satisfying feeling, I draw again. This time not thinking about speed, instead trying to make it as fluid as I can, drawing the blade out along the path of the sheath. It comes out of the sheath without a hitch.
"Good," Godfrey says. "Focus on doing it right. The speed will come with time."
“Can you put the hood up for a second? I want to see it.” Laney asks.
I reach back and draw the hood over my head. Realizing that I haven't even tried it out yet. The wool lining is soft against my ears, dampening my ability to hear a little. When I tell Laney, she grimaces.
“Didn’t think of that.” She turns to Godfrey with a question in her eyes.
“Might be an enchantment that could help,” he replies to Laneys unspoken question. “I’d have to do some research. Maybe when you get back, we will have a solution. For now, only put that up when you are entering a pitched battle, when things get confusing or chaotic.” He says.
“Though, you shouldn’t see any of that," my dad says adamantly. Almost correcting Godfrey for suggesting that I might be put in a dangerous situation.
“Of course, he’s right.” Godfrey corrects himself quickly. “And if it does happen, run and hide. But it won't," he adds the last part hurriedly, glancing over to my dad.
“Dad, could I talk to them alone for a second?” He looks surprised but nods and walks away.
I turn back to the bald weaponsmith and the pretty leatherworker. They both have curious looks, unsure of where this could be leading.
"I'd like you both to check in on him," I say quickly, nervous.
“He’s going to be fine, girl, he is a tough man” Godfrey says, trying to reassure me. Laney just looks at me compassionately.
“I know he will be fine. Godfrey. I think you know what I'm talking about, though. I don't want him to be lonely.” Godfrey listens and nods. “We play Tlack every night,” I continue. “Do you play?”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"I play a bit. It's been years, though," he says, his voice rough.
“I overheard you at the shop, about your family and the quiet. And I’ve been wanting to ask you … would you play a game with him? A few times a week if you could, I think it could be nice for both of you, and …” I can feel the tears rising. It’s not fair for me to ask them to watch after him, they have their own lives, their own businesses. My throat feels thick with emotion.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," Laney says, placing one hand on my shoulder and squeezing.
“It’s a good idea,” Godfrey says “you’re very thoughtful, watching out for us. Sure, I would be happy to play a few games with him. Is he any good?” I laugh at this, it feels a little like a sob.
“He’s good at placing pieces but has trouble coordinating them in the battle," I reply my mind elsewhere. Laney chimes in.
“I’ll bring over dinner some nights, I’d love to play a game with him too, and I’ve been testing out some new recipes in the kitchen. Some of them are really iffy, I could use a test subject other than myself and my niece. One dish was so spicy she threw up, feeling a little guilty about that actually” she says consideringly.
I laugh at this, feeling a sense of relief. He won’t be alone.
“Thank you both, really. I can’t say it enough.”
“You just be safe out there, kid," Godfrey says. “Your dad would never admit it, but he was a hell of an adventurer at one point. He was level 14 with that great sword class, but he fought better than a few greens. Whatever advice he’s given you, take it. He knows what he’s talking about.” My eyebrows rise at that. When I was young, I used to ask about his class, but it always upset him, and I never got an answer. I eventually stopped asking.
“Good luck out there, kid. We'll watch out for your old man. Enjoy the adventure," Laney says, a twinkle in her eyes suggesting a hint of jealousy, maybe a part of her wishes that she was in my shoes.
I smile at them both and wave, walking over to my dad.
“What was that about?” my dad asks me.
“Just telling them how to beat you in Tlack,” I say, putting my arm in his. "So, which one of these will be my ride?"
“A caravan’s leader is called the quartermaster,” he tells me. “He’s going to address the passengers, then we’ll find your cart.”
----------------------------------------
The Quartermaster is a wizened old man with a cropped beard. He wears a merchant’s robe and a wide, short sword on his belt.
Tenacious Quartermaster -- Level 18
His entire class is built upon this caravan route, unless it is his Profession, it can be hard to tell with some people. He stands up on a cart, his voice is loud and steady, it fits him well, he is a solid presence. His instructions are for the guards primarily, but he includes a few rules for the guests as well.
"Obey the caravan guards, those of us in red. The royal guards wear green and are only concerned with the Queen; don’t bother them.”
Makes sense that she’s travelling with us, she must have just dropped off her son. I wonder if the Mistwalker is coming with us or staying here.
"Don't switch carts," the Quartermaster continues. “We need to understand where everyone is at all times, stay within sight of your carriage. We will have a guarded location at camp where you can relieve yourselves. If you have any questions, ask one of the guards assigned to you. Be ready to go in twenty minutes, we’ll get a headcount and leave soon after. That’s all."
I reach my hand to feel at my chest, where the sling bag is strapped. I feel its comforting weight press against my chest. It’s still there. I turn to my dad, who shakes his head subtly from side to side. The gathered ring of people breaks up now, saying their goodbyes and boarding their carts.
He puts a hand on my shoulder and starts walking toward the back of the caravan.
"It’s good to make sure you haven't misplaced anything,” he says, hinting at the sling bag. “But an observant person might notice and infer that you have something worth losing. Or more appropriately, something worth taking. It would be safer if you had the storage ability, well, maybe you will soon."
He’s referring to the fact that I’ll probably upgrade my Profession soon. His blue merchant class came with the ability to store a whole chest’s worth of items in a dimensional pocket space. If I had the money in there, a person would have to kill me to access it.
We wind through a dozen carts until we come upon one with a blue hawk on a field of black. Two guards stand at attention outside, one with a long blade on his back, the other holding a spear in his hand like a staff.
Ghostblade Defender – Level 13
Bloodsbane Spearman – Level 15
"This is it. The Storm family are good people, simple as far as nobles go. Don't go pulling any pranks on them," he says, amused. "Not everyone handles an elbow to the chest like I do." He smiles at me.
