Marac took a deep breath, then exhaled even louder. “This is what I love. The countryside, the fresh, free air. Nothing like it.”
“I know what you mean.” Brice came up alongside Marac. “The flowers and the birds chirping. Can’t be replaced.”
“Keep sharp,” Laedron said, studying the distant tree line. “We’re turning westward, toward the forest. If we’re to find brigands, we’ll likely find them there.”
Marac reached out and patted Laedron on the shoulder. “Fret not, my friend. We’re behind you every step.”
Even though Marac’s words had been spoken playfully, they gave Laedron some comfort; he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather have at his side. Then, he glanced at Valyrie and felt as if he’d made a mistake by bringing her and leading her on a dangerous path into the wilderness. She’s grown, Lae, he thought, remembering Marac’s advice. She’s grown enough to make up her own mind. But am I grown enough to make her happy? To win her back when this is over?
“Let me see the map,” he said, opening his hand to Marac. Trying to steady himself in the saddle, he brought the parchment sketch near his eyes to see the finer details. “Myrdwyer isn’t listed here.”
“I asked the surveyor about that. He told me to stop dreaming of lost civilizations and buried treasure.” Marac took a stout pull on his canteen. “I hope we won’t end up chasing ghosts amidst the tall Lasoronian pines.”
“It’s there. Callista said it would be there, and we’ll find it.”
Marac narrowed his eyes. “What makes you trust the old woman?”
“The things she says and the way she says them. Somehow, I know her words to be true.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“We should keep our voices down for now,” Laedron said. “No way of knowing who might be listening.”
Nearing the tree line, Laedron took in the colors and shapes of the trees, and like all the others in Lasoron, the pines made him feel foreign to the land. They were nothing like the familiar oaks, birches, hickories, and dogwoods of his native Sorbia, and the evergreens were covered in needles of green or brown, a stark contrast to the forests of his home, which had leaves of every shade of rich green, brown, and red.
Though dark, gloomy, and daunting, the forest’s interior gave some shade from the summer sun, but it had a way of keeping in the humidity. The occasional bird fluttering through the woods put Laedron on edge, but he relaxed little by little the deeper they went, becoming accustomed to the ambient noises. Farther into the wood, the road worsened into a patchwork of holes, dirt, and loose gravel, causing the horses to stumble in places. The tree limbs grew closer to the ground as they traveled, and honeysuckles-their sweet smell penetrating his nostrils-reminded Laedron of Reven’s Landing, of home.
“We’ll have to slow up a bit,” Marac said, running his fingers through his horse’s mane. “Can’t risk an injury, to ourselves or to our horses.”
“We’ve been riding for a while now. May need to walk them for a while.” Brice gripped the reins and slowed to a halt. “Besides, we could pick up the pace a little if it weren’t for all these branches hitting me in the face.”
Laedron nodded, climbing down from the saddle, and the others did the same. He led them for another hour or two until the trees thinned enough-and the horses seemed rested enough-for them to mount up and ride again. Before climbing onto his gelding, he studied the ground. It’s nothing more than a lightly treaded trail at this point. Will we be able to find an ancient highway when the time comes? He decided to keep his thoughts to himself, for he saw no need or benefit in sowing doubt in his companions.
The trees and shrubs of the wood had a way of easing the passage of time, for Laedron found them far more interesting to observe than the open plains and cloudless sky. Much to Laedron’s dismay, the wind that had kept the humidity somewhat at bay had ceased. He picked the burs off of his clothes, but for each one he discarded, another one seemed to appear. A mixture of sap and sweat dripped slowly down his cheeks and neck, and annoyingly, his skin itched everywhere the stuff had accumulated.
Each step became accompanied by ever-taller grass, which he knew to be a sign that the path had seen few travelers in the recent months. After turning at a sharp bend in the road, he stopped at the beginning of an old stone bridge spanning a gentle brook.
“I wonder how long this has been here,” he said, then cleared his throat. He hadn’t said a word for over an hour, and his voice crackled from dryness and breathing the pollen from the pines.
Brice climbed down from his saddle and walked over to the bridge. Crouching, he said, “Old, but strong. It’s seen little upkeep, but it’s seen little traffic, too.”
“What about the other side?” Laedron stood in his stirrups, trying to get a better vantage point to see across the creek.
Marac, being a bit taller than everyone else, scanned the tree line beyond the stream. “It’s thick over there. There’s an opening near the bridge, but the trees have grown in tight.”
“Can we not rest here a while?” Valyrie asked. “I’m unaccustomed to riding such distances. I could use a break.”
Laedron nodded. “I wouldn’t normally want to stop, but we could benefit from fresh water near camp.”
“I think we should keep going for a while.” Marac turned to Laedron. “We’d be safer inside the woods. Better concealment and more cover. Out here, we’re in the open. Sitting ducks.”
“What if we make camp just behind us?” Laedron pointed at a rise above the water. “Less cover than the thickets, but faster access to the river if we need water.”
Narrowing his eyes, Marac studied the ridge. “Right. The height advantage will make up for the cover if we’re ambushed. Easier to defend the high ground.”
“Good.” Laedron pulled on his reins, steering his horse toward the bluff. “I hope the air runs cooler up there, too.”
* * *
Leaning against a pine, Laedron peered into the distance and watched the sun set behind the trees. He heard the rustling of leaves over the chirping of crickets and glanced over his shoulder to see Valyrie coming up behind him.
“I never thought you’d be one for sunsets,” she said, folding her arms.
It’s good to hear her voice again in a kind way, a tone I thought was lost to me. “No?”
She shook her head.
“Even sorcerers should appreciate the true beauty of the world. Spellcraft is only one facet of life, and to spend your entire life pursuing it-and nothing else-would be a waste.”
“Sounds as if you have made your choice.”
“Choice?”
She came alongside him. “To which world you will belong. Between the magical and the plain, it seems you would rather be part of the magical.”
“I have little choice now.” He turned to her. “I must complete the journey I began with Ismerelda.”
“Must you?”
He nodded. “If I don’t, I’m merely a curiosity, a strange and out-of-place vagabond. No, I cannot turn back now. Neither can you.”
Her brow wrinkled, but she said nothing.
“You’ve started along the path, also. Opened a door not easily closed.” He glanced at the wand sheathed at her hip. “Once you’ve felt the touch of magic, you’ll never be quite the same.” His heart filled with desire, hungry for her embrace.
She took a step back and gestured toward the camp. “They sent me to fetch you.” And withdrawn, once more, out of reach again. Damn my fool mouth. I should never have said anything.