After an hour in the cart, I start feeling restless. The Storm family is the picture of domesticity; Arthur is reading a book at the dining room table, and Alliyah keeps trying to talk with him about Ellie's progress, but he is really trying to read. Ellie is sitting by me, chatting away. I interrupt her story about losing her first tooth in a sandwich to ask a question.
“Is there any way to see outside? Can you walk alongside the cart? I’ve never been out of Summerhall, and I want to see the road we’re traveling.” I’m also more accustomed to spending my day on my feet rather than on my ass. And I'm filled with nervous energy. My long-awaited adventure has begun, and I'm just sitting in a different apartment. The only difference is that this one moves.
“Yeah,” she says, “you can walk alongside the cart when they are giving the horses a break, they tend to move fast for the first few hours. Then they slow down for a few to rest. That’s how they can keep going all day long. Also, you can sit on the bench with the driver anytime really, though I can only go out for a little at a time, mom says I bother him.” A small frown on her face.
“Can you show me how to reach the bench?” She nods and keeps chirping away. Talking about how cold it is up here in the North and how the temperature will rise the further South we travel. She thinks I’ll like the warmer temperature in the Capital.
I never felt cold in my town, and winter is my favorite season. One time, two years ago, my dad woke me at midnight, and there were small flakes of ice falling from the sky. Snow. I have never seen anything more magical. My eyes begin to tear up at the memory, I push the thought away.
Soon I am not the only one with tearing eyes. Turns out that we are moving at quite a clip. I doubt I could keep up for a minute, even at my top running speed. The air is humid and cooler than I’m used to. It smells like horses and trees. I didn’t know trees could smell so strongly.
The driver nods at us, showing no inclination toward conversation. His attention is focused on the two horses pulling us.
Empathic Horseman – Level 13
An interesting profession. Here’s another person who seemed to specialize in working alongside caravans. I sit next to the man, giving him plenty of space to work. Ellie perches on my other side and for a while we quietly observe.
My eyes get used to the wind and search the forest around us. The edges of the woods look bright green, but when I peer deeper in, I can see that it’s mostly dark in there. The sun must be unable to reach the ground due to fierce competition amongst the trees for sunlight.
When the cart slows, I realize that Ellie went back inside. She probably didn’t like the cold. I remember her saying something about that on our way up here.
“I’m Noelle,” I introduce myself to the driver. He looks at me and grunts. I persist, "What's your name?"
“Dirk,” he says quickly, looking back to the horses.
"Thanks, Dirk. Ellie says I can walk alongside the cart when we are moving slower like this. Is that right?"
"That girl says a lot of things. A lot. All the time. But yes, she's right. Go ahead, jump down. We won't stop for you, though. You have to keep up with the ‘van.” He looks back at the horses, done talking.
“Thanks,” I hop down and walk briskly to keep close to our cart. The guard on my side, Harrison, whistles once sharply. Then, I watch him and Grant slow down until they can see each other behind the cart. Harrison makes a series of two or three quick hand gestures, and then I hear a whistle from Grant, and they ride back up to their previous positions.
Harrison rides up beside me.
“Hey,” he says from horseback.
“Hey, am I good out here?”
"Yeah, you're fine, just had to make sure Grant knows. Stay with the cart, okay? Don’t fall behind. If you hear the horn, walk with the cart ‘till it stops. Then get in and bar the door. Good?” he asks for confirmation.
“Good,” I give him a thumbs up, then make it explode like he did with the fist bump. He smiles, then pulls back on the reins, giving me some room by myself. He’s pretty cute actually and seeing him do his job so well is impressive.
I listen for signs of wildlife, I search for flitting figures in the trees. Harrison’s warning reminds me that we are in the wilds, and that if danger comes it’ll happen quickly.
I like the feeling that something might happen out here. I don’t want to get attacked, but this is better than spending the whole journey inside an apartment. At least I feel like I am on a journey out here, and I get to watch as the environment changes.
