Kalzara
patreon
MoftheH: Chapter 14
🕑 Added 2024-03-13 02:51:45 +0000 UTCDarian's eyes fluttered open as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the shutters. He sprang out of bed, excitement buzzing through him. Today was the day - the journey to Arbrook for the academy entrance examination.
He threw on his clothes and ran down the stairs, the aroma of his mother's cooking drawing him to the kitchen like a magnet.
"Morning, Ma!" Darian slid into his seat at the table, grinning ear to ear.
Mara smiled as she set a plate in front of him. "You're up early. Eager to get going?"
Darian nodded, shovelling a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Where's Talia? Still snoozing?" He looked around for his little sister.
As if on cue, Talia came padding into the kitchen, rubbing her sleepy eyes. "G'morning," she yawned, plopping down next to Darian.
Mara ruffled Talia's unruly curls. "Big day for your brother. You excited, sweetie?"
"Yeah!” Talia perked up. “Big brother’s gonna ace that test and become a big important person in the kingdom."
Being an important person in the kingdom seems like a dream, I’d settle for securing a high position in the city.
"Just you wait. I'll be running the kingdom in no time," Darian winked at her.
Mara chuckled. "Now, now, one step at a time. Focus on passing the exam first, you’ll soon see it’s the first of many." She turned to Talia. "And you, missy, we will be hitting the books while your brother is gone."
"Aw Ma,” Talia pouted. “I wanna go with Darian! Why can't I come to the city too?"
"Because," Mara said gently but firmly, "your studies are important. You want to grow up smart like your brother, don't you?"
"I guess," Talia sighed. She turned pleading eyes on Darian. "Will you tell me all about it when you get back? Every single detail?"
"'Course I will, promise." He held out his pinkie and they locked fingers.
A heavy knock on the door made Darian leap to his feet. "That must be Breck! I'll get it." He dashed to the front of the house and flung the door open.
Sure enough, the burly blacksmith stood there, his cart hitched and ready. "Mornin' lad. All set?"
"Yes sir! Let me just grab my things." Darian raced back inside, snatched up his pack, and bid a hasty goodbye to his mother and sister. "Be good, Talia. Mind Ma, y'hear?"
"I will. Good luck, Darian!" Talia hugged him fiercely.
Mara embraced him next, holding him close. "You've got this, son. Your pa would be proud of you." Her voice wavered with emotion.
Darian swallowed the lump rising in his throat. "Thanks, Ma. I'll do my best, for all of us."
With one last wave, he hopped into Breck's cart, and they set off. As they rolled through the village square, folks called out their well-wishes.
"Knock 'em dead, Darian!"
"Arbrook won't know what hit 'em!"
"We're all rooting for ya, lad!"
Darian waved back, feeling more confident than ever with their support. I can do this. I WILL do this.
Just as they reached the edge of the village, a familiar figure came sprinting up. "Dar, wait!"
It was Thomas. The orphan boy skidded to a stop, panting. "Glad I caught you. Wanted to say... good luck, and... here." He thrust a small pouch into Darian's hand.
Darian peered inside to find a collection of smooth pebbles, each with a strange symbol etched into it. "What are these?"
Thomas grinned. "Lucky charms. Found 'em by the river. Figured they might help with the test."
"Thanks, Thomas. I'll keep 'em close," Darian tucked the pouch safely into his pack.
"You better." Thomas punched his arm. "Show them city boys how us village boys do it, yeah?"
"I'll do my best."
With a final clasp of hands, Thomas stepped back and Breck flicked the reins. The cart lurched forward, carrying Darian away from the only home he'd ever known.
***
The road to Arbrook stretched long before them, Breck made idle chatter as he guided the horse, pointing out landmarks.
"See that tree shaped like a hunched ol' man? Means we're about halfway to the Whispering Woods."
Darian nodded, only half-listening. His mind buzzed with questions about the exam, imaginings of the grand city. What kind of challenges will they throw at us? How many other kids my age will be there? What if-
"Alright, lad, here's where we gotta make a choice," Breck said, pulling Darian from his thoughts.
Ahead, the road split cleanly into three diverging paths. An old signpost marked them: Beggar's Way, Peddler's Run, Merchant's March. All supposedly led to Arbrook.
"Usually I take Peddler's Run, but... what d'you think, lad?” Breck scratched his chin. “Merchant's March looks mighty tempting."
Darian considered for a moment. Merchant's March sounded fancier, probably smoother and more direct. But it was also unknown. Untested.
He shook his head. "I think we better stick with Peddler's Run. We can't afford to get lost or delayed, not with the exam tomorrow."
Breck raised an eyebrow. "You sure? Merchant's March could shave off an hour or two. An' it's gotta be safer, what with all them rich folk usin' it."
