The road had not been unkind to Ennric and his party. Since departing Moonfane Forge for the King’s Capital City, the weather had held mostly fair. There had been little rain, and they had not once been accosted by bandits of any kind. It was a wonder, for their numbers had dwindled significantly since the upheaval in the previous town. Many had chosen to splinter off and go their own ways. They no longer benefitted from having a large enough traveling party that highwaymen would think twice about trying their luck. In truth, it would be hard to call them a traveling party at all now. They were less than a dozen, and a scraggly looking bunch at that. They went along not as a unified group, but spread out down the road in pairs or as individuals.

It all added up to make Ennric nervous. His people looked like easy prey. If they chanced upon robbers who recognized that some of the livestock they led were not common cattle, but valuable Moonfane yaks, there could be trouble. Some men would kill to take possession of even one of those beasts.

So it was that Ennric saw this trying excursion as something of a disaster already, regardless of how kind the road itself had been. He had failed to keep his people together, and those few that remained were—in his pragmatic judgement—not the best that Moonfane Forge had to offer. Making it safely to the capital now paled in comparison to the challenge that would be gaining the ear of the king. What would King Caiside think of Ennric and his paltry group of riffraff, a broken-down old soldier leading a handful of refugees come to beg at his feet? It would be a miracle if even a minor administrator agreed to hear them.

As he frequently had the last few days, Ennric thought of his friend, Vetch. Why had Vetch chosen him for this task? He'd put his faith in Ennric, but Ennric feared the outcome of that faith would only be disappointment when he returned home empty-handed. The thought was accompanied by a pang of worry for his friend. He hoped Vetch and his people were safe and faring better than his own.

Ennric scratched his cheek and yawned. He looked to his right where Purcell rode alongside his cart. The shadow she cast shaded his face and good eye from the harshness of the setting sun, for which he was thankful. She rode more confidently now than she'd had in their early days on the road, sitting in the saddle with a proper rider's posture. She wore Ennric’s sword on her belt, too. The few lessons in swordplay he'd given her had not produced promising results, but for the time being she looked the part—almost like a soldier. That was a start.

Ahead up the road, a worker was busy with what looked like repairs to an old signpost. As his cart clattered past, Ennric tried to read the words on the battered sign that lay cast aside on the ground near the new post hole the worker was engaged in digging. Even Ennric’s good eye had difficulty finding the edges of the sign’s faded letters to read it. He tugged the reins to stop his cart by the worker. The other people in his party halted at his signal.

“Good man, can you tell me how far we are from the capital? Can we make it there before nightfall?”

The worker stopped digging. He leaned on his spade and wiped perspiration from his bald pate, peering up at Ennric with eyes squinted against the setting sun. “Eh? The King’s City? Nay, friend. You’ve another day’s ride or more to reach the outskirts.” He returned to his task.

Ennric grunted his disappointment. He found his waterskin, had a sip from it, then used his mending arm to return it back to its place behind his seat. Using that arm for simple tasks as much as possible would aid in building back its strength and range of motion. He could go most of the day without the sling now, though it still felt tenuous. He wondered if that arm would ever be the same again.

Leaning forward in her saddle, Purcell asked him, "Should I let the others know we'll make camp here?"

The worker went on with his digging, saying before Ennric could respond, "If you mean to camp hereabouts, you need to ask the permission of my master, Lord Arnoald. You're in the territory of Boar's Helm, Lord Widald's holding."

"Lord Widald?" queried Ennric. Inwardly, he sighed. There would be so many different lords and ladies to learn and navigate through before they could come anywhere near the king. Now it begins, he thought to himself.

"That's right. Lord Widald and Lady Kordula own all the land and livestock you see around you. You'll need to present yourself up at their manor house and ask permission to camp. It’s not far,” he added, pausing in his digging to point up the road. "Lord Widald and Lady Kordula themselves live in the city, where Widald advises the king. You'll want to ask his son, Lord Arnoald. Or Arnoald's sister, Lady Ulrika. They oversee Boar's Helm for their parents these days."

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Purcell made a sound of annoyance and muttered something under her breath. Ennric glanced at her with a look that let her know to rein in her opinions. He asked the worker, "You say your lord and lady advise the king himself?"

"Aye, Lord Widald does. But I work for Arnoald and Ulrika nowadays. I see to the grounds of Boar's Helm. Mendall is my name. Because I mend all what needs to be mended. Get it?"

Ennric stopped himself from muttering the same sound of annoyance. "I get it. Mendall, then. This may be a fortunate meeting for us. My name is Ennric. I'm a soldier from the garrison at Moonfane Forge. There was an attack on our town. Many people were killed, soldiers and townsfolk alike. My group is on our way to petition the king for aid. Maybe your masters could help present us to King Caiside. His Majesty will want to hear our story."

