DJ’s first foe wasn’t bandits or monsters. It was blisters.

Even with his fancy new travel boots, walking miles and miles wreaked havoc on his city-conditioned feet. Francis had to teach him how to bandage his feet to let them heal properly and ease the pain. Riley and Steve weren’t much better off. Francis was very patient as they made several rest breaks on the second day.

“Couldn’t Steve just do a healing spell to fix these?” DJ said during one break.

Francis shook his head. “Not if you want your feet to become properly conditioned. Don’t worry, they’ll go away soon. It’s all part of the experience.”

Riley piped up as she poked one of her blisters. “Hey Francis, DJ says you don’t have a clan. Is that true?”

Francis tensed at the question. “Yes, you heard correctly.”

“Why?” Riley’s face turned mischievous. “You didn’t kill a clan leader, did you? Are you secretly in hiding?”

Riley, you don’t just ask that! DJ reproved silently.

Francis gave a thoughtful pause. “Perhaps someday I’ll tell you. But not today.” Francis was just firm enough with that last sentence that it choked Riley’s curiosity. She opened her mouth to speak again, but after looking him up and down, she closed it.

Steve pushed some half-chewed bread into one cheek and exclaimed, “Whatever you may have done, orc-friend, you shall find forgiveness and peace in the Goddess! That I promise you!”

Francis half-smiled. “The Goddess may forgive, Steven, but orcs rarely do.”

Now DJ was dying to know what happened to Francis, but he wasn’t about to pursue it. Maybe Francis would open up in the coming weeks. They would have a lot of time to get to know each other, after all.

Before and behind them, it was grassy plains carved with a dirt road traveling up and down every little hill. A soft wind moved along the earth, making the grass sway and DJ’s ears nip. Puffy white clouds drifted overhead like slow carriages moving through the sky. The party passed merchant wagons and knots of explorers every so often. Suspicious characters were few, but DJ found himself sliding behind Francis whenever they crossed a questionable-looking stranger. Thankfully, most passersby avoided eye contact with the seven-foot orc.

They had just crested a grassy hill when they came upon a wooden stand erected on the side of the road. The sign above it read “Wizard Waffles,” and was staffed by a single man with a phony beard that dangled from hooks around his ears. He twiddled his thumbs on the table, and a dopey grin adorned his face. On the wooden stand, a waffle press sat next to a considerable stack of waffles, accompanied with delicious fixings like blueberries, strawberries, butter, and cream.

DJ stole a look to Francis to measure his reaction. The orc was equally perplexed.

“Greetings, travelers!” the wizard(?) said. “Or should I say… pilgrims?”

“That is correct!” Steve responded brightly.

“You sell… waffles by the road?” Francis asked.

“Right you are, my big green friend!” the wizard replied. “But these are no ordinary waffles! They are waffles made with love from your magically inclined friend.” He gave a rehearsed laugh. “And as such, they are imbued with magical properties like none other that you shall find in the territory!”

Riley studied the stack of fluffy yellow confections. “But they’re just normal waffles.”

“Just normal waffles!” the wizard repeated as if it were a joke. “Normal waffles, she says! Tell me, what waffles do you know that will stop mortal bleeding? Mend torn flesh? Restore a broken bone?”

“Oh!” DJ said, pointing. “So these are like healing potions, but waffles!”

The wizard winked and said, “Observe!”

Without taking his eyes off DJ, he reached under the table, pulled out a small crossbow, and fired a bolt into Francis’s shoulder. Everyone jumped as the shaft tore into Francis, sticking out of his shoulder like a small pylon.

“Hundred Hells!” Francis swore. He ripped the bolt out. Blood seeped from the wound. His knuckles cracked as they formed fists and his green face mixed with crimson.

The wizard was unbothered by Francis’s anger. He dangled a waffle in front of Francis’s face, complete with cream and blueberries. “Go on! Eat!”

Francis snatched the waffle and stuffed it in his mouth. Before he even swallowed, the hole mended. Blood stopped leaking onto his tunic. He twisted his arm a little, then he poked the spot where his wound used to be. Good as new. The red drained from his face and he gave a satisfied grunt.

