We had made good time the first day and made it across the border of Manchwark into the County of Rochamberia. There we found shelter at the village of Longlarney. Which consisted of the combined populations of the hamlets of Gateside and Inverarity. This caused some confusion as we were heading north, but both were to the south of Forfar. At least until I pointed out that we were heading north to the capital, which on Earth was Edinburgh, also South of Forfar.

We were put up in the village inn, The Spiritual Discovery, for free once they learned who I was. Apparently my couriers, and those of the Queen, had been the only word of the outside world that they had since that first Monday. Not only did they not know who the Count of Rochamberia was, they had not seen a party heading north. Which was impressive as they sat at the junction where the road from their capital, Swasalter, joined the main highway. So they’d either have to come this way or sail down the River Hatrinchel to the coast and then follow the coast around to Torksey. In which case they were braver than I. The map back in the castle seemed to indicate that Swasalter was the furthest navigable point inland. So they’d have to take a shallow draft riverboat to the coast. As there wasn’t a port there to change vessels until Boloborogh, some 250 kilometres along the coast, they’d have to manage the unenviable task of taking the riverboat to sea. If that was their route then I wished them all the luck I could muster, and felt glad that we’d picked the overland route; the fifty to sixty kilometer sail from Wicksburgh to Torksey had been scary enough in my head. Now I was sure I’d only take it as a last resort.

The beds at the Spiritual Discovery were not the best. But neither were they the worst. Unfortunately I slept fitfully. Not because of anything untoward. But because of the notifications.

{ALERT! Your spouse, [Delimira Sagado], has engaged in an act of infidelity with [Dwongruinelyn Drakeshield]!}

Well good for them. Amanda had become almost insatiable and we’d agreed to open up our marriage. I was also glad that the two of them had bonded. Although not how I imagined it. Amanda had also been given me permission to sow wild oats as I wished. Honestly I doubted I’d have the opportunity.

But five times in one night?

I woke from the sort of torrid dreams I hadn’t had since my teens and twenties. I also woke to a glorious morning and it was very… difficult… to meditate away. I was already missing Amanda awfully.

We planned to set off immediately after breakfast, thanking our hosts for their hospitality. I was already thinking of ways to thank them more materially once I had the chance. That chance would arrive almost immediately.

A heavy fog lay over the ground. It had been getting noticeably warmer over the last few days but last night had been crisp and clear. The Kingdom of Tares seemed to be largely a temperate rain forest and swamp. So with all the humidity in the environment a mist like this was to be expected.

I was lifting Midnight’s saddle when I got a system notification.

{[Danger Sense] activated; multiple threats detected. Threat location concealed}

I turned, scanning the swirling fog, as something moved through it. Three bristlehound quills thudded into the underside of the saddle, which had possibly saved my life. I yelled both in surprise and to alert everyone else.

{Target located; macro-instructions activated.}

A throwing knife appeared in my hand and then left it, seemingly of its own volition. The blade twirled away into the fog as I tumbled past the dropped saddle and found cover behind a water trough. A bestial cry of pain, half bark and half yowl, told me that my weapon had found its mark. That said cry devolved into a growl also told me that it hadn’t finished that creature off.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

{Potentially fatal damage caused; bleeding}

More quills flew from the mist, but a strong wind rose up behind me and arrested their flight just as if they’d hit a wall. As they were blown tumbling to the ground the wind blew back the fog to reveal four of the beasts, including one with my throwing knife deep in its shoulder and a steady stream of blood down its leg.

Curiously I didn’t feel upset at this; there were, presumably, animals. They were trying to kill me and everyone else nearby. One or another one of us was going to be dinner for the other.

Arrows flew over my head and, seemingly guided by the wind, all found their marks. Looking back over my shoulder all but one of the Guardians had their bows drawn and the one that didn’t was miss Deng, who was confidently standing in the open with her legs bracing herself, right hand forth from which she was projecting the wall of wind that defended everyone. But even so she was still plucking arrows from her quiver and letting them follow the stream of air to a target. Her control of the air looked more like telekinesis to me. To be honest, stick her in tights and she would look like a comic book superhero.

In very short order the bristlehounds were all dead.

Then followed the recovery and repair of ammunition, the soothing of troubled Sancer and the dividing of spoils. We took half the bristlehound carcasses and gave the other half to the inn keeper. Despite it turning out that the creatures had only managed to get into the village compound because the gate had been improperly secured the night before. The bar was a bitty shooglie and easy to dislodge with the right, or wrong, sort of pressure. Something for Amanda and the rest of the Rombe caravan to fix when they all arrived. So I recommended her services before we left. Although upgrading to living gates was absolutely an option.

We reached Clitford a couple of hours later. All of the smaller settlements we’d seen previously had been built to one side or another of the road. Clitford was the first to actually straddle the road. The palisaded village squatted over the highway, gating it off. Evidently in an attempt to control passage and levy a toll to pass. A very successful operation given the quality of the palisade and the height of the buildings beyond. Looming on both sides of the way.

We offered the remaining bristlehound carcasses for entry.

As we passed through the village and it’s pair of gates at either end I noticed that the gate furniture was metal. I wondered if using metal for fixtures might have once been a status symbol. “I’m so rich that I don’t have to use magic to open and close my living gates and can afford to pay someone to do it for me”.

We reached the second set of gates and finally saw the Clit in all it’s turgid, reeking, glory. And then I was disappointed. There was a bridge across the Clit not a ford. False advertising. I should set trading standards on to them.

The Clit was a wide band of water between two areas of swamp to the north of the village. The road, still lined with trees stretched on, with the pathway we sought splitting off north east on the far side of the bridge/

“Your Grace,” Lauchlan started and then corrected himself. “Drake! Murdo! Do you hear that?” He was standing in his stirrups and straining as if to catch something on the wind.

“Is that singing?” Murdo said. Then I caught it too.

“That sounds like a Muse song?” I said, vaguely recognising the lyrics carried faintly on the breeze.

“There!” Murdo pointed down the road.

Along the road across on the far side of the bridge, spread so wide as to start to vanish into the trees on either side, there appeared a group of people, numbering at least in the hundreds. Largely welfs and children. At their head was a figure in bright clothing, a feathered hat upon their head as they strummed a stringed instrument. Either side were people banging drums to maintain the pace of their march.

“…Rise up and take the power back / It’s time the fat cats had a heart attack / You know their time’s coming to an end / We have to unify and watch our flag ascend!..”

“SO COME ON!” This last line was belted out in unison by the entire group.

“…They will not force us / They will stop degrading us / They will not control us / We will be victorious!.."

“SO COME ON!”

As they neared I realised that I recognised the singing voice of the leader. More I could not believe my eyes. I knew them. It was my turn to stand up in my saddle.

“LUCE!” I shouted, trying to be heard over the singing. “LUCIA ESME DUNN! LUCE-MONSTER!”

Lucinda stopped in their tracks. Causing a mini pileup as people suddenly walked into each other. The drummers stopped drumming and the whole group shuddered to a halt at the far foot of the bridge.

I dismounted and hurried across to them.

Lucinda looked at me with a puzzled expression as I neared. Suddenly recognition dawned as that metaphysical perception thing happened.

“Dad?” they said, as I held them tight.

“How do you look like you?” I asked as I released them. While their complexion was darker and their ears pointier, and their height taller than mine, but otherwise they were the spitting image of their earthly form.

Lucinda looked a little abashed.

“I’ll explain later” they said.

“What’s going on?”

“Crimes,” they confessed. “Crimes and revolution.”

“Lucia.”

“See all these people?” They gestured.