The sounds of lapping waves and murmured voices roused Morwyn from a sound sleep. When her gritty eyes focused on Hazel's cot across the tent from her own she was disappointed to find it neatly made and her own was empty except for herself. She shook the remnants of her dream from her mind and stretched, pulling aside her cloak and blanket and stretching with a groan. The voices outside became clearer as the fog of sleep lifted from her mind. She focused on them as she dressed and donned her armor and equipment as quietly as she could manage.
“I know you'd like to see her, little one, but Miss Morwyn is resting. You can speak to her when she's up an around.” Hazel, silhouetted through the canvas by the morning sun, stood in front of the tent flaps with her arms spread defensively. A young boy's groan of disappointment brought a smirk to Morwyn's face as she secured her last buckle and pinned on her cloak. It had to be William's little brother. Her heart lifted knowing that he was already recovering from the previous night's terror.
“Samuel, listen to Hazel,” a man's voice gently chastised the child. “We want to see her too but it's rude to barge in on folk, especially this early in the morning.”
Morwyn stretched and adjusted her kit, making sure to create a bit more noise than usual. She cleared her throat and made her way toward the entrance with an expression of mock severity on her face. Throwing the tent flap wide, she stepped out and stood beside Hazel in a wide stance, her left hand on the hilt of her sword.
“Is there someone that needs to see me?” she asked, shading her eyes with her right hand as she looked about, pretending not to notice Samuel as he squirmed against his father's restraining hands. The man released his son like a hunter loosing a hound and the boy shot forward, wrapping her about the waist in a tight hug. She only just managed to catch his head and divert it so he didn't bounce his forehead off her cross-guard. Laughter sprung from her as she tousled his hair. Samuel giggled and looked straight up at her with a huge gap-toothed grin, his chin barely higher than her belt.
“Miss Morwyn, mama's gonna be okay because of you!”
Emotion welled within her at the words. All the pain, fear, and doubt in the world could never outmatch the innocent and unconditional gratitude of a child. She knew in that moment that every risk she took to protect the caravan would always be worth it. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she pried the boy's arms from her waist and knelt in front of him, placing her hands on his thin shoulders.
“I'm so happy to hear it! I did have lots of help though. Hazel and Argoth and especially your father were very brave. And so were you!”
Samuel threw his arms around her neck and squeezed with all his strength before letting go and running back to his father. The man scooped his boy up into his arms and spun him around twice before setting him back on the ground. He immediately took off and ran to the back of Hazel's cart, where William picked him up and placed him inside. Their father gave the women a nod of gratitude and followed his sons into the wagon to check on his wife. Morwyn rose to her feet as Hazel stepped up beside her, giving her hand a brief but affectionate squeeze.
“Moments like that are why I work as hard as I do,” the halfling murmured with a wistful smile.
“So the mother is alright?” Morwyn asked, unable to suppress the worry in her tone.
“Oh yes, of course! It was touch and go for a while, but I am good at what I do after all,” Hazel said plainly, without even the hint of a boast. “I got up a few times in the night to check on her. She's doing well, but she'll be wagon-bound for a week or more. Had to offload some of my supplies into other wagons to make room for her family. George will drive for me while William watches over Lily and Samuel.”
Hazel picked up a tin cup of coffee that looked suspiciously like Morwyn's from atop a barrel nearby. She took a tentative sip, nodded in satisfaction, and handed the cup to Morwyn before vaulting herself up to sit on the barrel. Morwyn shook her head with a smile and sipped the coffee herself. It was dark, almost thick enough to chew, and only slightly sweet. Just how she liked it.
“I shudder to think what life would be like without you here,” she said, leaning one hip against the barrel. “We'd all be three-quarters dead and suffering from substandard coffee.”
Hazel nudged her playfully, positively beaming. Morwyn stood beside her in silence for a moment as she took in the landscape around their hasty camp in the daylight.