I try to find my voice but can't, so I reach out to hug him instead. I feel the sobs rising in my chest. "I love you," I mumble into his jacket. I try to imprint the memory of his smell solidly in my mind. "Can I have this?” I ask, pulling at his jacket sleeve.
He chuckles with moist eyes and lets go of me. He shrugs out of the thin leather coat and puts it around my shoulders, then he hugs me again.
"Goodbye, dear," he says. “I will see you soon. Be safe.” He kisses my forehead and turns to walk away. I watch him go, feeling lost. He turns and waves, smiling, before he disappears into the crowd.
He’s probably going back to the shop, back to our life, the one I’d always dreamt of leaving. I stop my thoughts before they catch momentum. It’s only six weeks, eight weeks tops. In two months, I will be there with him, laughing at his stupid jokes and eating his awful cooking.
I vow it to myself. Eight weeks, he won’t have to wait a moment longer. I won’t be late. I turn and face the cart. Let's do this thing.
----------------------------------------
“You’re the new addition?” A man's voice greets me as I step up to the cart. The door is open, and he’s standing in the doorway. The inside of the wagon looks furnished, and I see carpeting and lamplight.
“Yes, I’m Noelle, you spoke with my dad?” I ask. He looks at me appraisingly.
Chaos Duelist - Level 20
“You're wearing armor," he says. Is that supposed to be a question?
“Yeah, I am wearing armor," I say. “You’re not.” Let’s see how he likes his own conversational tactics. A smile touches his face briefly before it is gone.
“My name is Arthur,” he gestures into the wagon. “That’s my wife, Alliyah, and our daughter Ellie.” As he says their names, they each lean forward in their seats so that I can see them through the open door, they smile and wave before leaning back again. Both are pretty brunettes; the resemblance is unmistakable. I raise my voice slightly so that they can hear me.
“It’s nice to meet you both, I’m Noelle.” I don’t hear a response from inside the cart. Arthur addresses me again.
“I like your father, Noelle. He’s a straightforward guy. I see you've inherited some of that." He smiles. "It's good. Too many of my peers have trouble saying what they mean. In fact, they make a game out of it. They say one thing and try to make it mean another thing entirely, mostly it is to slight a person, power games, and the like. Not something I enjoy. I just take them at their word, and often, they feel like I don't really listen to them. The problem is that they don’t really say what they mean to.”
I nod, patiently waiting for him to make his point. I’m sure he has one.
“I say what I mean.” He says simply, his eyes studying me. “Our guards are good men, they’ve kept us safe for years on this route. Listen to them, and don’t put my family at risk.” His gaze is piercing, he is waiting.
“I understand, sir” I say sincerely, understanding my father’s earlier warning, no pranks. “I really appreciate you taking me on, I won’t cause any problems.” I get a genuine smile for that.
“Good, now that all the unpleasantness is out of the way, come, check out your new accommodations.” He steps inside and gestures me to follow.
The inside of the cart seems larger than the outside, Arthur and I can both stand without touching our head on the ceiling. There’s a common space where the ladies are sitting, mom is teaching little Ellie needlepoint, or is it embroidery? I’ve never been sure about the difference. Either way, Ellie seems more interested in my presence than her current thread-based project.
Meticulous Woodworker -- Level 18
Scholar -- Level 5
Arthur leads me to the back and pulls back a curtain. It is a small space. The bed is raised and tucked away in the corner across from a small kitchenette.
“For me?” I ask. He nods.
"The other beds are all on the other side, so you should have some privacy here at night. I am told that I snore,” he says with a self-deprecating grin.
“It’s perfect,” I say, lifting my backpack off my shoulders and placing it on the bed.
“Good, come wait outside with me. The Quartermaster will come by soon for a headcount, and he doesn't like having to stick his head into carts. It’s only a few steps, but when you do it fifty times, it adds up.” He leads the way back outside. Calling for the ladies to join us.
“These are our friends and protectors, Grant and Harrison. Grant, Harrison, this is Noelle. She's traveling with us to the Capital." Grant reaches out a hand, and I shake it. Harrison reaches over with a fist, I smile and bump it, he makes a goofy explosion sound and raises his open hand in the air. I hear laughter behind me and see Ellie smiling at the guard.
Grant waits until Ellie and Alliyah are settled before beginning. He speaks in a rehearsed way that tells me he has given this speech many times. He reinforces the rules that were established by the Quartermaster and adds some small reminders about the trip.
“Today should be quiet, then the next three days we will see a slow ramp up in danger. Nothing we can’t handle. As we approach the Talor Crucible, the density of beasts will increase. We'll pass within a mile of the entrance. The three days afterward, the danger will drop as we distance ourselves from the dungeon. The last week will be quiet as we pass through cultivated farmlands. Occasionally we get some bandits on that stretch, but not in the last two years. Then we will be at the Capital. The most important thing is this: If you hear a horn sound, get in your cart. Any questions?” He looks at me specifically while waiting for an answer.
I shake my head negatively. I have a few questions about the Crucible, like why are we going anywhere near that thing? And also, what kind of beasts do they expect? And again, why are we going anywhere near a CRUCIBLE? I voice none of these questions.
The Quartermaster walks by us, counting. "… ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one-hundred, one, two, three, …” He doesn’t stop, moving on to the next cart the moment the guard nods, probably indicating that everyone is out of the carriage.
We step into our ride, and it begins to move soon after. It jostles us comfortably as the horses begin to pull. I can feel when the road changes from cobbled streets to dirt paths. It’s hard to accept that this is the farthest I’ve ever been from the city. I’ve only just sat down. But it’s true. We are outside the city gates.