“For just the four of you,” the wizard continued, “I’m offering a special deal—just ten gold apiece! Take them with you! Save them for when you need them!”

“But won’t they get smushed in our packs?” Riley asked.

The wizard took another fully-loaded waffle, shoved it in a small box, shook it around, and pulled it out. It emerged just the way it was before—pristine, no mess.

Riley bought two with the party’s gold, much to Francis’s chagrin. The wizard gave them generous bows and thank-yous, then the crew continued on. When they reached the bottom of the hill, DJ looked back to get another glance at the wizard. But the wizard and his waffle stand had disappeared.

Days went by. DJ had trouble adjusting to his bedroll. It was nothing like the feather bed back in Beregond. The fur interior felt itchy against his bare skin, so he found himself sleeping fully clothed more often than not.

Francis also insisted that each member of the crew have a turn taking watch each night. On DJ’s first shift, he never let go of his sword and clamped his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Twice he awoke the camp to warn them of a potential threat, but each time, it turned out to be nothing. A fox instead of a wolf. A jackrabbit instead of a snake. Francis and Steve were a bit more forgiving, but Riley threw a stick at DJ after the second false alarm.

During the day, Francis made sure to teach combat techniques to every member of the team. He retaught DJ how to stand and hold his sword. Going through the basics made DJ remember why he stopped practicing with the blade ages ago—he genuinely hated it. Even his knightly shortsword felt too heavy and unwieldy. Francis was patient with him, but DJ struggled finding patience with himself, especially since his father had defeated hordes of foes single-highhandedly by the time he was DJ’s age.

Francis even insisted on teaching Steve some combat basics. Initially, Steve was hesitant as a peaceful Steward of the Goddess, but after some gentle coercing, Francis managed to get him on his feet. The friar’s weapon of choice? His cast iron frying pan. Riley and DJ sat on the grass and tried not to laugh as they watched him swing and jab with his favorite cookware.

To Riley’s disappointment, archery was one of the few things Francis wasn’t well-versed in. But Francis taught her and the others about berries and herbs they could forage long the way—still important knowledge for a ranger. From that point on, Riley appointed herself the group’s chief forager. They couldn’t walk by a single edible plant without Riley stopping to pluck it.

When they were halfway between the cities of Beregond and Daenan, they heard shouting coming from far off the road. Everyone perked up.

“Help! Someone, help!” the voice called in the distance.

Steve—a Steward always eager to serve—nearly rushed toward the sound, but Francis caught his robe.

“Caution, friar,” the orc said. “Be wary of traps. We investigate together.”

DJ put his hand on his sword and moved toward the noise, following behind Francis. Away from the road and over a short hill they went, until they found a grown man hogtied and stripped down to his underclothes. Dried blood was caked on his lip and chin. When the man heard them approaching, he looked up and his eyes filled with relief.

“Oh, thank the Goddess!” he moaned. “A couple of bandits stole my things and left me for dead hours ago! I was worried no one would hear me!”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

DJ looked around, his hand still on his weapon. As far as he could tell, no one else was around—no ambush. He relaxed a little when Francis bent down to cut the man’s ropes. The man stretched out on the grass and sat up, grubbing his raw ankles and wrists.

He was surprisingly handsome. Strong chin. Broad shoulders. Soft black hair flowed down either side of his face in a neat part. Riley definitely noticed. She dove into her pack. “Here, you must be hungry.” She handed him an apple.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he said as he took a bite. Riley blushed. DJ scowled. The man swallowed and forced himself to his feet. “I suppose that’s what I get for traveling alone. Which direction you are going?”

“Will you give us your name first?” Francis said.

“Vennick,” the man said. “Vennick of Laradyl. I was on my way to visit my sister in Beregond when I was attacked.”

“Greetings, Vennick,” Francis said. “We left Beregond four days ago. Our journey takes is eastward, through the Aeldar Forest.”