Darian chewed his lip, torn. The idea was tempting. But...
"No," he said firmly. "Ma always says better safe than sorry. I don't want to risk it. Peddler's Run has gotten you to Arbrook plenty of times before, right?"
"Aye, that it has," Breck conceded.
"Then that's the way we should go. I won't gamble with this chance, Breck. It means too much."
Breck looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright lad. Peddler's Run it is. Gotta say, that's a wise choice. Your ma raised you right."
Darian ducked his head, warmed by the praise. "She sure did. And Pa..." He swallowed. "He always said a man's best compass is his gut. Gotta trust it."
"Sure do," Breck agreed. He flicked the reins and steered the cart onto the Peddler's Run. "Stick to the tried and true, as my old da used to say. It'll get you where you need to go."
As they followed the route, the landscape gradually shifted, plains giving way to denser forest. Darian found himself scanning the treeline, senses pricked.
Snap. Rustle.
Were those footsteps crunching over leaves? He strained to hear over the cart's creaking wheels.
"You alright, lad?" Breck glanced back. "Look a mite tense."
"Thought I heard something," Darian muttered. "Watching our flank, is all."
"Probably just wildlife," Breck said easily. "Plenty of critters roam these woods. Nothin' to fret over."
I dunno. Can't shake this feeling... Darian chewed his lip, debating whether to voice his hunch aloud. "Breck, d'you see those tracks there?" He pointed to faint impressions in the dirt, hardly visible from the road. "Could be fresh..."
Breck leaned over for a better look. "Aye, I 'spose they could. But Darian, these parts see plenty of travellers. Merchants, peddlers, all sorts goin' to and from-"
"I know. But look at the spacing, the depth. Multiple people, lightly burdened. Moving quickly." The clues added up in Darian's mind, a grim picture taking shape. "What if... what if it's bandits lying in wait? I heard Flint Tolleson complain last market day about a spate of robberies on the southern roads..."
"Ah, Flint's always bellyachin' about something," Breck dismissed with a wave. "An' bandits tend to stalk lonelier trails, not common thoroughfares so close to town."
Darian wanted to believe him. But his hunter's instincts prickled with warning, every nerve urging caution. Bandits are desperate folk. With the poor harvest and the king hiking taxes again... They might be getting bolder. More ruthless.
He thought of the light coin pouch tucked in his pack, the hard-earned coppers his mother had scraped together for the journey. Of Breck, who'd generously offered to take him to Arbrook. We're not rich, but to some we might seem an easy target...
Darian shook himself. You're just jumping at shadows. Like Breck said, we'll be fine-
A blood-curdling screech ripped through the air, as sudden and vicious as a knife to the gut. The horse whinnied in panic, its hooves lashing out as it threatened to overturn the wagon. Breck swore, fighting for control of the reins.
"What in the seven hells-"
Darian had only a split second to register the danger before dark figures exploded from the underbrush on either side of the path. The glint of naked steel, the whites of wild eyes in dirt-smeared faces-
"Bandits," Darian breathed, his worst fears had manifested.
The leader bared his yellow teeth in a feral grin as he levelled his sword at them.
"Afternoon, gents. Lovely day for a stroll, ain't it? 'Fraid we'll be relieving you of your goods and chattel." He cocked his head, mock-apologetic. "Rough times, you understand. Be good lads and hand it over quiet-like, and we'll be on our way."
Maybe Breck was right, Darian thought with a sinking feeling. We should have taken Merchant's March after all. But then the bandit leader spoke again, shattering that notion.
"Truth is, we had all three roads staked out. Just your rotten luck you happened to pick the one with yours truly lying in wait." The bandit chief's mouth twisted wryly. "Then again, maybe you should count your blessings. My crew's got twice the numbers on those other paths. So..." He shrugged. "Guess it's up to fate whether you're lucky or unlucky to be stuck with just me an' my boys here."
Breck raised his hands slowly, "Now, now, friends, let's all stay calm. We're just humble folk, hereabouts. Ain't got much to our name but we're willing to share what we can-"
Is he crazy? We can't give in to their demands!Darian's mind raced, trying to count the number of brigands, gauge the odds. At least half a dozen, clearly ready to do whatever it took even if it meant killing women and children. Against one boy and an aging blacksmith...the odds don’t look good.
Breck kept talking, stalling for time as he angled himself protectively in front of Darian. The horse stamped and snorted, eyes rolling in panic. The bandits spread out, encircling the cart like wolves scenting a kill.
No. I won't let it end like this, Darian’s hand reached down towards the hunting knife sheathed at his hip.
The leader smirked. "Enough chatter, old man. Boys - collect the debt."
The bandits rushed forward, yelling and waving their weapons. Darian felt an odd sense of calm come over him. He knew what needed to be done. For his village, his family. For himself.