I turn behind me to see the long line of caravans. If it weren’t so humid out here we would probably kick up a ton of dust. Then I see someone riding on the bench in the cart behind us, a girl about my age with dark hair, she has a small book in her hands but she is looking at me. As our eyes meet she waves and gives me a smile. I wave back, but have to turn to keep up my walking pace.
I swap between walking and riding as the day progresses. Walking is helping me to get used to moving in my new armor and I’m learning to draw my weapon quickly too, practicing as I march. When I ride, it’s on the bench with Dirk, we don’t speak much. But the silence is companionable.
The sky turns orange in the late afternoon, and the carts slow down to a stop. I look over to Dirk, and he stands, stretching his legs and raising his arms high over his head. "That's it for the day. He grabs his waterskin and starts down the steps to the ground.” I follow.
As my feet touch the earth, the door to the carriage opens, and Ellie comes running out. She looks around momentarily and then runs over to Harrison, who is dismounting from his horse. I look for Grant and see that he is still mounted, looking over the cart and keeping an eye on Harrison.
Ellie asks Harrison a question, he nods and points to the dismounting guard stationed at the cart in front of us. She runs over to him and says something, he nods and she runs right up to that cart and whips open the door. She disappears inside. I wander over to Harrison.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Hmm?” he seems confused at first. "Oh, she has friends in the Bennet cart. She was just making sure it was okay to go over."
“We can move between carts?” I ask.
“There’s some leeway when we're settled. You can only go one cart up or one cart back, and you need to run it by us. You won’t be able to do it every night, and most people stay with their cart. As we approach the Crucible, things’ll be stricter.”
“Thanks,” I reply.
“Sure thing, how was the walk?”
“It was good, better than sitting still.”
He nods knowingly, then turns and walks to Grant. I follow Dirk. He is checking the hooves of one of his horses.
“Anything I can do to help?” I ask him. He looks up, surprised.
“You know horses?” he asks.
"I can tell a horse from a cow," I reply quickly.
“Hah! Impressive.” He says sarcastically. “Help me keep this steady.” He gestures to the leg he has propped up on his knee. I stand beside the large cart-horses leg and apply a steadying pressure higher up with my shoulder. Holding the big knee between my hands. With that little help, Dirk can clean out the hoof with no trouble.
"Good, well, you can hold a leg. That's a start. We're gonna unhitch them, let'em walk around a little.” From here he shows me how to swap out the harness for a leader and how to lead the horses gently along the path. Many horses go for walks along the same route, to the front of the caravan and then around the other side.
"It's a nightly tradition," Dirk explains. "It's good for the horses." We tether the horses beside the cart after a lap and walk down to the creek with our buckets. Again, we are just a few among dozens of folks doing the same thing.
I don’t need Dirk to tell me that this is a regular stopping point for the caravan, it’s clear. Everyone knows where to go to get their water, and where to go to use the restroom. This caravan moves like a large well-oiled machine.
We pour the water into a big metal pail, the horses drink the sweet liquid sloppily. We set them up with feed bags when they’ve had their fill of water and then we go tend to the guards horses in a similar way. It’s calming work, methodical and repetitive. It feels nice to get a job done well, to care for the animals that carried us all day.
Soon, our humans are eating a thick stew seated on overturned logs. Then, it’s off to bed. Arthur is cleaning the cart while Alliyah reads Ellie a few stories. I stay outside to give them some space and see the guards and some of the drivers setting up their hammocks outside. I remember that my dad packed me a hammock, too. He told me it's lighter than a tent, and you can set it up anywhere if you have trees. Even high up in a tree if you're worried about predators.
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I approach Harrison, who’s setting his hammock up near Grants.
“Hey, I have a hammock I’d like to set up. Could I? Or do I have to sleep in the cart?” I ask them both.
Harrison looks over at Grant, who nods. Then Harrison turns back to me.