“I see,” Vennick thought. “Well, if you could find it in your heart, I would greatly prefer not to travel alone for the next four days. Especially in naught by my underclothes.” He forced a smile. “If you’d be so kind, I would be honored to join your party until you reach Daenan. I won’t be a burden.”

The party was silent for a moment, then Francis said, “Excuse us.” They moved a few paces away and huddled. “I want everyone’s thoughts. Young knight?”

DJ shrugged and rubbed his arm. “I mean… I dunno. He’s got nothing on him but his underwear. He looks harmless.”

“I agree,” Riley said. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“Agreed!” Steve yelped. “We must serve and—!”

After shushing Steve, Francis said, “Very well then, but let us remain wary. All we know about him is what he’s told us, which may or may not be truthful. We never allow him to take watch at night—one of us must always keep an eye on him. And when we reach Daenan, we go our separate ways. Agreed?”

Everyone gave the affirmative, then they turned back to Vennick.

“Alright Vennick,” Francis said. “You may join us. Can you walk?”

“Thank you! Thank you!” Vennick gave a generous bow. “Yes, I feel well enough to walk! May the Goddess bless your names! I’m sorry that I don’t have much to offer—the bandits took my bow and knives, but I know plenty about tracking and hunting—”

“Are you a ranger?” Riley’s eyes grew.

Vennick smiled. “Of sorts. I have the skills of a ranger. But I suppose it depends on who you ask.” He winked.

Riley turned pink again. DJ looked away.

From that point on, Riley spent every possible moment with Vennick. She grilled him on questions about ranger experiences, and Vennick was more than happy to unravel heroic tales of hunting for starving families and guiding naive travelers through treacherous woods. Silently, DJ wondered how such a versed ranger could get robbed by a couple of bandits.

Vennick did prove pleasant company, however. He was quick with a joke and helped Steve with some of the cooking. He even pointed out certain herbs and roots that could mix with their food rations. As a thank you, Steve gave Vennick a spare robe to wear over his underclothes until they reached Daenan. Vennick’s handsome face was positively radiant as he slipped on the robe. Steve applauded his approval.

That night, Vennick slept soundly by the fire. DJ was already awake when it was his turn to take watch. He scowled at Vennick as his body rose and fell with every peaceful breath. When DJ took over Francis’s watch, he asked the orc, “What do you think of Vennick? Can we trust him?”

“He’s growing on me,” Francis whispered. “Riley and Steven sure have taken to him. But I’ll trust him more when we reach Daenan. Be vigilant, young knight. Keep your weapon close.”

But the sun came up with no surprises. They broke camp after a brief breakfast. Vennick bemoaned his missing bow, robbing them of the opportunity to hunt rabbits for stew. Riley was the first to console him, and DJ tried not to grumble about it.

By mid-day, the Aeldar Forest was visible in the far distance. The first leg of their journey would be complete. And much to DJ’s delight, they would finally be rid of Vennick. Steve and Riley walked on either side of him as he unraveled more tales of hunting and guiding. DJ took some of his frustration out during combat practice with Francis. The orc commended him on his newfound ferocity. Vennick sat chewing on a blade of grass, watching DJ closely. DJ pretended not to notice.

Night fell. Steve took his watch, then DJ. He forced himself out of his bedroll, rubbed his eyes, then sat a little way from the fire. He kept his hand on his sword, looking out on the dark plains and occasionally glancing at his friends.

He listened for footsteps and watched for glowing wolf eyes in the dark. Up above, stars like little diamonds hung in an ink-black sky. He wondered what his dad was doing back in Beregond—probably sound asleep in his large feather bed. Inwardly, he felt grateful that his new travel companions that were so kind, unlike the kids back home. And they would be rid of Vennick soon, so that made him feel even better.

“Great job fighting today.”

DJ gasped sharply and turned about. Not only was Vennick awake, but he had crept up next to DJ while he was lost in thought. The newcomer’s stealth made DJ tighten his grip on his sword. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Vennick frowned as he sat down. “You don’t trust me.”

“I barely know you.”

