Authors: J.D. Caldwell
But she also understood his need, and was tha
nkful for his influence that kept her focused on the fact that, pressure aside, she wanted this. Lyn steadied herself with a deep breath and looked at the sun, which was becoming ever more difficult to see clearly through the heavy clouds that seemed to perpetually surround the mountain. In fact, the closer she came to the foot of the giant stone spires, the harder it became to see the hills behind her as well. She felt encompassed by the huge presence of the mountains, and the closing of the fog behind her made her feel forced forward to climb the looming rocks.
She was not long for this train of thought, however, for as she stood quietly contemplating her journey she began to hear muffled noises off somewhere ahead. The fog was not so thick as to inhibit
her vision generally, yet she did not see any motion among the hills. Lyn was loathe to jump directly into another encounter with people; her two experiences outside the forest so far had been a group of bandits, and a city full of people who had ignored her at best. She did not know what kind of folk she’d run in to next, and she thought it best to proceed with caution. As she watched Alir circle above, she wished fervently that she could see through his eyes and survey their surroundings.
Then the though
t sunk in. Hadn’t she done something similar the first time they’d come out of the forest? She had never experienced something that way before, the sensation of actually flying, and it had been such a strange experience and had ended such in her detriment that she had not really addressed it again. But she had, in a mediocre sort of way, expanded into the hawk’s perception just for a moment. Since then, their bond had deepened greatly; perhaps now she could reach out and try to share that perception again. She sat and straightened her back in a meditative pose, took a long look at her companion before closing her eyes, and tried to reach out with her mind. She had never attempted something of this nature before and came to no avail now, despite her intentions. Lyn’s brow furrowed and she concentrated harder, trying to visualize her friend and become part of his flight. She imagined what the world looked like from his vantage, and tried to force herself into it.
But she saw nothing, and the sounds she had hea
rd seemed to be coming closer. Exasperated, she huffed and came back to her feet, searching once again with her own eyes for signs of the approaching noise. After a few moments she caught sight of movement ahead and just behind one of the small hills. Panicked that they may take notice of the hawk and somehow mark her position, she frantically motioned for Alir to come down to earth.
As he landed near her she whispered, “Peace my friend, let us see what manner of people these are.” Her woodland skills came
in handy; she had much experience stalking through the trees and underbrush for game and adventure. These soft hills were easily navigated by comparison, and she successfully approached the newcomers without detection. Lying prone just behind the crest of the nearest hill, she peeked over to see just who or what awaited her. To her surprise, it was what appeared to be a traveling caravan with multiple wagons pulled by horses. Moving casually, she could see that there were multiple guards walking beside the wagons, speaking with each other and the drivers. The atmosphere seemed rather jovial considering the gloomy atmosphere.
At the head of this caravan was a rather rotund looking fellow with a great white beard, trimmed into a cultivated yet whimsical shap
e. Beside him walked a very large man indeed, well over Lyn’s own height, at least three times her bulk, and of dark complexion. She noticed many blades strapped to him in various positions, and his intimidating demeanor made her cringe inadvertently. Either this caravan was also bandits of a more insidious nature or this big and very well armed man was more trustworthy than he looked, for the bearded bloke seemed at ease in his company and appeared even to be making jokes at him. Curious now, Lyn strained to see further and better judge their character. So intent was she on observing the caravan, she did not notice the armed man looking about until his scoping eyes had already met hers. She dropped down behind the curve of the hill, heart pounding. She heard someone call out a halt to the caravan, and suddenly it was silent save for the muffled sound of low voices.
Lyn considered her options, and was preparing to bolt from her makeshift hiding spot and make an escape when a good-natured voice called out to
her.
“Ho, girl,” it called, “we are no enemies of yours! Come out so we may speak like civil folk.”
Lyn paused and thought on the company she had observed. Based on the guards, and especially the one in front, it was possible this was a bandit group moving away from a heist. Or it could be a simple merchant caravan on its honest way. Lyn looked to the sky and mouthed “why,” bemoaning her lack of experience in the outside world. She looked to Alir for guidance, and to her surprise he seemed unperturbed. Sighing, she stood slowly with her hands up in the universal sign of well-intentioned peace. Before her, she saw the caravan had indeed stopped, and all eyes were upon her. The bearded man had descended from his seat on the foremost wagon and was watching her with a smile on his face, which peeked through his beard in an amusing manner.
The man gave her a once over, his smile remaining. He was shorter than Lyn had expected, and with his red, grinning face and stout form he somehow put off an air of generally g
ood spirits. He motioned her closer, and as she stepped forward her raptor companion alighted upon her shoulder. To their credit, no one batted an eye at the sudden appearance of the large bird, nor commented upon his evident familiarity with Lyn.
“Ah,” t
he bearded man spoke, “we suspected that bird was with you.” He turned to another man behind him, and raised his eyebrows. The man in question rolled his eyes and procured a few coins, which he grudgingly passed over to the bearded fellow.
Jingling the sma
ll coins in his hands and chuckling to himself, the bearded man turned back and addressed Lyn once more. “We saw that bird a little while back and had something of a wager on it, you see.” He explained this slowly as he tucked the coins away in a belabored fashion. “Those of us who are worth our salt at flora and fauna know that a bird such as she isn’t natural to this area. Others don’t have such a sharp eye for these things.” A murmur of amusement rose from the men in the immediate vicinity.
“He, actuall
y,” Lyn said quickly, and then silently berated herself for her outburst.
The round man chuckled again and bowed slightly. “My mistake, and a fine fellow he be. But where are my manners besides? My name is Yusef, travelling merchant and salesman. And who
might you be, lass?”
