Chapter 11: The Last of the King’s Finest

Hima and Miro hadn’t followed the forest road long before she made them turn off into the thicket, a less unpleasant experience in the presence of a light, though Miro was still not entirely convinced the same fisherfolk he’d dined with earlier that evening wouldn’t haul his lifeless corpse out of the river the next morning, thinking he was going to be their big catch of the day. One last time he’d be able to disappoint someone.

He had completely lost his bearings by the time Hima stopped and peered into the deep darkness of the woods. She blew through pursed lips and Miro could see a trail of frost lead along the ground away from them. A distant bird called from that direction and Hima gestured for him to keep moving.

Miro could see now why the riders that had taken him from his village were so concerned about someone spotting their fire. When one expects nothing but pitch blackness, even a hint of light is easy to spot. Miro saw it flickering through the trees long before he heard the snap of a wet log or smelled the smoke on the wind.

When they stepped into the small clearing where Hima and her mysterious companions set up camp, they found a woman who looked to be in her mid-forties, though it was difficult to tell in the light, standing by the fire. She turned at their approach, her long pale face framed by blonde hair tied into a braid at the top of her head. She was only slightly shorter than he was, and noticeably wider in the shoulders even though she was wearing only a thin rough-looking undershirt. It took Miro a moment to notice the dark leather and iron-plated armor stacked neatly nearby and the two swords hanging from her side.

At first, she appraised him with a stern look, like he was a fresh-faced recruit about to be ground down by boot camp, but then her expression softened and she broke out into a smile that he wouldn’t’ have expected from such an imposing person.

“Aww, he looks just like him, doesn’t he, Peteri?”

A mass, the weight and size of an adult human, dropped from the trees beside Miro, making him jolt backwards and trip over his feet. It had in fact been an adult human, an older man whose salt and pepper hair hung down to his shoulders and partially concealed his sandy tan face.

He peered at Miro with his narrowed piercing dark eyes and said in a quiet rasping voice, like the rustling of dried leaves, “He does, doesn’t he?” The man named Peteri leaned in so close, Miro could see the stubble covering his square chin. “He’s got Jalvyn’s jaw. And his nose.” Miro didn’t know who this Jalvyn was, but he sounded like a handsome fellow. “Now then, let’s get you up,” Peteri said, extending his hand to Miro and then pulling him up in a quick move. One couldn’t tell by his small frame, but Peteri was impressively strong, as the large bow strapped to his back would come to attest.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Thanks for tracking him down for us, Hima,” the blonde woman said.

“Wasn’t a problem,” Hima answered, sitting down in front of the fire and stretching her legs, never even looking in their direction.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it was entirely without problems,” Miro said and Hima continued to watch the fire.

“Hima …” there was tone of defeated exasperation in the other woman’s voice, “How many people are dead?”

“Dead? None. Wished to be dead? Maybe some.”

“I’m terribly sorry about this,” the swordswoman turned back to Miro, “Hima seems to be incapable of following anyone’s methods but her own.”

“I don’t do ‘methods’, only results,” Hima said, creating a small spray of snow that disappeared in the fire.

“I’m sorry,” Miro said, “But who are you people, exactly?”

“I’ve completely forgotten myself, haven’t I?” the woman said. “My name is Nydra Heliks. And this,” she gestured to the archer, “Is Peteri Gahn. We are old friends of your father.”

“You knew my father?”

“Know him?” Nydra’s face lit up. “Peteri and I fought alongside him for a year when you were … just a wee babe.” Something in her eyes shifted – from enthusiasm to something distant, perhaps sorrow – as she put her hand on his cheek. “But more on that tomorrow, I think. Wisdom comes with morning, as they say, and we need to start our day early.”

“I agree,” Hima said from her place by the fire. “I can name no less than three separate sets of people that might be looking for him right now.”

The way she’d put it, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever sleep at all then.

“Thank you, Hima, for your assessment,” Nydra responded, “But like I said, that could wait until morning.”

“Alright.” Hima stood up, raised her right hand in the air and started making small circle motions with it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” A ring of blue light formed on the ground around her and within moments, a dome of brilliant white snow rose up and closed her in from the rest of the group. Miro had hardly any experience with snow – where he grew up, they’d get the occasional sprinkling, once a year if they were lucky, so any time the icewinder used her powers it filled him with a childish glee and he had to stop himself from asking her to build him a snowman.

Nydra’s eyes lingered on the makeshift snow dwelling the mage disappeared into. “Hima is right. The faster we get you out of Lake Country, the better. You must be exhausted though. We have an extra sleeping bag for you over there. It’s not much, but it beats lying on the hard ground.”

“I’m sure it does,” Miro said, thinking on the night before, and how every bone and joint in his body was begging him to lie down. “Thank you.”

She was right. Even though the grey sleeping bag was thin and scratchy, it felt to Miro like the most luxurious bed in the world. Nydra was also crawling into hers, while Peteri continued to stand and stare out into the woods.

“Aren’t you going to bed?” Miro asked, not sure what it was to him whether or not the archer turned in.

“I’m taking the watch,” the archer responded, the slightest smile tugging at the wrinkles around his mouth, “For the whole night.”

“Don’t worry about him,’ Nydra said. “Peteri and sleep have a special relationship that best not be questioned.”

“I’ll sleep when I walk.”

“I have no reason to not believe him,” Nydra whispered to Miro and then turned on her side, and seemed to fall right to sleep. Miro was more than happy to follow suit. He felt though like there was also something he should have noted about the watch, but if he couldn’t remember it, how important could it have actually been?

For the second night in a row, Miro was going to sleep among strangers in a strange land. With these ones though, something about them felt like home, more so than it ever did in his whole life.