It was similar to the geography on the other side of the Narrows with a few marked differences. The rolling hills between the sea and the mountains were taller but further apart, the grasses and scrub trees taller and more erratic, the rock formations seemingly more haphazard. The sea birds that circled and cawed overhead were more skittish, keeping a further distance from the caravan from before. There was a tinge of ruggedness to it all in a way that she couldn't quite place. It felt truly wild in a way that was different from the Southlands.
She turned her attention back to Hazel, who basked in the sunlight with her eyes closed.
“I take it we aren't leaving today,” Morwyn said, noting the lack of urgency around the camp as the caravaneers went about their morning chores. Hazel's eyes fluttered open and Morwyn realized she'd nearly fallen asleep sitting up. The halfling yawned and stretched lazily, holding out a hand for the coffee with a pleading look. Morwyn quickly obliged. The dark circles under Hazel's eyes told her that the halfling had done more than get up a few times to check on Lily.
“Rennock said we'll rest for a day. The Narrows took more of a toll than expected.” Hazel drank deeply from the tin cup and let out a pleased sigh before handing it back. “Can't say I'm upset about it. The view is spectacular.”
Morwyn breathed deeply of the salty air as the soft but steady wind blew loose strands of her hair about her face. They'd gotten off to a rough start but the journey was under way. She was still wary of what they'd face on the trail, let alone what she'd find at their destination, but with all she'd learned in the last few weeks she couldn't help but feel that there was a greater purpose to her labors. Her days of aimless wandering were over.
“The scenery is lovely,” she said, leaning discreetly toward Hazel. “But it doesn't hold a candle to present company.”
Morwyn was pleased to see a bloom of pink grace the halfling's cheeks. For once the shoe was on the other foot. She stood and stretched, careful not to knock Hazel off the barrel with her scabbard.
“I'm going to check in with the others. Need anything?”
“A feather bed and a bottle of gnomish whiskey,” Hazel replied with a chuckle. “Go on, do your job. You can't spend all morning calling me pretty. At least, not yet.”
Morwyn marveled at just how quickly Hazel had upset the scales once again. She rolled her eyes and tapped one finger on the halfling's nose before walking away, knowing that if she opened her mouth she'd lose the duel before it started. Hazel's soft laughter drifted behind her as she made her way toward Rennock's wagon where Argoth and Eronir stood as they ate their breakfast. Both Rennock and Trux were conspicuously absent.
“Mornin',” Argoth greeted her with a sly raise of an eyebrow. “Get your beauty sleep?”
“Plenty,” Morwyn replied evenly. “Though it looks like you could use an hour or two yourself.”
Eronir let out a decidedly undignified noise as he choked on a mouthful of eggs. He tried to cover it by looking sternly out across the grasslands as he noisily cleared his throat. Argoth's eyes narrowed at the elf.
“Laugh it up, you bastard,” he muttered under his breath before turning back to Morwyn. “Rennock and Trux have gone back to the Narrows to investigate the rockfall and clear the path. Said it would take a couple of hours. Ain't much to do until then besides keep watch or train. It's borin' here.”
“Safe, you mean,” Eronir corrected, having recovered from his indiscretion. “We have a rare moment where nothing is trying to kill us. Try and enjoy it.”
Morwyn set her coffee on the foot board of Rennock's wagon and lit a smoke, offering one to the others. The gesture was superfluous to Argoth with his enchanted tobacco case, though he graciously accepted anyway. Eronir surprised her by accepting as well as she'd never seen the elf smoke. She struck flint to steel and the three of them held their smokes against the ember in her charred cloth in turn. She dropped it to the ground and put it out with the toe of her boot as she gazed out to the east. She could just make out the spine of a mountain range in the far distance.
“What's the plan from here? If I recall, this leg of the journey should be close to ten weeks, right?”