Vennick sighed. “I don’t blame you. ‘Be wary, stay vigilant.’ It’s safer to distrust strangers on the road. When you put up walls, it’s harder to get hurt. And people are so quick to betray when they have something to gain. It’s a shame.” He paused. “Is it true that you’re the son of Sir Dashing? The Sir Dashing?”

DJ didn’t respond.

“He’s a tremendous man,” Vennick leaned back and looked up at the stars. “I heard he once slew two dragons at the same time. No wonder his reputation is known throughout the territory. And for what it’s worth,” he turned to DJ, “I see that same spark in you. I’ve only known you for two days, Sir DJ, but I can tell there’s something special about you.”

DJ eased the grip on his sword. “Really?”

Vennick’s smile turned impish. “No.”

In a flash, Vennick scooped up a rock and smashed it against DJ’s head. DJ struggled to remain conscious, but failed. He didn’t even feel himself slump onto the grass.

Muffled sounds. Darkness. Head swimming. Pain. Shouting.

“DJ! DJ, can you hear me?” Francis’s panicked voice sounded dull and distant.

DJ’s vision grew back. His entire body felt heavy. He blinked hard and saw Steve standing over him. The friar’s hands were over his head and he muttered words in the magic language. It must have been a healing spell, because DJ’s vision and limbs regained their strength with unnatural speed. He even felt pieces of skull shifting back in his head. When he realized what had happened, he tried to get to his feet.

“Where’s Vennick?” DJ said. “He smashed my head with a rock! Where—ugh…” DJ held his face and staggered.

Steve forced his hands to stay above DJ’s head until the spell finished, then the friar backed off. Not far away, Francis stood with his arms folded, glaring into the fire.

“Gone,” the orc growled. “I heard the noise and woke to see him fleeing into the darkness. You were laying on the ground here, your head bloody and smashed. I woke the others immediately.”

“Vennick!” Riley stood at the edge of camp, shouting into the night. Her hands were balled into fists. “Come fight me, you bastard!”

His shattered skull was healed, but DJ still felt unsteady. He slapped his hands around his body, feeling for his possessions. Everything was on his person. That was, everything except one. The realization hit him like a lightning bolt. “Where’s my sword?”

No one answered. Vennick must have taken his sword the moment he knocked out DJ. Over by DJ’s bedroll, his adventure pack had disappeared, too. Vennick must have snatched it while he ran into the night. DJ’s stomach dropped. All of the party’s gold was in that pack. And that sword was one-of-a-kind—his knight sword, given to him during his knighting ceremony. He would only get one of them.

When everyone realized the implications of Vennick’s theft, a dark cloud of dread grew over them. The fury in DJ’s chest rose up until it made his eyes burn. He turned away from the others so they wouldn’t see his tears grow.

“So we have no gold now,” Francis said. “And your rations are gone.”

DJ trembled with fury and shame.

“I’m sorry, young knight,” the orc continued. He rubbed his face and thought. “This complicates things. I was hoping we could stay in an inn when we reach Daenan, but now we’ll need to find jobs in the city to earn some extra coin. But we’ll be alright. We’ll share our rations and—”

“He attacked during my watch because he knew I was the weakest,” DJ mumbled angrily. He finally turned to let the others see his face, his eyes glowing red against the fire. “I bet he planned this all along. If I was more like my dad—”

“DJ,” Francis said forcefully. “That kind of talk will not serve us. In time, this shall be a small thing. But for now, get some sleep.” He put a hand on DJ’s shoulder. “We’ll have more hardship ahead, but we’ll face it together. I’ll watch for the rest of the evening.”

DJ let those words rattle around in his mind as he forced himself to his bedroll. He cursed himself over and over. He hadn’t even been out for an entire week, and he had already been bludgeoned and robbed like a pitiful merchant. This never would have happened to his father. The kids back in Beregond were right. Wimpy, helpless little DJ. The thought made DJ’s eyes sting harder.

“Hey, DJ.”

The whisper came from Riley’s bedroll not far away. DJ didn’t reply, but kept listening.

She said, “I’m sorry about your sword.”

DJ sniffled, rolled over, and tried to sleep.