"How much further?" Amana asked with displeasure.

Brynn gave a shrug. "Further than you'd like. Remain strong, princess."

Amana scrunched her face in a show of protest, that he silently ignored. We've been walking for hours! What stupidity made this man want to live so far from the rest of the world? She had begun the journey in earnestness, eager to see something new and different. But thus far she had seen little aside from the usual scenery of trees and overgrown fields. Recently though, they had finally found a dirt road, which Amana supposed was at least something that hinted at the promise of other people. Brynn had said they were on the right path, and that following the road south would lead them to village of Thornwood.

"Brynn, why is it called Thornwood?" She asked, considering the name.

"Shit, I've no idea. Perhaps the thorns grow thick there. Or perhaps the village was founded by some Lord Thorn a long time ago." He answered indifferently. "What difference does it make?"

"I was simply curious. You're so sour today. Are you still upset because of this morning?" Amana said cheekily, teasing him. "I bet your stubborn pride makes it hard for you to accept when we do things the way I want."

"On the contrary, princess, I've been doing what fancy lords and ladies like you want for most of my life," Brynn proclaimed dismissively. "And my mood isn't sour. I'm merely alert. Any manner of danger could lie in wait behind the trees around us."

Amana waved her hand in disbelief at his words. "That's simply an excuse. Just because you're accustomed to something doesn't mean you've accepted it."

"On that I will agree," he mumbled as he glanced around the area. Aside from the chirping of birds and sound of their footsteps, Amana heard nothing else. It was a calm day, with only a gentle breeze and a handful of clouds in the sky. The sun had ascended slowly above until it floated high overhead, sending its warmth to the lands beneath it. Amana pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and reached into her knapsack for the waterskin within. She took a drink of water and savored the coolness of it. Brynn had mentioned that there were still many warm days of summer left, though cool nights would become common soon enough.

"Are the winters hard here in Trilea?" She questioned.

"Aye, they can be. Especially this near to the coast and in the mountains to the east," he explained. "Since the kingdom has fallen into ruin, things have gotten particularly bad."

Amana nodded. "How long has Trilea been like this?"

"Two years—no, three."

"Will tell you me what happened, the whole of it?" She asked sincerely.

Brynn made a sound of displeasure, but after a moment's pause, spoke, "We had recently returned from our campaign in Idyros. it was a pointless war in a far-off land across the Desert of Bones. I was in Lastor when the news reached the city. The king had been murdered in the capital, and the Chalice of the Gods stolen. The prince was murdered shortly thereafter, or so the story goes. The king's royal advisor, Dalmon, declared himself first minister of Trilea until order could be restored. In the months that followed several warlords rose up across the land, each resolving to take the throne for themselves. Sometime around then, the scourge began to spread across the land."

"What is the Chalice of the Gods?" Amana had heard him say those words before.

"it's an old artifact said to have been given by the gods to the first king of Trilea a thousand years ago. Each time a new king is crowned, he drinks from the chalice and the gods judge his worthiness. A worthy king will have a long and prosperous reign, but a king found wanting will suffer a rule of misery and misfortune. Supposedly, for the kings who are judged to be truly evil, the wine within the chalice turns to poison and kills them," he said, bringing his hand near his throat to mimic a person choking. "Most of that is like to be little more than superstition, but the Chalice of the Gods does exist, and it is of unimaginable significance to Trilea. Whoever stole it had little fear of inciting the wrath of an entire kingdom, and possibly even the gods themselves if the stories are true."

a divine chalice, how peculiar. Surely the death of the king and the theft of the chalice are no coincidence. "Could it have been one of the warlords that took the chalice, and murdered the king?" She questioned.

Brynn considered it for a moment. "That is possible, I suppose. I am not certain what such an act would accomplish aside from sowing chaos, but who can say what thoughts enter the minds of the ambitious."

Amana kicked at a rock on the road, sending it into the tall grass beside her. "Why did you not side with one of the warlords, or the first minister? Surely you desire to see peace restored to your home."

"I am tired of fighting wars on the behalf of nobles who care not for my life. The Knight of Belrose may claim to be a champion of the common people, but I am suspicious of his true intentions. The rest of the warlords, and even Dalmon, are clearly only interested in becoming the next ruler of Trilea. I will not be a piece on the board in someone else's game, and I have already spilt enough blood for a lifetime," he said resolutely.

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"Brynn, how old are you?" She inquired, studying his face.

"I have seen near thirty winters, I would estimate," he answered.

"And you have no family to speak of? You've never wed?"

"No, my mother and father are long dead. And though I have known several women over the years, I have never wed," He explained with a hint of a smile as he spoke of past relationships.

Amana cocked her brow at that. No family, and a weakness for women; a veteran of wars, who has retreated into seclusion. "You are a fascinating man. Even now I have trouble making sense of you."

Brynn chuckled. "I am simply a man who has lived longer than he..." His words trailed off as his gaze focused on something further down the road. He held his arm out in front of Amana, bringing her to a halt. She followed his eyes and saw faint movement behind a tree. "It is a horse, but I do not see the rider. Remain calm, but be prepared to run," he whispered.