“Aye,” Argoth replied with a toothy smile. “It's damn near a straight shot to the east, give or take a few detours. Couple of months of sore feet, empty stomachs, wild men, and wilder beasts. Then we're home.”
“Wild men?” Morwyn asked, frowning. That hadn't been something she considered.
Eronir gestured toward the rising sun with his smoke between two fingers.
“Though there are no established towns out here, there are some smaller settlements,” he explained. “Miners, loggers, hunters, what have you. They harvest the resources out here and send them back to the Southlands for profit. Some are friendly, some are not, but all are dangerous. It's why Rennock is trying to clear the Narrows. The last thing we'd want is to be blamed for interrupting their trade, even though it wasn't our fault.”
“And don't forget the greenbacks,” Argoth interrupted. “Nasty buggers.”
Seeing Morwyn's look of confusion, Eronir continued.
“Argoth's affectionate nickname for goblins and wild orcs. No love lost there, as you can see.”
Morwyn recalled Argoth's bloody history with the orcish clans to the north and thought better of asking for details, though she understood his distaste for goblins. She'd encountered quite a few of them in her time. They were vicious, cruel, warmongering bands of raiders and usurpers that brought death wherever they roamed. Many communities paid good money to have them hunted down if they were discovered in the area. Though Argoth wasn't the first civilized orc she'd encountered, she had yet to come across a goblin that wasn't a menace and most orcs took offense to the suggestion that their races were related.
“Alright, so we assume that everything here wants to kill us until proven otherwise.”
“That's about the shape of it,” Argoth grunted. “That's why we take our time and weed out the ones who don't have the guts for it before the Narrows, and keep an even closer eye on the children out here. It's a sad fact that some folks won't make it... but every last adult here will be in the bloody ground before we let harm come to the younglings.”
Morwyn nodded gravely. Though she hadn't broached the subject yet, she'd come to the same conclusion herself. The adults had all volunteered for the hardships ahead while the children had not. Her thoughts drifted to William and Samuel and all the other youths that brought life and laughter to their arduous days. She'd jump in front of an arrow for anyone in the caravan, but she'd happily take a dozen for any of the children.
“But enough of is dark talk,” Argoth said with a dismissive wave. “As borin' as it is, this is likely the last time we can relax for a while. Eronir and I will plan our route for the next few days. Keep an eye out of course, but you've got no official duties right now.”
Morwyn took the last drag of her smoke and twisted the ember out onto the ground, stamping it out as she had the charred cloth. She cracked her knuckles and rubbed her forehead, considering what she would do with the unexpected free time as she finished the last of her coffee. Deciding she'd figure something out after she had some food, she excused herself and made her way back toward the central fire where the cooks were serving breakfast. As she left she thought she heard Eronir mumble something under his breath and she turned around with her brow raised.
“What was that?”
Eronir waved her off sheepishly, but Argoth held a hand up to his waist and called out after her.
“He said you should write a poem for someone. About yea high, curly red hair-”
Argoth was abruptly cut off as Eronir elbowed him sharply in the stomach. Morwyn shook her head ruefully and resumed her march to the food line. Their antics faded from her mind as the smell of sizzling bacon enveloped her.
With the loss of the dwarven family that had been a large part of the food preparation the remaining cooks were working in overdrive, yet the extra work didn't appear to bother them and others had stepped in to pick up the slack. Gildur stood over a bubbling cauldron of gruel with a look of intense concentration as he stirred the thick oats with care, a pair of long leather gloves covering his gnarled hands up to the elbows. He looked up and gave Morwyn a polite nod, the braids of his long beard jostling as he did so. She rummaged in her pack for her mess kit then joined the line.
“Try no tah choke on this,” the dwarf said as he ladled a hearty portion of the steaming porridge into her bowl. “It be mah first time puttin' mah skills to use outside the forge in some time.”
