Artowen stared at the full moon, its light catching on the frost—no snow lay in the area. Fire at his back, he sighed, then winced as a shockwave of pain thundered through his body.

  They had lost a great deal of time; their plans were in jeopardy. Aunt Idwyn must have calculated that into her scheme, but Artowen still felt guilt at the extent of their failure. Sure, they may have slowed the death of Welkia villagers, but that was only a brief reprieve until the Uxsons marched. Still, he knew he did the right thing. When something like this occurred again, he would ensure that he was not gravely injured and that they could move on swiftly.

  Bedridden for a week, they were finally able to move once he had recovered enough. Supposedly, he would have to be careful not to reopen his wounds. Out of both of his companions, he had the worst of it. Emerii had recovered quickly with proper rest, her battle wounds mere scratches that healed with ease under the care of a Truthsayer.

  Aunt Idwyn had been attentive, but she had also been busy continuing whatever work it was that she had been doing while the rest of the band was out fighting.

  They had barely left Tentington, but Artowen already felt the building anxiety. Impatience that was called for. He thought back on how he had been toyed with by Liza, how he had barely defeated her. What future would have been left for Dradris if he had died there? According to Aunt Idwyn, none.

  “Emerii, spar with me,” He said.

  “Are you sure that is a good idea?” She responded, not looking to Artowen but instead to his aunt.

  The Truthsayer shrugged. “Artowen knows the risk of pushing himself too far. I would hope he understands his limits and what the future holds if he were gone. With that in mind, if he feels he can push himself, then that is his destiny.”

  Emerii frowned but followed Artowen to a clearing nonetheless. ‘It’s been quite a while. I’ll hold back since you’re hurt.”

  Artowen grunted in discontent.

  Blades drawn, the steel reflected in the moonlight. Artowen rushed Emerii as he pushed the pain of his wounds away. Swords connected. He tried to employ every meager technique he could muster.

  Emerii did not attack. She was a wall that perfectly countered every move without displaying much effort. He heaved as he tried, but it was to no avail.

  Emerii frowned. “Are you not going to summon your deity, Arty?”

  “I’m not like you, Emerii. All I ever do is hack. I can’t rely on my brute strength forever.”

  She settled her blade in a resting position. “You have to lean into your natural talents. Even I can’t hit as hard as you, Arty.”

  He thought of his battle with Liza, then shook his head. “No, it is not enough.”

  “You’re skilled in your own way, Arty. It is correct that we must grow stronger, though, and shore up our weaknesses. You defeated your enemy; do not let her ghost haunt you. Improved technique will come with time.”

  “Time, huh? That resource we always need but never have.”

  At the camp, Royce was tending the fire but said nothing. His aunt approached them.

  “A weak mentality, dear nephew. Your skill will improve with each subsequent battle, as I am sure you are already feeling the gains from your latest clash. Rushing will do you no good, Artowen.” Aunt Idwyn said in a scolding tone.

  He blushed at being chastised. “But you always have us rushing ahead.”

  The Truthsayer shook her head. “Destiny has foretold the path, and I have woven the lore. Trust in me, for I steer the future; there is no reason to rush needlessly ahead. Conserve your strength for the proper moments.”

  Cryptic speak, that was entirely like his aunt. But she was asking him to trust her, which he did with every fiber of his being. At the camp, his eyes met Royce’s, and his chosen friend shared a soft smile. Man up! This is wasting time in of itself.

  “Some more light sparring wouldn’t hurt. I’ll keep your words of wisdom in mind, but every minor improvement will help.”

  To his surprise, Aunt Idwyn’s head bobbed in a slight nod as she pivoted back toward the camp. Emerii took her battle stance. They were his pillars of support, so he could unite the Kingdoms. So he might achieve the impossible and become the Drawalda. This was not the time to doubt. He was strong. He would become even stronger.

  A morning like any other, darkness still untamed by light. The band would set out. Artowen and the others quickly broke down camp. The ache in his body slowed him down; perhaps he had been taking sparring too seriously after all. Aunt Idwyn was nowhere to be seen, likely hunting or praying in some location a distance away for privacy. Not the first time she disappeared without a word, nor would it be the last.

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  Emerii dropped what she was holding and drew her sword. Artowen’s eyes went to her instantly.

  “We’re being watched,” She said.

  “Are you sure it is not Lady Idwyn testing us?” Royce asked.

  “No.” Then she focused for a moment.

  “Come out!” Artowen yelled. “We know you are out there.”

  Silence. No movement in the forest.

  Emerii smirked, then pointed her sword at a set of bushes a short distance away. “There you are.”

  Nothing stirred.

  Even so, Artowen was already sprinting at an angle, fully trusting his friend that she was correct. Royce summoned a ball of fire in his hand and launched it at the bushes. A man dove from behind them, intent on not being scorched by the fire.

  That person would not get away, as Artowen was already on top of them. He went for a tackle, but the enemy deftly dodged at the last moment. Artowen’s momentum carried him to the ground, but not before steel flashed above his head.

  The man impossibly dodged Emerii’s sword as they were bent backwards. Another shot of fire sought him, but he jumped into the air, spinning backwards in a ball and landing. The figure made to dash off, but he had forgotten about Artowen on the ground. Artowen grabbed the man’s leg and summoned his deity.

  The figure squelched in pain, then was swiftly dragged to the ground. With the three of them over the mysterious man, he finally screamed, “Wait! Are you the Promised One?”

