After the story, Davus set to talking with his two workers, gently telling the two boys to ‘get out of his hair’ for a while. So they set to talking and walking themselves. Blake seemed inordinately curious about Syrus’s weapons, which he had not forgotten. He had asked to see them several times until finally, Syrus relented, drawing one of his throwing knives and handing it to him. Blake seemed both awed and curious, and Syrus, who had few friends and was eager to make more, soon grew to like the boy, who seemed sheltered in comparison to himself. Later that evening when they had stopped for the night, a childish competition suddenly started when Blake approached him, pointing at a log and smiling. “Let’s see you throw then!” Syrus looked around to make sure no one was watching, then winked at Blake, whipping a knife out of its slot on his chest, he arched back his hand and threw in one smooth motion, he knew before he had even let go that it was good, and the knife stuck with a deep THOCK! Into the center of the log, burying itself two inches into the wood. Syrus had snuck away each morning of the trip to practice solely with the throwing knives, not allowing his real weapons, the fighting knives, to be seen. Blake made a soft gasping noise, looking impressed, and Syrus had begun to step forward to retrieve his knife when Blake stopped him. “Hold on, I think I can do you one better.” Syrus stopped midstep, confusion plastered across his face. He knows how to throw knives? He thought, but his internal question was answered by Blake untying what Syrus had thought was a large belt from around his waist. It dangled straight to the ground even when Blake held it up, and Syrus realized how deceptively long it was. “What’s that?” He asked, “watch” was the only answer he got in reply, as Blake reached down, picked up a fist sized rock from the ground, fitted it into a strange, molded, cup shaped portion of the leather. He then grabbed the other end of the belt, put it into the same hand as the first, and started swinging it in circles around his head. It picked up momentum quickly, and soon made an angry swoosh with every rotation. Blake let it build momentum with a few more rotations, then stepped forward and leaned his body into it, letting go of one end of the belt at the same time. The effect was almost instantaneous, a loud whining noise as the rock flashed off with a loud CRACK. The rock had travelled faster than Syrus could follow, and there was a large puncture in the log right next to his throwing knife, still lodged into the center. Syrus felt his mouth drop open, and he decided then and there to reserve judgement on who was sheltered or not until after he had gotten to know them better. “It’s a sling” Blake answered his earlier question. “My da’ says that a merchant should be able to defend himself if he has to” he finished with a shrug. “It’s the only thing he’s taught me though.” Syrus looked at him as if he was seeing at an entirely new person, “I think that might just be good enough.” He finally managed to say with a shy smile. Blake laughed at this, “it’s good enough if they’re far away, but I’ve seen you stretching and practicing when no one is around, I wish I could do that, I don’t even have a bow.” Syrus looked at him again, more deeply this time. It was true, Blake just…didn’t have any muscle. In fact, he had a small amount of fat, especially in his cheeks. But then again…I didn’t have any muscle when I started, did I? “Well…it’s really hard work, but we’ve got time every morning and every night. If James and your dad don’t mind, I could teach you?” Blake smiled at that, “I think I’d like that.”

A few days passed in this manner, Syrus teaching Blake how to stretch, how to limber his body and prepare it for training, instead of riding the carts with his father he now spent the day walking alongside Syrus, who had to take him to see Craston, one of the two workers Davus brought, to have Blake’s feet patched up after blisters formed. Blake walked with a limp the next day, but the timing was ideal, as they pulled their small convoy into the dainty little village of Halstop.

It was the first planned stop for their journey, and they had an entire day planned for resting the horses, restocking on water and any necessary provisions, and gathering news of the road ahead before continuing on. The entire day in the little village was uneventful, save for the few chores they had and the rotating shifts inside the barn attached to the local inn, just big enough to fit the four carts and the horses besides. Davus and his workers slept in the inn, as Davus had bought their rooms, but the guards were given the choice, keep their coin and sleep in the barn, or spend a silver dramis – equal to five bronze drams, on a meal, tankard of ale, and a bed for the night. Most chose the former, and the only real incident was formed when Konnor, the angry man from town, had gotten too drunk to fulfil his shift duties, a problem quickly solved by James, who acidly suggested that Davus give a few bronze drams of the man’s pay to whoever wanted to sit his shift, a deal which Markus had immediately taken.

