I turned back to Oliver and let his silence speak for him. “Did I make a mistake?”
He picked up my sword from a low table against the wall and tossed it to me. I caught it at the hilt and rolled my wrist, testing the weight and familiarity. Arrick’s men must have returned them to us while we spoke.
“It remains to be seen,” Oliver admitted. “But keep your blade close.” He nodded at my satchel on the floor behind me. “And your possessions closer.”
A few minutes later we mounted borrowed steeds. Arrick rode at the front, while Oliver and I rode in the middle, either still imprisoned or protected. I couldn’t be sure.
With a click of his throat and a call of command, Arrick led us into the forest. Our horses were born and bred in Tenovia. Slimmer than Heprin’s steeds, they were reared to pick their way through the tangled forest. Their fat hooves remained steady through the rough terrain and their long legs easily stepped over the white roots that blocked the paths.
By early evening we’d cleared the Blood Woods and found the road again. Arrick’s caravan stayed to the right of the road and moved through Tenovia with a grace and authority that continued to surprise me.
By the end of the first day, we had recovered our lost time and set a steady course toward my homeland.
I was back on the right path.
And yet, looking at the dark head of the rebel commander, I felt more upended than ever.
10
After a week of traveling, our caravan had fallen into a routine. Or rather, Oliver and I had adapted to the stringent schedule of the rebel army.
We woke before dawn and set out on the main roads, unafraid of law enforcement. At first, I had been surprised at the support the Tenovian people showed for the rebel army. People would often wave as we passed and when we stopped near an inn, the inn keeper would send out hot food and cold drinks.
When I was at the monastery, I’d heard a few rumors of the rebel army from workers passing through. But their whispers were usually terrifying tales of beheaded soldiers and robbed carriages.
I had been justifiably wary of them until I accidentally became one of them.
In fact, most of the men in Arrick’s army had military experience. They’d either retired from their own country’s service or defected, making quite a few of them men with prices on their heads.
I had expected a cruel, barbaric group of men that wanted to kill anything that looked at them strangely and stayed warm by using the severed limbs of fallen enemies to kindle their fires.
Instead, I found men that respected life and respected each other. They helped stranded wagons by repairing wheels or rescuing them from the mud. They assisted with needed repairs as we passed through villages. They spent time every morning and evening practicing their fighting skills and sharpening blades. And they’d abandoned their countries because they believed this was a better solution… a better campaign for peace than anything else.
I shifted on my saddle, wincing at the pain shooting through my thighs and back. Shiksa resettled herself in the folds of my cloak, digging her tiny claws into the fabric so she didn’t bounce off. A week on horseback had made me appreciate the simplicity of walking.
A quick glance at Oliver proved that he was in the same shape, if not a bit worse off. He looked visibly pained as he bounced around atop his mare. She was as gentle as any horse I had ever seen, but Oliver’s body seemed to be at war with the movements beneath him.
He gave me a sour look. “One shall not complain about one’s circumstances. They can always get worse.” He wiggled in his saddle. “One of the first wisdoms of the Temple.”
I watched him for a minute as he steered his mare crookedly on the road. He couldn’t seem to walk in a straight line to save his life. With my sweetest voice, I told him, “By listening to you, one would never know you struggled not to complain.”
He wrinkled his nose. “It could be worse. I do believe that.”
I laughed. “How?”
“We could still be trapped in that tree with a gigantic wildebeest relentlessly ramming our haven.” His gaze lifted to meet mine. “Or worse yet, it could have already dragged us back to its cave to mash our brains and feast on our insides.”
“You are wise, Oliver the Silent. It could be worse.”
A horse, whose name I learned was Thief, rode up alongside me, pulling my attention to the other side. The steed was magnificent. The bronze coat shone in the late morning sun and the dark mane shimmered as it trotted along with perfect obedience. “Good morning, Commander,” I murmured to the rider.
Arrick smiled at me. “Good morn, Stranger. And how is your ride today?”
I swallowed down a fair amount of misery to reply, “Fine. Just like yesterday. And the day before.”
This was part of our daily routine. While Arrick spent the majority of his time with his men, commanding and dictating and doing whatever else it was that he did, he consistently stopped by to inquire after my wellbeing. His questions remained the same. As did my answers.
He chuckled. “Are you used to riding, then?”