“It'd be a shame for you to save my life with one hand and end it with the other,” she chuckled. The smith gave her a sardonic grin and shooed her on down the line. When she'd added several strips of thick bacon, a freshly baked biscuit, and a large read apple to her meal, she looked around to find a place to enjoy her breakfast.
Hazel was engrossed with examining a large splinter in someone's hand, best not to bother her while she was at work. Gildur's apprentices clanged away noisily at the portable forge in the back of the smith's wagon. Other members of the caravan made repairs to the wagons or stitched clothing or hauled water from a small stream that meandered down from the mountains and into the sea nearby. Not wishing to intrude on anyone's schedule, Morwyn made her way down to the beach to find a secluded spot to eat.
She was surprised to see Gildara and her sister on the sandy shore surrounded by a small gaggle of children and teens. The elven women each had longbows in hand and quivers of arrows on their backs. Their weapons were intricately painted with patterns of gold and silver vines, their arrows fletched with long white goose feathers. Several smaller bows and quivers, plain in design yet equally well made, leaned against a driftwood log beside the small group. Morwyn sat on an outcropping of stone and watched from a distance as she ate in silence.
“Alright now, listen up,” Gildara addressed the children. “You've been practicing for a while now and I think it's time for a contest. Don't break any arrows or Yvonne will have you fletching until your fingers fall off!” The elf's sister nodded gravely, eyeing the children in turn. They all murmured their understanding as they whispered excitedly amongst themselves. Morwyn watched on with amusement as the two elves organized their line of pint-sized archers and had them loose arrows at three sacrificial bundle of fabric not far down the beach. They gently gave gentle corrections or cheers of encouragement as the budding yeomen sought to outperform their peers.
When she'd finished her food Morwyn retrieved her whetstone from her pack and drew it down the length of her sword to hone the edge. It was a ritual she'd performed countless times over the years with various blades, and though she'd had this one for several years now, she eyed the weapon that lay across her lap with trepidation. Logically she knew there was nothing particularly special about the sword. She'd purchased it newly made from a small town armorer after she'd snapped the blade of her previous one during a particularly nasty fight with a thresher cat, yet as the sun glinted off the scratched and oiled surface of the well worn steel, a shiver ran down her spine.
She'd called the frost forth deliberately, and it had answered.
The blade was mundane but she was decidedly not... though, as Rennock had said, was that really a bad thing?
Morwyn could almost see the hue of the blade shift to a deep blue as she remembered the feeling. As she focused on the memory she could just barely feel the frigid well in her center where it had remained at the edge of her consciousness since the previous night. Contained. Lurking. Waiting for an opportunity to release. It pulsed like a second heartbeat as if in response to her probing. Her anxiety spiked as she reveled in the alien sensation. She looked around to see if anyone was watching and, satisfied that none were paying her any mind, she inhaled deeply then released a shaky breath.
A tool does no good locked up in a box, she thought as curiosity overcame her apprehension.
Morwyn called out to the frost, tentatively at first then with growing insistence, willing it to send its icy tendrils down her hands and into the sword. There was a pull from deep inside as the well responded instantly and released a rush of chilling energy through her body. She watched with awe as hoarfrost coalesced on the rings of her chain-mail sleeves, thickening as it reached the hilt of her sword then flashing along the length of the blade in an instant. The azure steel steamed in the warmth of the morning sun, fogging the air around it. It seemed to hum with a quiet insistence rather than crackle with violent energy as Argoth's conjured weapons did.
She gingerly tested the edge of the blade with her thumb and found it to be wickedly sharp, far more so than she could ever have managed with stone on steel. Blood welled on the pad of her thumb and froze instantly as she jerked her hand away from the sudden and excruciating pain. Her hand nearly felt on fire with the depth of the chill that radiated through it. Nervously, she held the sword further away from herself as she felt the well of frost within her slowly drain. After three or so minutes, just as the well felt nearly empty, the ice dissipated and warmth flooded back into her arms. The sharp pain in her left hand lessened but still lingered and her chest had an odd, hollow feeling to it.
