The night at the inn passed uneventfully. Dorian slept soundly as his two captains took shifts guarding his door, they wouldn’t dare let any hard come to the only person who could guide them to the Destiny Engine. They wouldn’t and couldn’t question that fact. Sure, Dorian had the Gift of Deception, they had each thought at one point throughout the night, but there’s no way he would use it on his captains
The innkeeper provided a simple breakfast of bacon and eggs, which the trio ate in a thoughtful silence. Cahn’s thin frame couldn’t accommodate as much food as Hjerim's, so he spooned his leftovers onto his companion’s plate. After the meal, Dorian used his Gift to convince the Innkeeper that the room had been full of rats and they had to sleep elsewhere for the night, despite him seeing them come downstairs in the morning. The keeper apologetically gave them a full refund before the party left, although Dorian didn’t need the money. He just liked keeping the unGifted in their place. Hjerim suppressed snickering laughter as the Deception unfolded, although his views on the unGifted were not nearly as extreme.
Winter was a few short weeks away, which irritated the Master of Deception. He hated the cold and loved his comforts, so when the wind and snow came rushing in every year, he had to halt his portion of the master plan and settle down at Grenfield for the season. Communication also slowed, so while his minions were carrying out their parts of his plan, he was annoyed at not being constantly kept apprised.
The wagon rolled along the quiet road for hours before the silence was broken.
“Awful chilly,” Cahn spoke mindlessly, flexing his gloved hands holding the reins of the wagon carrying their precious cargo. “Gonna be a brutal winter.”
As much as the man felt he was needed in Dorian’s cause, he secretly loved the season. It meant that he could go home for a while and be with his family; throwing snowballs with his children and spending time with his wife, whom he missed terribly.
“As infuriating as it is, if it slows us down it slows down our enemies as well. The Crooked Sun doesn’t even have Gifts they can use to make dealing with this ungodly weather any easier,” Dorian said flatly. He couldn’t wait to crush those primitive fools, scattering their ideals to the wind.
Hjerim made a sound of disgust. “Those savages. Surprised Torvald lasted as long as he did with them.”
“That’s why he’s my right hand,” answered Dorian, with a tiny shred of affection in his voice as he praised his underling. “He’s shown his strength time and time again, I know he’d give his life for the cause. But I knew he wouldn’t have to.”
Hjerim was about to compliment his master’s vision, but stopped himself. He knew Dorian hated mindless supplication. He shifted in his seat, giving the Bell a quick look to verify the ropes that held it lashed to the cargo space of the wagon. The man looked up, praying that the snow wouldn’t come early, as the wagon didn’t have a roof.
He wasn’t strong enough to keep the priest from getting away in the first place, Hjerim thought to himself. He dared not voice that opinion aloud, but he sometimes wondered if his master had let his old friendships cloud his judgment towards their ultimate goal.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A few more hours had passed, and Cahn had driven the wagon into a thick forest for at least an hour before coming to a stop. They had arrived unscathed, to Cahn’s immense relief, not counting the errant branches that had assaulted the sides of the wagon during the more “intense” parts of the hidden road. The captain coughed gently, waking up Dorian, who had fallen asleep in the wagon’s passenger seat.
“Excellent work, Cahn,” their leader spouted, not skipping a beat after being woken up. “Oof. It seems I need to take care of business…Hjerim, scout the area to make sure we weren’t followed. Cahn, once he gives the all clear, you know what to do.”
The two men nodded, and Hjerim hopped out of the wagon, staggering for a moment as the blood flow returned to his legs. He had to lean against a tree for a few seconds, swinging his legs out in a set of flimsy, unbalanced kicks, before disappearing into the dense woods.
Dorian left the vicinity of the wagon, returning relieved. He patted the horses, then sniffed the air with purpose.
“Cahn,” Dorian asked curiously.
“Yes sir?” he responded, hands reaching for his knife as his eyes scanned the woods around them. He was terrible at combat, but would defend himself if he needed to.
“Do you smell…fruit?”
Surprise and bewilderment twisted Cahn’s tanned face for a moment. He then took off his spectacles, cleaned them on his shirt before replacing them, and sniffed the air in the area around the wagon’s driver seat. It was his ritual; focus requires clean spectacles.
“I do…” Cahn replied. “But none of the trees around here are fruit-bearing.”
Dorian frowned. “The ley lines are getting chaotic again. I’d bet that little brat is nearby.”
“Sir, please,” Cahn pleaded. “She may be able to hear you if the way is open somehow.”
“Eh…” Dorian dismissed, waving his hand in the air. “She can’t understand Morwellian anyway.”
“True, but there are some around her who do,” Cahn informed, a pit in his stomach growing with the unease. The timid man hated angering people, and if Dorian’s critique of the princess reached ears that could understand them, he’d be between a rock and a hard place.
Dorian growled in irritation, ignoring Cahn’s concerns. “Where’s Hjerim? We need to get this done and go home before it gets colder out here.”
“Here I am, sir!” the captain answered as he jogged back towards the wagon. “I thought I heard something, so I was extra thorough this time.”
His master grunted in acknowledgement, then nodded at Cahn before climbing up into the wagon’s driver seat. “It’s time,” he said, in the most authoritative voice he could muster.
Cahn let himself down from the wagon, then adjusted his spectacles, which had slipped down his narrow nose during the climb. He stood in the middle of the road just in front of the wagon, his arms before him with his thumbs and index fingers tented together. Channeling the glory from his ring, his family’s ancestral Destined Object, he alternated blinking his left and right eyes, shut them, then opened both at the same time.
As he opened them, a flash appeared, revealing a wispy, shimmering portal. Cahn coughed; the use of his Gift of Transversal took a heavy toll on his body and glory pool. He had only been able to summon the portal twice a day at the maximum, and repeated use over several days required weeks of rest.
Without needing any other signals, Dorian snapped the horses’ reins and the wagon jolted, speeding through the portal. Cahn stumbled through it himself, behind the wagon, before willing the flow of glory to stop, shutting the portal behind them.