Amana gave a slight nod, and followed Brynn in stride as he continued down the road. Earlier in the journey, she had tired of carrying her crossbow and had slung it to the knapsack on her back, a decision which she now regretted. As they neared the horse, she could see it had been tied a tree, and that strapped to the saddle on its back were a number of items: a bedroll, a cooking pan, a water jug, and several small bags and pouches. The horse's coat was white like snow and Amana couldn't help but smile at its beauty as they passed the steed. Her smile faded as she noticed Brynn's worried glance behind her.

"Ah, fellow travelers. How fare you?" The question came from the voice of a man on the road behind her. As she turned to look, Brynn stepped forward and placed his arm around her waist, before pulling her close into his chest. What are you doing? Release me! Amana was about to protest, when she saw the man before them.

He was garbed in a thin robe that was unlike any she had ever seen, bright red and flowing in the breeze. Strapped to his torso, shoulders, and knees were light-looking and patterned pieces of metal that she understood to be armor. Sheathed at his hip was a strange sword, its blade straight near the handle but then curved sharply into the shape of a crescent. Around his neck was a scarf of wrapped cloth that could be pulled up over his face to obfuscate his identity. His skin was as the color of bronze and his hair fell in dark, messy curls atop his head. Though his smile was meant to convey warmth, the man's eyes were cold and insincere.

"Aye, it's nice to see another face. We fare well on our journey," Brynn answered, his voice strangely jovial. "And you?"

The man's smile disappeared in an instance. "My journey has been long, but I near the end of it," he said with a hint of disdain in his words. He spoke with an accent that Amana could not place, though she guessed that he was not from the land of Trilea.

"That is good to hear," Brynn replied courteously. "I take it that this is your horse? It is a fine animal." The man offered no reply but glanced at the horse and gave a slight nod. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Brynn spoke again. "Well, we had best be on our way, we still have some walk ahead of us. Good fortunes to you, horseman." With a polite nod, Brynn began to turn away with Amana still held closely in his grasp.

"She is quite beautiful; I take it that she is yours?" The man asked as he watched Amana.

Brynn looked down at Amana, their eyes met, and she could see the wariness he hid. Brynn smiled at the stranger. "Aye, this is my wife. We are recently wed, and I am quite in love with her," he said.

The man nodded expectedly and brought his hand to rest near the sword on his hip. Amana could feel Brynn's body tensing in anticipation of danger. "That is good fortune, is it not?" The man posed an odd question but spoke again before Brynn could reply. "There was once a girl that I loved dearly, whom I would have gladly married given the chance." As he spoke the man bent over and scooped up a handful of dirt, before letting it slip through his fingers and away with the wind. "Far across the sands I swore that I would defend her from the heartless killers that had come to pillage our home, to sate their greed. But I was just a boy then. And when the men beneath the banner of the golden chalice came to my village, I could not save the one I loved." The man opened his empty hand and closed it again tightly. "I carry the memories of those that I have lost within my heart, so that they might behold the justice that I will deliver to those responsible for their demise," he said, his voice trembling with a mixture of sorrow and rage.

Brynn met the man's gaze and took a deep breath. "I am sorry to hear of your troubles, traveler," he said, the false warmth gone from his voice. "As I said before, I wish you good fortune in your endeavors. Now, my wife and I must be going."

"Tattered and worn as your cloak may be, I know it well," the man said with animosity. "And I am certain you know who I am. Will you not stop me, ranger? You know why I've come."

"You have come far too late for whatever vengeance you seek. The king is long dead and Trilea is a decrepit land of misery and misfortune. Your deeds here will give you no solace," Brynn replied dryly.

The man scoffed. "Do not speak as if you could understand me," he warned. Though his words were full of emotion, he seemed hesitant to draw his sword. "I am your enemy," he added, as if trying desperately to convince Brynn of that.

Brynn shook his head slowly as he turned away from the man. "Not anymore," he said softly as he guided Amana down the road and away from the stranger. She stole a single look back and was surprised to see what looked like sadness in the man's face as he stood alone. He's only a boy, a few years older than me. And he is lost in this land, just as I am.

The two walked in silence for a while after that, and it was not until the traveler was far behind them that Amana felt comfortable enough to speak again. "That man spoke as if he knew you," she observed.

"He believed to know me because of what I used to be. The man was from Idyros," Brynn replied.

"The war, what happened?" She asked in a whisper, as if she feared the traveler could hear her.

"Terrible things," he said simply, his gaze cast downwards. "I would prefer to leave the past where it is."

Amana nodded, sensing the pain carried in his words. "Very well."

Two hundred steps later the trees around the road began to thin and give way to several open fields enclosed by fences of stone or wood. Beyond that, she could see smoke rising into the sky and the rooftops of buildings and homes in the distance. Amana felt her resolve growing, as if this were some long-awaited reunion with something that she had been robbed of.

"Welcome to Thornwood, Amana," Brynn said, as he stole a glance over at her determined face. "Perhaps here you might find the means you seek to deliver yourself home."

"Perhaps," she admitted. But how many more sad faces will cross my path along the way?