“That's a neat trick. How do you manage it?”
She flinched hard and looked up in a brief panic. Gildara stood a few yards from her with her bow in one hand and the other on her hip, a curious smile on her delicate features. Morwyn released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and slowly returned her sword to its scabbard.
“It's... new to me. I still don't know much about it,” she explained, rising to her feet and brushing the frost from her hands. Gildara gave her a warm smile and a shrug.
“I see. Please forgive the prying, I was simply curious. Yvonne and I would like to invite you to join us if it's not an inconvenience.”
Morwyn looked beyond the elf to the gaggle of giggling archers. Though many of their arrows were firmly lodged within the improvised targets, plenty were scattered in the sand around them. The young girls and boys teased and taunted each other as Yvonne watched on with glowing pride.
“I'm not sure I'd be competitive, even against children,” Morwyn chuckled. “It's been years since I've handled a bow.”
“Perfect time to get some practice then! It's a skill I'm sure will be necessary in the coming days,” Gildara said as she took Morwyn by the arm and led her toward the firing line. Though surprised by the insistence, she didn't resist. “We'll need all the hunters we can get. My sister and I can't feed us all and, believe it or not, Lady Trux is lousy at sneaking up on wild game.”
Gildara presented her to the line of archers with a flourish as Morwyn stood by awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with her hands.
“Miss Shrike has agreed to join the contest,” the elf declared dramatically to whoops and cries from the young ones. She was pleased to see that William and Samuel were both present and felt a bloom of affection as they cheered louder than the rest. Yvonne sized her up with an analytical gaze and held up one finger.
“Just a moment. I've got the perfect bow for you.”
Morwyn watched as the bowyer took off toward the caravan with the grace and speed of a running deer. She felt a twinge of jealousy for an instant, certain that she herself moved like a troll in comparison. Elves had always fascinated her though their effortless poise threatened to turn her green with envy. Gildara's velvet voice brought her attention back to the firing line.
“To make things fair I think Miss Shrike should have a bit of a challenge. Shall we move the center target a bit further away?” The crowd of little ones agreed in unison and carefully laid down their bows and arrows before running off to do as they were bid. Morwyn's heart sank the further they dragged the cloth bundle but she didn't protest. If she made a fool of herself, so be it.
Yvonne returned a moment later and offered Morwyn a quiver of arrows a bow that was of an entirely different design than the others. It was wrapped in black leather and bound tightly with sinew on either side of the riser. Rather than the single sturdy curve of a longbow, the limbs reflexed aggressively forward toward the ends. The tips were reinforced with horn caps affixed over the layered wood that showed above the leather wrap.
“I've never seen a bow like this,” Morwyn said, turning it over in her hands and testing the weight. The resistance was stout but not nearly as challenging as a proper war bow. She'd never managed to bring her father's to full draw, though not for lack of trying.
“And you likely won't again,” Yvonne replied with a hawkish grin. “I won it in a contest against a Timidari horseman. They're excellent archers and are unrivaled on horseback. He shouldn't have challenged me with both feet on the ground.”
Morwyn's initial reluctance to join the contest faded quickly. She laid the bow down carefully before removing her pack, cloak, and baldric, then held her arms up as Yvonne buckled the straps of the quiver around her chest. She tested her reach to the nocks of the arrows over her right shoulder. Though her armor hindered the movement slightly, it wasn't enough to be bothersome. She retrieved the bow and stood ready for instruction.
“To the line,” Gildara prompted. Morwyn obliged, placing the toe of her left boot against the one of the driftwood branches that marked the firing line. The children's buzz of excited conversation quieted as they watched. Morwyn couldn't help a bit of flush rising in her cheeks as she was once again the center of attention.
“Knock,” Yvonne instructed. She adjusted Morwyn's stance slightly and when she was satisfied she gave the next command. “Draw.”