Without intending to, Lyn found her eyes flicking over to the large warrior standing silentl
y beside Yusef. “My name is Lyn,” she said simply, determined not to give any more information until she knew for sure who exactly she was dealing with.
Yusef took notice of her gaze, and his smile widened. “Oh, you’ve noticed my friend, I see. Strapping fellow, is he not? Name is Zhiva, a master swordsman from the Western Province. Met him years ago after a very profitable trip out there, he wa
s an Arena champion back then, eh Zhiva?”
The large man shifted ever so slightly and inclined his head to Lyn. “Yes Yusef, that is correct,” he said in a deep and heavily accented voice, “pleasure to meet you, miss.”
Lyn was not entirely convinced of the man’s friendliness, but she was very curious; she had never seen his like before. “If you don’t mind my asking Mr. Zhiva, I have never heard of an Arena or its champion.” Lyn spoke with a confidence and directness she did not feel, but thought it best not to appear weak.
Zhiva smiled slightly in response and a glimmer in his eye told Lyn he knew exactly how uncomfortable she was, but he politely responded. “In the west, we have a grand tournament every two years. Those who make it through their ladders in
this tournament are considered worthy to compete in the Arena, which is then held the following year. These are the best warriors from around Arc, gathered to compete for glory and profit.”
He paused, and when no response was forthcoming he continued. “I
competed in two tournaments, and two Arenas, and I won each. Hardest fights of my life; I earned more than a few of my scars from them. Then this old windbag comes along and buys me in to a life of endless walking and boredom.”
The two men exchanged glanc
es and chuckled, sharing in their joke. Yusef slapped the large man on the back and said, “You were due for retirement, you brute. Plus I heard they were going to stop letting in people whose intellect was smaller than their winning streak.”
He guffawed,
clearly very pleased with himself. Zhiva chuckled again and turned back to Lyn. “It is not uncommon for the champions to find work as guard captains or personal protectors. Renown is wide for those who make it through the Arena. That is how I ended up here, miss, guarding a simple merchant caravan from bandits and any other trouble.”
“And I pay him much more than he’s worth to do it!” Yusef interjected lightheartedly, “Which brings us to meeting you. You don’t have the look of a bandit about you, and with
a bird like that so far from its natural hunting grounds…my guess is you hail from the forests.”
Lyn started, put very suddenly off her guard by the accuracy of the bearded merchant’s keen speculation. She drew in her breath and considered lying. If they
knew she was from the forest and that she was inexperienced in the world, they might try to take advantage of her.
However, Yusef saved her the trouble by continuing, “Yes, definitely the forests, and there are two types of forest people: Rangers and Drui
ds. And you’re no Ranger, that’s for sure; much too little muck, and far too pretty.” He winked at her and said softly, “So unless I miss my guess, that would make you one of the Druids, eh? I haven’t heard heads or tails of them in ages.”
Lyn flushed, bu
t would not lie in the face of direct questioning. She put her shoulders back and said proudly, “Yes, I am of the forests. I am on my pilgrimage. This is my companion, Alir.”
Yusef bowed to her and offered her an earnest smile. “I seem to be at the disad
vantage now,” Zhiva said, “I am unfamiliar with Druids or pilgrimages.”
Yusef looked sidelong at his compatriot and said, “No need for history or culture when you make your living in brawling matches eh?” He snorted and motioned to Lyn. “Come lass,
you may have some explaining to do about specifics, but I remember well enough the decorum for aspiring Druids. Come, come, allow me to share some food and drink, and you can tell Zhiva here all about your journey.”
Lyn spent the remainder of the day with the ca
ravan, telling of her journey and purpose and swapping stories with the traveling merchants. She met the rest of the group, and all seemed like good folk. Lyn learned that this route, due to its remote and somewhat obscured nature, was ideal for bandit raids on merchant caravans, which is why there were so many guards. When Lyn asked Yusef why they simply didn’t take another, less dangerous route, he just winked at her and said, “If we took a separate route from all our problems, the world would be traveled on a short road indeed.”
As the chill of night approached and Lyn prepared to take her leave, Yusef insisted upon Lyn staying with them for a few days. They were generally moving in the direction she was, and Yusef presented a compelling argument in that
not only was it safer in numbers, but vastly more comfortable. Lyn had to admit sleeping in a covered wagon was much nicer against the wind, and the rest did wonderfully by her spirits.
The next day was surprisingly pleasant for Lyn. The caravan traveled
at a steady, but not hasty pace that allowed Lyn time to speak with and learn of her new friends. And friends they were; none but Yusef were even familiar with her people or her purpose, but they listened willingly enough and showed genuine encouragement towards her. The guards were surprisingly enjoyable company, too, and she even found herself developing a marked fondness for Zhiva despite her earlier trepidations. He was an intimidating man and his mannerisms still seemed quietly dangerous, but he was very friendly and seemed to take an earnest interest in Lyn and the Path.
Moreover, he seemed to take a particular interest in her training. The world, he insisted, was a beautiful place, but dangerous. He seemed very concerned that she was traveling on he
r own with no combat experience to speak of. She had assured him that she was experienced in hunting, and was more than proficient enough with her bow. After all, how much more difficult could it be to hunt people than animals?
A common misconception, he h
ad insisted, and one he had heard before. Shooting game for food when you had a home to go back to still was one thing, and well enough, but hunting for sheer survival when you know are you being hunted in return and are usually outnumbered was an entirely different experience. This required training, practice, and an entirely different skill set.
“Not the least of which
,” he had said, “is knowing what to do when your opponent is too close to put an arrow to.” And just like that, he had roped her into close-quarters combat training.
Zhiva, being the direct-minded warrior that he was, decided the best time to start was immediately. This was how Lyn found herself, the very same evening, limbering up for knife exercises.