They both patted Pergwick on the shoulder, then moved to join the others. The group of six was off the glacier that same night, moving determinedly south. The weather stayed warm over the next couple of days, and they encountered no trolls, and so they made great progress, despite the soreness from their fight with Badden and the more serious wounds, which Milkeila’s people had treated very well. Even Brother Jond, sightless though he was, walked with a spring in his step and took up hearty and spirited conversations with the two powries.
“You will return to your wife?” Milkeila asked Bransen a couple of days out.
“The moment I deliver this”-he jostled the small pack tied to the side of his pouch, one that contained the head of Ancient Badden-”and she grants me the passage, as promised.”
“You will sail far away?”
“As far as I can.”
“To where?”
That question seemed to startle Bransen.
“Are you running to something or away from something?” Milkeila asked, as Cormack walked over.
“The two are not mutually exclusive,” Bransen replied.
“But the distinction is important.”
Bransen shrugged as if he didn’t agree.
“You are a man of marvelous skills-important skills in this trying time,” Cormack added.
“All times are trying.”
“Then all times call for heroes, else all will be lost,” Milkeila said.
Bransen snorted. “The way of the world is the way of the world and beyond any one man.”
“That seems a pointless outlook,” said Cormack.
“It is one I have come by through bitter experience.”
Milkeila quickly added, “You have been given a great gift and have never thought to turn it to the benefit of all?”
Bransen considered his time in Pryd Holding, when he first earned the title of the Highwayman, when he spent his days stealing from the laird and distributing the booty to the unfortunate peasants, crushed under the weight of his heel, and he could not help but laugh. That laugh quickly soured, though, for he could not help but admit that even then, the good of the people was more a vehicle for his own ego than truly for the good of his people.
“We just saved the people of Mithranidoon,” Milkeila reminded.
“And with positive ramifications that will spread throughout the whole of Vanguard, no doubt,” Cormack added. “You cannot deny that we did indeed just changed the world for the better. The bloody head you hold in your belt pouch is no small matter-perhaps it is in the measure of the centuries, but it certainly is not a small matter to the people of this day and age and region.”
Bransen snickered and waved them away. His road was to his beloved Cadayle and to Callen. His responsibilities were to them, and to himself. The idea that he owed anyone else anything seemed on its surface preposterous-how many people in the world had ever shown the young Stork compassion and service?
As the two walked off, Bransen looked around at his fellow heroes and poor Brother Jond, the only other survivor of the band that had come north on the command of Dame Gwydre. He thought of Crait and Olconna and couldn’t help but grin as he considered Crazy V.
He tried to deny it but could not. He had found a strange comfort and warmth in being a part of that lost group. And as much as Bransen told himself that he was only along on the mission for the sake of Cadayle and his family… He had hesitated at the bluff overlooking the glacier, yes, but in the end, he had gone down to do battle with Badden.
And in the process, he had formed a new bond with this competent group. He couldn’t deny the warmth.
He felt like he belonged.