While there was some truth to that, they knew which direction led to Zesh’s host, and a sizable camp would be hard to hide once they closed in. He couldn’t imagine any information these travelers might have that would be worth camping with them for the night.
But it was happening, like it or not. He wasn’t the one calling the shots. So he would just have to wait it out, and hope that none of these musicians were too annoying—though he did not have high hopes.
One of the elves in the troupe sidled up to Alwyn; his smile wasn’t as broad as the orc’s had been, but he was still a far cry from the stoic elves of the Library. He had wavy auburn hair that looked like it had once been cut to frame his face, but had long since grown out; his eyes were warm and entirely too cheerful, crinkling as he smiled. He looked like he was probably about the same age as Alwyn, a hint of softness in his face that suggested his childhood was not so far behind him yet.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see any elves not part of our troupe until we arrived in Drol Kuggradh. What’s your group doing so far from home?”
Alwyn hesitated, then decided that sticking with the story they’d established would be best.
“We’re gathering alchemical ingredients,” he said simply. The other elf waited for a beat, as if expecting him to elaborate. When he said nothing else, his smile became a little nervous, but he continued on.
“Well, I suppose it’s quite fortuitous we all ran into each other, then. Luckily, we haven’t had any, er, incidents, but there’s always more safety in numbers.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Alwyn said stiffly, glancing away. There was another beat of silence before the other elf spoke again.
“I’m Cheryth, by the way,” he said. “What’s your name?”
He didn’t want to say, but he figured it would be too conspicuous to be rude. The last thing he wanted was more unwanted attention from the other troupe members, or worse, admonishment from Galred. “Alwyn.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Alwyn,” Cheryth said, nudging his horse forward a little more. “I’m going to say hello to everyone else, too. I’ll see you around the fire tonight.”
Alwyn only nodded, watching him come up alongside Galred and Daine, who greeted him politely.
Was he the only one who thought this was a bad idea? Or maybe the others were just better at acting pleased.
He glanced up ahead to see Krujha and T’Kar still chatting away near the front of the group now, as if they were old friends. Something in him ached at seeing them. He didn’t want friends, and didn’t exactly wish he was better at making friends, but seeing how easily two strangers could get along within minutes of meeting made him feel... Not quite jealous, but he wasn’t sure how else to identify the uncomfortable feeling that spread through the pit of his stomach.
But he had seen how quickly Krujha’s entire persona had changed before. Maybe this was just another performance—not that the thought made him feel any better.
Alwyn let his horse plod along at a placid pace, so that he was at the very tail end of the throng following the carts. He didn’t want to have to awkwardly introduce himself to anyone else. He didn’t want to be here at all. He found himself thinking back to the adventure book—imagining Blythe Everwood on the high seas, waltzing onto the pirate ship that had intercepted him as if he owned it. Like he belonged wherever he went.
They ended up making camp earlier than Alwyn would have expected, but he supposed it was harder to find a place for a group this size to safely set up camp. When the wagons were parked and the tents started coming up, the largest wagon suddenly burst open.
“I heard we have guests tonight!”
The human man who emerged from the wagon could only be Dorian Veras himself; from Daine’s brief description, Alwyn had been imagining someone younger. But this human was an old man, his brown skin deeply lined and wrinkled. His head was bald on top, but with short gray hair along the sides and back. His deep purple robes, while flashy and finely made, looked to be an older style and were just a bit too tight around his stomach.
Still, the man had a palpable presence about him, a charisma that flowed outwards as he stepped down from his wagon and into the camp, beaming at the newcomers. To Alwyn’s surprise, music floated in the air along with a lyre just behind him, violet sparkles shimmering in the air around it as it was magically plucked.
What didn’t surprise Alwyn was that Krujha was the first to address the man. “We’re so glad to be in such esteemed company.”
Dorian’s wide smile only grew, his lyre strumming peacefully behind him. “A warmest of welcomes to you all. And please accept my apology for not greeting you sooner. When you get to my age, it takes a little longer to get your battle armor on, you know.”
He winked at Krujha, who laughed. Then he turned to the rest of his troupe.
“Places, people!” he called, though there was no hint of malice or discipline in his voice. “And who’s on dinner duty?”
Alwyn purposely found a place for his tent a little ways away from the others, to shield himself from the flurry of activity. The camp was set up quickly, a roaring bonfire in the center—and somehow, a stage set up nearby as well. It looked a little rickety; and though not especially tall or large, it was big enough for three or four people to share as they performed.
Alwyn could not deny that the human was a wonderful singer. As the bard serenaded the bustling camp, he noted that the human’s magical ability must have been finely honed for him to be able to play his lyre without using his hands. His voice was rich and warm, filling the air as fully as if they were in a symphony hall. The orc who had greeted them, T’Kar, had taken up a place just behind Dorian and was accompanying him on a drum.
As Dorian sang, the rest of the camp seemed to come alive around him. Campfires were stoked as tents quickly sprang up, and the horses were all gathered together to graze. The smell of cooking permeated the air as a handful of the troupe started preparing a meal. The rest joined in on the merriment all throughout the camp, singing or playing instruments to accompany Dorian.
Alwyn watched it all from the stump near his tent, and luckily no one came to him as he sat and observed. As his eyes scanned the crowd, he counted seven orcs, four elves, and five humans—plus Dorian, who seemed to stand apart in Alwyn’s mind, perhaps because of his dominating presence. A strange, eclectic mix—he wondered how many orcs would stay behind in the wildlands come spring.
Once the food was being passed around, Alwyn finally ventured from his spot and quietly joined the line. Three stations had been set up over fires: a scoop of wild rice, a scoop of stewed greens, and a generous chunk of spiced mutton. It was a hearty meal compared to the light rations they’d been living off of the past few days, so Alwyn ate slowly, trying to savor each bite.
He was nearly done when Dorian was replaced by different performers and finally stepped off stage to have his own supper. Alwyn recognized one as the elf who had introduced himself, Cheryth, but not the orc who joined him onstage. This one was tall and broad, like most of the other orcs. His head was partly shaved to show the tattoos on either side of his skull, descending down his neck and disappearing into his black tunic. Both Cheryth and the orc held lutes in their arms; the elf’s was sized to his smaller body and was finely made, the wood polished to a luminous shine and with decorative engraving along the body, while the orc’s was a much larger, plain, and practical thing.