  That stopped them all. Slowly, they backed away and let the man get to his feet. Lanky, the man’s skin was darker than a Drajin’s. His black hair was also distinct in its volume and curliness.

  Artowen found himself staring. Royce was as well. Emerii managed to keep her composure.

  “First time seeing a Citizen?” There was not a hint of an accent when he spoke.

  “What is a Citizen doing so far east?” Emerii demanded, her blade still drawn. “And spying on us?”

  The man shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s sort of complicated. I wouldn’t really consider myself a Citizen. For my reason,” He displayed a boarpine crest.

  Artowen cocked his head, not understanding the meaning.

  “The Bardoo Royal crest.” Royce hissed.

  “I’m a royal runner. I’ve come to meet the Promised One.”

  Before they could continue the conversation, the man’s eyes lit up. He roughly pushed past the three back toward the remains of their camp.

  Standing there was Aunt Idwyn, having returned from whatever had occupied her previously. “It had been some time, Mav. You seem well.”

  “Lady Idwyn!” Mav resounded with a piercing smile that stretched his face.

  Aunt Idywn too returned the expression, a genuine smile that only on rare occasions did she display. “Why do you find yourself out here, my young friend? And of all things hiding in a bush.”

  He blushed briefly, then cleared his throat. “I was tasked with finding the Promised One. There are few travelers this time of year, only those with important business. We knew he was in Tentington, so I figured this was the group I was looking for. Confirming before confrontation is a good idea. I wouldn’t want to run into bandits.” He loudly coughed, then muttered, “That’s why I was in the bush.”

  “The only bandit here is you,” Royce said.

  Mav examined Royce. “Who’s the pip-squeak?”

  “What did you say?”

  “You’re right, I should have known you weren’t bandits with such a child in your party.”

  Royce ground his teeth. “You’re commenting on appearance, but you’re the strangest one here.”

  The size and maturity difference between the two was striking. The man of Citizen blood shrugged. “I’m quite normal. You’re the one who’s stunted.”

  Royce fumed, and it seemed but a moment until a brawl would break out.

  Aunt Idwyn cleared her throat. “The reason, Mav.”

  The man’s laid-back posture suddenly shot straight. “The Promised One is not welcome in Bardoo.”

  “What?” Artowen couldn’t help voicing his confusion.

  Aunt Idwyn smirked. “Surely that is not all. Continue.”

  “They have barred passage to the Band of the Promised One. Every trail and road is inaccessible, even to normal travelers.”

  “Quite serious, that old woman is.”

  “They didn’t tell me you would be here, Lady Idwyn. I’m sorry to bring you such spoiling news. My orders are to escort you back to the border.”

  “And if we continue forward?”

  “I’m to follow you as well. As your position of Truthsayer, you can force your way through, though that will take much time. I was so confused when they discussed it at the castle. Why wouldn’t they simply imprison the person they wanted to stop? Now it makes sense.”

  Aunt Idwyn put up a hand to forestall further discussion. She stood in silence, in deep contemplation. “They would not be able to block every path to the capital this soon. Even with time, that is an impossible task against a group this small.”

  Realization dawned on Mav’s face. “They said they could not secure the southern routes. That it would take too much time.”

  The Truthsayer smiled. “Then that is where we shall go. You will accompany us, won’t you, Mav?”

  An overenthusiastic nod that used the entirety of his body. “Of course, Lady Idwyn. The South is incredibly peaceful right now as well. I wasn’t supposed to say so, but for you I’d do anything.”

  Artowen’s brow narrowed. “How exactly do you know him, Aunt Idwyn?”

  Mav turned to face him with a gaping grin. “She’s my patron!”

  They rode south. Aunt Idwyn was at the front, followed by the rest of the band. Artowen smiled openly at Mav. He knew he could trust the Citizen born, not only because his aunt did, but because of the reverence he showed the Truthsayer. The man had even insisted on taking the lead, though he was rebuked.

  Emerii and Royce were uninterested in making conversation with their new companion, a fact that did not seem to bother Mav. But it did Artowen.

  “Aunt Idwyn is your patron, correct? She’s amazing, so I’m sure she has done much, but what in particular makes you hold her so highly?” He asked.

  “She gave me my freedom from being a slave and taught me most everything I know. Then got me in a good position as a royal runner. Keeps me well fed with a roof over my head.”

  “Sounds like you owe her everything.”

  The man nodded. “Nephew, huh? After I heard that, I could really see the resemblance.”

  Artowen lightly chuckled. “Did Aunt Idwyn not tell you about me?”

  Mav furrowed his brows. “I suppose she did. I’ve never been one to pay attention to prophecy who-ha, so your existence went out with that knowledge, I guess.”

  Artowen’s playful laughter transformed into a raucous chortle.

  Mav’s face paled as he shook his hands. “It’s not like that, Promised One! Plenty of folks believe you can unite the Kingdoms and beat back the Uxsons.”

  “Thanks for that, I suppose,” His joking tone remained as he ribbed the nervous newbie. “You were quite limber. I would enjoy a sparring match when next we make camp.”

  “I must decline.”

  Artowen frowned. “Why not? I’ll not take injury as an excuse, just look at me!”

  Mav began muttering to himself, then cleared his throat. “We must save our strength.”

  Artowen patted him on the back, continuing to laugh heartily and in good mood. This seemed to relieve their new companion as his shoulders lost their tension.

  A strange fellow, but jovial nonetheless. If only those two would welcome him as openly as Aunt Idwyn and I.

  With haste, they continued down the road, heading for their destination.