“Mother!”Foreterran groaned.“Please…Are the horses ready?”he called out.
Halithe ducked her head for fear she would laugh out loud at their expressions.She helped Ila walk over the grass to a clear place, as the horses were led to the departure point.
“The horses are fed and our supplies re-stocked.”Aramal said.“Are we leaving?”
Halithe nodded and bit her lip, eagerly awaiting the rituals and gestures she’d seen in the courtyard of the Palace.
Ila snapped her fingers and a portal flared into existence from nothing, white gossamer swirling in the air.
Aramal took a step back, surprised; the horses didn’t seem to care.
“But,” Halithe protested.“The gestures, the chants—”
“You want gestures?”Ila chortled.“Whooooo,” she said, lifted her arms, started to sway in a dance, and lost her balance.Obeda and Forterran caught her before she fell.
“Lead your horses through,” Foreterran said.“I’ll scry and keep an eye on you.May your will be strong and the power bright.”
“May your focus never waver,” Ritathan said, taking the reins of his horse and disappearing through the portal.
Aramal paused.Halithe looked at him, her eyebrows raised.
“Never done this before,” he muttered.
“I’ve only ever been shoved through one,” she offered.“But it didn’t hurt.”
He snorted, then stepped forward, leading his horse.She followed, with a wave goodbye.The portal felt cool against her skin, and a bit disorienting, but that was momentary.Next thing she knew she was standing near a road, in a thickly wooded area.
The portal closed with a “pop.”
“Right then,” Ritathan announced.“We are a scribe, his daughter-apprentice, and his manservant, seeking to flee the chaos behind us.”
“Yes, Papa,” Halithe said.
“If you think for one minute, that I am acting as your manservant, you have another think coming,” Aramal said.
“Aye, like a cross-bolt to the chest,” came a deep voice from the trees.
With a rustle of branches, masked warriors emerged, all aiming crossbows at the three travelers.
Chapter Twenty
The Black Hills
Halithe held her breath, waiting with horrific anticipation for the masked men to become living torches of fire.
Nothing happened.
To her disappointment, Ritathan just lifted his chin.“Greetings.I am a wandering scribe, with his daughter and manservant, and we—”
“Yeah, we heard that part,” said a dark, sardonic voice.“Try again.”
“Sorcery,” spat one archer.“Shoot’em.”
“Nah, get answers, then shoot’em.”said another.
Aramal stepped forward, squinting in the afternoon light.“Rasfel, is that you?”
“Aramal?”one of the masked men lowered his crossbow in surprise.“You find a new way to transport wine?”