"You can tonight, but when we get closer to the dungeon, you'll have to sleep inside. It's safer that way." I smile, grateful to sleep in the cold night air, even if it is only tonight. I can probably do it for the whole final week, too, though! This is turning out to be fun, after all.
I grab my hammock and begin setting up between two slender trees with rough bark. I hang my bag from a broken branch nearby and unclip my dagger from my waist. I take my father’s jacket rol,l it up into a pillow, and then climb into bed.
The guards are between me and the forest, but still, I can't help but think about all the spooky things that might be out there. Despite this, the long day and the comforting scent of my father's jacket lull me into an early sleep.
----------------------------------------
I wake in an unfamiliar place, and there’s movement around my hammock. The air is frigid, and I’ve been hugging my dagger all night to keep warm. I draw it as soon as I recognize it. Dad says to practice, and who knows what’s out there. I keep it drawn and raise my head up above the sides of my little cocoon. It’s just the guards beginning to break down their beds. I sheath my dagger, a little embarrassed to have drawn it, but nobody seems to have noticed.
The day starts quickly. I help Dirk get the horses settled back in their harnesses, and we all eat a quick, hot oatmeal breakfast before getting on our carts. We start at a nice slow trot to warm the horses up, but I am happy to spend some time in the heated cart after a night out in the cold.
“How did you sleep?” Arthur asks.
"I slept well. The hammock was very comfy.”
“Must have been pretty dang comfy for you to turn down a warm bed,” he replied, there is amusement in his voice. But I am just now realizing that my actions could have been seen as a slight.
“I’m sorry –” I start, and he holds his hand up to stop me.
“Don’t be.” He says. “As long as the guards are cool with it, it’s cool with me. I was impressed last night, to be honest. I saw you helping Dirk with the horses before dinner and then choosing to rough it with the workers overnight. I like your style." He says, smiling and nodding, I find myself smiling in return.
"It was a bit cold, though," I reply honestly.
“Oh, we know it was,” Alliyah chimes in. “He was worried about you losing a finger out there.”
“That’s not true!” he retorts, then turns to me. “I figured you knew what you were doing, but I am a father to two girls, and fathers worry." He smiles.
“Thanks, Arthur.” He nods and turns back to his task.
When the sun comes out, I step up to the bench with Dirk. He is dressed warmly, and though his nose is red, he seems in good spirits. He offers me a small waterskin and I take a sip, then I sputter and cough. He chuckles and takes it back.
"Keeps you warm," he says by way of explanation.
“Mhm, yea” my voice comes out rough from the liquor. “Also pickles your liver,” this makes him laugh again. “Okay, I’m prepared now, give me that back” I reach out and he gives me the flask with a look that says: Are you sure?
I take one deep sip and grimace at the taste, handing it back to Dirk.
“It’s good, no? Whiskey” he says with a broad smile. I shake my head at his antics. But I do feel warmer, warm enough to walk I think.
I jump off the cart and take a few running steps to find a rhythm. I wave to Harrison and he relays my presence to Grant. I turn around to see if the girl is still on the cart behind me and I see a welcoming smile. She’s jumping down from her cart to join me.
She runs up and I step to the side to make room for her, the guards are doing a complex dance of signalling, trying to communicate the update across all four guards that cover the two wagons. I can’t keep up with it.
“Hey,” she says. Putting her hands in her pockets and pulling her shoulders to her ears. She must be cold.
"Hi, how are you?" I ask.
"Good, I am Nyce"
"I'm Noelle, nice to meet you" She’s dressed like the nobles in my cart, her robes a deep green. I wonder if I should be more formal. But she seems interested in keeping it casual. I will follow her lead.
"Are you with the Narst Clan?”