Morwyn flexed her back and shoulders as she drew the bowstring back and sighted along the shaft of the arrow, the first knuckle of her thumb resting against her cheek. Her collarbone twinged in protest though the pain was mild enough to bear. She held bow at full draw for but a second before the children called out the final command as one.
“Loose!”
Though she truly hadn't drawn a bow for many years, her fingers and muscles remembered the long afternoons of practice with her brothers and sisters in the decades before she'd left her homeland. She released the bowstring without disrupting its path as the fletching kissed her cheek. She knew instinctively before the arrow landed that it was a good shot and smiled with satisfaction as it struck home at the center of the cloth bundle, sinking to the fletching in the soft material. The children around her let out a riot of cheers as they danced about in excitement.
“Out of practice, my arse,” Gildara said under her breath with a chuckle as Yvonne shook her head in disbelief. Morwyn shrugged sheepishly, just as bewildered as the two elves.
“Call it beginner's luck,” she replied. “I promise I wasn't being modest. That was a fluke.”
“Five gold says you can't do that again,” Yvonne offered with a daring smile.
Morwyn accepted the challenge with a nod and nocked another arrow, understanding that the bet was ceremonial in nature. Neither woman would likely have the opportunity to spend the coin for a long time anyway. She took a few breaths to focus herself before she loosed the second arrow. As she'd anticipated it was nowhere near as accurate as the first, though the arrow still struck the target. There were moans of disappointment from the young crowd but Gildara was quick to distract the children by lining them up beside her and having them loose their own little arrows once more. Yvonne gave Morwyn a wry smile as she counted out the gold and placed it in the bowyer's expectant palm.
They practiced their archery together until the children's fingers and arms were too sore to continue and they wandered off to play elsewhere or help their parents with chores. Morwyn carried on her training with the elven twins for some time longer. They were phenomenal with their bows, landing shot after shot from distances and angles that Morwyn wouldn't dream of attempting herself. She stuck to the basics as she warmed herself back into the craft and was pleased as her accuracy continued to improve. By the time they collected their final volley of arrows and Yvonne called a halt to their practice, it felt like she'd welcomed an old friend back into her life.
“Thank you both for the opportunity,” she said earnestly, rolling her shoulders and offering her bow back to Yvonne. The bowyer gave her a long, contemplative look as she bit her lip in thought.
“You keep it,” the elf replied decisively. Morwyn's brows shot up in surprise.
“I couldn't-” she began to protest.
Yvonne rolled her eyes and brushed her dark hair back from her forehead. Frustratingly, the elves hadn't even broken a sweat while Morwyn herself dripped with perspiration.
“I want you to have it. It's a fine bow but it's just a trophy to me and I prefer the longbow anyhow. I'd rather you put it to use than have it collect dust in the back of our wagon.” Yvonne's stern tone brooked no argument. Morwyn acquiesced with a humble smile.
“Thank you. I'll find a way to repay you- both of you- for your kind gifts,” she said, bowing her head to the twins in turn.
“There is a way to repay us and our gifts might help with that task,” Gildara laughed as she unstrung the youth bows and wrapped them in a neat bundle. “Keep us alive until we reach the east.”
“I certainly intend to,” Morwyn replied with a grimace. “If I fail, I'm pretty sure Gildur will slip poison my porridge and Eronir will scribble down every vile thing that rhymes with my name.”
Yvonne let out a snort of laughter as her sister flushed scarlet and suddenly found the sea to be quite interesting. Morwyn grinned as she stooped to retrieve her equipment and paused when she saw two familiar forms approaching from the slope that led back up to the Narrows. She quickly donned her gear with some help from the sisters to route the straps of her baldric around her new quiver before excusing herself. She dropped off her pack beside Hazel's wagon and jogged up to the front of the caravan to meet with Rennock and Trux.
Training at archery had occupied her mind and body for most of the day, but she found herself itching for any news regarding the journey ahead.