~
IT WAS pleasant to have company, and the journey north was made lighter by the kind-hearted healers' wild food and strange music, their warm fires and the knowledge they were headed in the right direction.
The first time Amber cooked, the healers cleaned every plate, and the next night they silently begged her with their eyes to cook again. From then on she was the nominated cook for the group, while the bearded brothers returned from their evening foraging with armfuls of wild onions and herbs, berries and roots.
Miro couldn't believe these gentle men went wherever battles raged, where violent men fought each other with weapons of death. Their courage was of a kind he'd never encountered before, and his respect for them grew.
"Do you ever fight?" Miro asked the long-bearded man one night. He'd asked the man his name but been given only silence.
"No. Never. It is against our nature."
"What do you do if you're attacked?"
"Why would people attack us? We have no wealth, and we exist only to help."
"People aren't always good."
"Even violent people have good in them. They have simply allowed the darkness to dominate, if only for a time. Who are we to judge which side of a man's nature is stronger, whether on the scales of life he will have given the world more violence than love?"
Miro thought about all the men he'd killed. He had difficulty sleeping that night.
~
THE FIRST week saw the group of fourteen make their way through a land of rolling hills and green pastures. Villages and hamlets dotted the landscape, and the road was paved with smooth stones. Gokan was evidently a wealthy nation, with a large farming industry and a mill in every village.
The refugees told another story.
Frequently the party moved to the side of the road to let them pass. They travelled in groups large and small, with wagons pulled by lumbering beasts loaded to tilting point. These weren't just merchants and nobles — those who could take their wealth with them — their numbers now consisted of poor townsfolk and peasant farmers, who'd left everything they had by fleeing from their houses and farms, shops and mills.
On the eighth night, they were attacked.
It was a small group of men, barely Miro's age, come to see whether the travellers had anything worth taking. Miro was familiar with war-torn nations; he knew the sense of chaos provoked young men into thinking their deeds could go unpunished.
As they challenged the group, voices coming out of the darkness, Miro came forward. He knew their type. If the camp had consisted of rich merchants, they would have been robbed, and if they were women, they would have been raped.
He felt his blood rise, but remembered Amber's admonishments, and recalled the words of the long-bearded healer. These were young toughs, with a long life ahead of them. Yes, they were here to do harm to the defenceless, but Miro was a capable warrior. He could send them running, but let them live.
Miro returned to the camp after ten minutes, out of breath, but with a clean sword.
"I'm proud of you," Amber said later as they lay together beside the fire.
"I hope I did the right thing," Miro said. "What if they go on to harm someone else?"
"They won't. You scared the wits out of them."
"I hope you're right."
Amber reached out and squeezed his hand.
~
"WENGWAI lies ahead," said the long-bearded healer.
Miro squinted, but he couldn't see anything.
"When we turn here, we'll be on the main road."
"I thought we were on the main road?" Amber said.
"No, this was just the road connecting Maelan and Wengwai. The main road travels from Wengwai north to Monapea, capital of Narea, and south to Renton, the main border crossing into Veldria."
"How far?" Miro asked.
"To Wengwai? We'll be there tomorrow. Get some good rest tonight, tomorrow will be a difficult day. Have you ever been close to a battle?"
Amber looked at Miro. "Yes," she said. "We have."
~
WARY of the refugees, they moved deeper into the forest, but there were cliffs barring further ingress, and they were forced to make camp only an hour's walk from the crossroads.