"Yea, Nyce Narst, that's me," she says with a crooked smile. "Those bastards are really getting on my last nerve, though. I've already spent nearly three weeks with them, and after a while, you run out of things to talk about. And my mom just wants me to train and learn, and if I'm not training, I'm learning. If I'm not learning, I'm training. And if I'm not doing either, I'm a waste of fucking space. It's just a lot. Sorry for dumping on you."
I laugh, "No, I get it. That sounds like it would drive me to violence."
"Oh, I violenced a little at my brother on the way up."
"Really?"
"Yeah, he's an entitled brat. I hope he marries someone up here and never comes back." I bark a surprised laugh. She's nothing like I expected.
"Do you have siblings?" She asks me.
"Nope, only child. Just me and my dad."
"Honestly, that sounds kind of great. What does your dad do?"
"We’re merchants. Dad owns a shop in Summerhall. Earls Fabrics"
"Oh, I love that place. It's so hard to find good clothes outside the capital."
I smile and appraise her.
Venomblade Shade – Level 15
"Woah, your class, that sounds so cool. How are you already level 15? You can't be much older than me."
She smiles a little proudly, "I am 17, you?"
"16, and I only have a Profession."
Her eyebrows rise at that, and she looks around, sees there is nobody near us, and continues talking.
"Well, your Profession is getting up there. Nearly blue, huh? By the way, it’s good that you trust me with your class info. But in general, not a good idea. You never want to give that out, especially if you are low-level or classless. Just a tip." She smiles at the end to take the bite out of her words.
I blush a little. Embarrassed about my classlessness and that I didn't have the sense to keep it closer to my chest.
She winks at me. "Don't worry, it's safe with me. Just wanted to warn ya."
"Thanks, I'm such a dummy. Since I told you mine, do you have a profession I can't see?"
"I am a level 8 Noble, and my mother is hoping I get a duchess profession at Blue. It irks her that I care more about being an adventurer, she’s frustrated that I am not progressing faster in my Profession. But fuck her," she spits with a surprising venom.
I’m a little taken aback by the hate in her words, though not everyone can have the great family that I do. I switch topics tactfully; I am grateful for my sales experience.
"that sucks," I say. "How do you like your school in the south?" Pretty tactful, eh?
"It's great!" she lights up. See, it worked. "We spar all the time against other students and monsters brought in by instructors. It’s amazing how much I've grown since attending. What about you? Do you know how to use that toothpick?" she points at the dagger on my waist.
I blush again. "Not really, I am working on drawing it smoothly now. Hopefully, I don't need it anytime soon, I doubt I’d perform well."
"Draw it," she says.
I make it look easy. It comes out soundlessly, all that practice paying off when it truly matters. When you’re showing off in front of a friend.
"Nice" she says genuinely, "It's round, she says" she holds out a questing hand, asking to hold it. I flip it around and hand it to her hilt first.
"This is a nice piece," She says. I look at the blade proudly.
"Thanks, do you have a weapon? I mean, you are a venom blade, where is your blade?" I ask teasingly.
She hands the dagger back to me, and smirks. Suddenly, where she was just holding my dagger, now she is holding a thin curved blade, its entire form made of congealed gleaming green fluid. I watch it form, mesmerized, she flicks it down and away. Then, lets the Skill go and the blade falls apart, to liquid, then gas, then it’s gone.
Suddenly, my breath catches in my throat, and I'm coughing. Hard. My throat burns, and I am dimly aware of Nyce holding me up and saying a few comforting words. She helps me stand and keeps me walking with the caravan as the pain in my throat eases.
"I am so sorry." Nyce has said this a few times now. "I wasn't thinking. Stupid showoff," she says to herself.
I laugh and cough. I tell her that it was amazing, that she's amazing, that I’m glad she showed me, and that I am totally alright. And I am. The venom from the weapon dissipating was potent enough that my weak-ass classless self couldn't handle breathing in even a whisper of it. It was a genuinely eye-opening moment for me. I can't even stand safely in the presence of a blue-rank adventurer. So fucking embarrassing.