With no real rumors of banditry in the area and no reason to stay, they set out the next morning, an angry and sullen Konnor in tow, nursing a hangover. The only real difference in the days as they passed is that they were no longer surrounded by woodland, it was grassy hills to the north and farmland to the south, broken by periodic streams and the occasional farmstead,with the great forest known as Millers Folly, or the Silent forest, occasionally visible over the shorter hilltops to the north. They had made it an entire week before it finally rained, and even this was a gentle downpour, ending before it even turned the hard packed road to mud, impeding their progress not at all. He had even heard Davus loudly exclaiming afterword that “Yggis itself had blessed this journey with little rain and fair weather!” Still, they made excellent time.

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It really did seem like their journey had been blessed, fated to succeed, as they passed through Janston, a much smaller town, and five myles out of the way at that, a mere five days later. This stop was as uneventful as the last, the only real change was that this would be the last real town they would encounter for a full eight days, and they had more chores to do, greasing the axles on the carts and checking all the leather straps for wear. Syrus and Blake had learned much about horses as they travelled, and often had the duty of wiping them down and feeding them twice a day, checking their hooves to ensure there were no problems with the shoes, cleaning them, and checking the lines each night to ensure that the horses would not suddenly find themselves free to wander at night.

A day after arrival in Janston and they were on the road again. Syrus had decided that Blake was ready for stamina training, as his blisters (which had healed and come again) where finally gone, replaced by new calluses and treated better by his now well broken in boots, and they ran each morning, to return and learn the rudiments of hand to hand combat and self defense, which, for a layman such as Blake, was still at the most basic level possible.

Syrus could not think of a more pleasant journey happening anywhere. The countryside was beautiful, eight days of traveling beside large hills, the eerie Silent forest always looming above them to the north, which Syrus had come to reason that it had been aptly named, as even the birds seemed to avoid it, he had never once seen a bird land or take off from inside it, nor had he seen the local wildlife enter it. Still it was beautiful, in an eerie sort of way, with its abundantly large pine and oak trees standing proudly, evenly spaced and with no underbrush to speak of beneath. To the south were many fields and farms, separated by plains grass, as tall as a man’s waist and gently swaying with every breeze. Farmhouses dotted the land to the south, appearing to be randomly placed but undoubtedly near sources of water - ponds, streams and creeks. It was early spring and the timing was perfect, not yet hot enough to be unpleasant, or to bring the near constant rains that would surely plague the roads in the near future. It was never too cold, his travel cloak kept him perfectly comfortable, and he slept with his head uncovered, gazing at the brilliant stars above. None of his travel companions complained about anything. None save Konnor, ever seemed to have any reason to argue, and when Konnor did, it was always under his breath, or immediately settled by James or Davus.

Syrus had learned the reason why the man seemed so sullen, as he had overheard him talking to Markus, giving him “advice” towards women. Neither of them were married. Markus seemed to be allowing this advice to wash over him, hearing none of it and only adding a “I know exactly what you mean” or just grunting along with whatever the man said, until one of the other guards had laughed, interrupting his tirade and explaining that just because the girl he was fond of had left him after he signed up for a month and half long expedition, did not mean the rest would. This comment had almost sparked the first real altercation of the journey, as Konnor had ballooned with rage, turning red and curling his fists, but like some form of clairvoyant, James was there already, callused hands grasping Konnors scruff like one might hold back a snarling dog. Shortly after, everyone was back at their duties, albeit more quietly than usual, as heads were cooled.

The rest of the crew got along nicely, throwing dice in the carts when they weren’t working, occasionally stopping to smoke pipes and crack jokes at each other’s expense. They told stories and laughed often, even James could be heard laughing occasionally, though he never made jokes about the others, and suffered none at his own expense, he shared his tabac and joined in the storytelling, and one day when Markus had asked him to teach him to be a guard, James had smiled at him and told him that he would teach him to better guard the caravan, and if he wanted to learn more…well, there was a job waiting for him back in Jeim. Markus had nearly broken down at this, sputtering his thanks and shaking James’s hand, before turning around to hide the huge smile plastered across his face.

From that moment on James had begun teaching him how to properly hold his sword and maintain the equipment he had been given. Though there was only a few days until their arrival in King’s Cross, they had many hours of travel in which to spend training, and James had soon given up his horse and started walking, in order to teach Markus how to ride. Markus had been a natural at it, and he could often be seen riding off only somewhat awkwardly around bends in the road, bow at the ready, in search of any ambush that could be lying in wait.