"Moonfane Forge? An attack? Truly?" The worker speared his spade into the dirt and came closer to Ennric's cart, shading his eyes. "And you're a soldier, you say? You don't look one, if you don't mind me saying. I know a soldier there. Lord Widald's youngest is a soldier at Moonfane Forge. He departed for his assignment to their garrison some while ago. Perhaps you'd know him. Wenzl is his name."

Ennric felt a cold chill run down his spine. The same uncomfortable tingling that had overwhelmed him for days following his failure to prevent Wenzl’s death in the battle blanketed his body now.

Haltingly, he replied, “Yes ... I met the lad.”

The worker’s eyes were hopeful, searching. “Is the boy alright? He’s a good lad, much beloved by his parents and siblings. What news of him?”

Internally, Ennric cautioned himself. This, perhaps, wasn't the time nor person to reveal such sorrowful news to. He chose his words carefully. “Many people were scattered during the attack. There were injuries, as you’d expect. Not everyone had yet been accounted for when our party set out.”

There. It was not a lie, and perhaps it would be enough for this man for now. The last thing he wanted was for the wrong words to sour relations before they’d even had a chance to present themselves before the local nobility. At any rate, it would be better to deliver the tragic news about Wenzl directly to his family. Ennric did not relish that responsibility, and, yet, it was his. Truly, what did he expect? Wenzl wasn’t the only soldier lost in the battle who had ties to the capital. Captain Tarese herself had family in the area. Who else was there but he to bring word of these losses?

Without meaning to, Ennric voiced a sigh.

The worker cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes, I expect it would be so. That's ill news, sir, ill news. Well ...” Again, he wiped sweat from his head and put on a tight smile. “I expect master Wenzl came through alright. He’s a skilled a swordsman.” Nodding to himself, he gestured at the hole he’d been digging. “This can wait. If you don’t mind lettin’ me ride with you to the manor, I’ll be glad to introduce you to Lord Arnoald and Lady Ulrika. We’re not far from the house. Over the next rise and we'll be in sight of it.”

At Ennric’s nod, the man retrieved his spade and stowed it in the back of the cart. He climbed up in the seat beside Ennric. Ennric gave the reins a shake and got his horse moving again. The cart clattered up the road, with Purcell riding alongside, and their little party of refugees following wearily.

Shadows grew across the landscape as they mounted the next hill and followed the road down toward an expansive countryside estate partially hidden by tall, old trees—Boar's Helm Manor. Evening lamps were being lit along the gravel drive leading up to the main house as Ennric’s cart horse trundled up it. Ennric looked to his left and right at the two serving folk going from lamp post to lamp post with their flames. His eye was then drawn up to the tall, stately house at the end of the drive. Before he’d even brought his cart to a complete stop in front of it, Mendall hopped down from the seat.

“It’ll be nearing suppertime,” he declared, collecting his spade. “Ah, here’s someone coming to take your animals to the stables. If you want to follow me, we’ll go find Lady Ulrika or Lord Arnoald. One or the other is certain to be about.”

Ennric climbed slowly down from the cart and grimaced at how his back ached. The familiar pain punctuated the end of each day on the road. As he took a moment to compose himself, a stable hand appeared at his side. With a smile, she took his horse and cart. Purcell dismounted and allowed her horse to be taken, as well. The rest of their party stood in the drive gawking around them.

There was an efficiency to the serving folk who emerged to take care of the guests arriving at their estate. No one had even needed to call them to their tasks. Having visitors was clearly a common occurrence here, and the quality of service told Ennric that those visitors were more often than not of the high born variety. It was strange watching his ragged party receive such hospitality.

When a young boy approached to lead the Moonfane yaks to the stables, the herdsman who’d gamely guided the prized animals all the way from Moonfane Forge was reluctant to turn them over.

“I’d prefer to go with ‘em,” he said, upon catching Ennric’s eye.

“Then go with ‘em,” Ennric agreed. “The rest of you, wait here until we can negotiate staying the night. Purcell, come with me.”

She fell in beside him and together they followed Mendall. He led them directly through tall double doors into the impressive manor house. So, this is where Wenzl came from, Ennric thought to himself. When he paused before the threshold, reluctant to track the day's dust onto the pristine floor of the entryway, Mendall gave a flippant wave of his hand.

"Pay that no mind, man. Neither of my masters are strangers to hard work outside. Most days it's Lord Arnoald himself tracking the dirt in. Someone'll see to it."

"If you say so," Ennric mumbled and followed him.