I am lost in my thoughts and tired from the coughing. Nyce apologizes again and helps me get back to my cart. She promises to walk with me again tomorrow. It’s good to have a friend, even if they can incapacitate you with a thought.
After a few swigs from my canteen and one swig from Dirks flask, I feel right as rain. I spend the rest of the day sitting up front with Dirk, enjoying the silence. I ask him a few questions about driving a cart like this one.
"This is pretty easy. Horses are easy. Easy is wonderful. I prefer horses to other mounts." Other mounts? In the North, all I ever see is horses.
“What other animals have you driven?” I ask.
"Sand Dogs, Forrest Elk once, other than that, mostly Boars."
"Woah, that sounds cool," I reply.
"Eh, I prefer horses," he says.
“Why?”
"Horses are tame, born and bred in captivity. The others are wild. They will not breed in a pen. They need to be captured and broken, it is not a nice thing, unnatural for them. We, as drivers, need to do many small things to keep them happy, not like horses. Horses are happy to eat, sun, and run. Easy. Natural."
Just in hearing him talk I can hear his passion for the craft, and for the animals. After listening to him talk about it, I realize that I agree with him. He views the job with great empathy, thinking of the creatures first.
When we stop for the night, Dirk teaches me the names of our horses. Merry and Derry. Derry has a patch on his shoulder that’s balding, Dirk shows me how he uses a patch of wool that matches the spot and puts it under the harness, so it doesn’t rub. He talks the whole time, an ongoing train of words that the horses, and I, find quite soothing.
Nyce swings by when we are done with the horses. She apologizes again and offers me a bright red pastry. She promises it’s not poisoned with a wry smile. I see Alliyah looking over warily, as Nyce goes back to her cart for dinner. The tart is delicious, I love a berry tart and this one is so sweet.
Ellie talks about the story she heard last night and how she tried to get the storyteller, Harold, to come to our site tonight. But he has yet to show.
Before bed, Ellie pulls me aside.
“You were talking with Nyce?” She asks, worried.
"Yeah, she was nice. She brought a pastry over.”
"Okay, well, be careful." She warns.
“Why?” I ask. She shrugs.
“Mom doesn’t like them.” She says simply.
"Okay, thanks, Ellie," I say, and she smiles and goes inside.
They are poison users. When they go to a party, and someone gets food poisoning, I'm sure they're always blamed. I'll be careful, but I won't let anyone tell me who I can and can’t be friends with.
I go to set up my hammock early, and Harrison grabs my shoulder and shakes his head.
“Sorry, not until we are out of range,” he tells me. “It's better if we can keep all the noncombatants contained. That way, we can focus on the fight if something comes.”
“I understand,” I tell him. I am bummed, but I want him to let me stay out once we clear the dungeon, so I turn and head back to the campfire and grab a second serving of the stew. I would rather be outside and awake than inside and asleep, I guess.
The guards urge us all to stay at our sites for the night. No wandering. Ellie complains for a moment but is shut down by her mother quickly. These next few nights are going to be the most dangerous, the guards are fully in control.
Harrison grins at me from the other side of the firepit, then speaks up a little louder.
"Ellie, I don't think you would want to see the Bennets tonight anyway,” he says casually.
"I would, though."
“No, I don’t think you would.”
“I’m telling you now. I would!”
“I think –”
“I would! I would! I would!”
"Okay, okay. Then you can go, I guess. HEY HAROLD." He raises his voice to a shout. "FALSE ALARM, NO NEED FOR A STORY TONIGHT. WE'D RATHER HANG OUT WITH THE BENNETS."
Ellies head whips around so fast, I worry about her spine. Out of the darkness appear two bright yellow eyes standing starkly apart from the darkness. Then, out jumps a thin old man, surprisingly spry, considering he's probably in his seventh decade.
“HERE I AM, HAROLD THE MAGNIFIC— wait, what? I’m not wanted?”