"There is a sword strapped under the buckboard," Filgot said. He leaned back on the seat and abruptly returned to straight when the wheels found a rut in the road.

"There are rules against such things," Kelton said as he steered the team left, avoiding a larger divot. It was an easy maneuver since the horses desired to skip the hole as well.

"Aye, arming property is frowned upon," Filgot agreed. "That's why I'm telling you where it is. If trouble comes, you can arm yourself, and I'm not to blame."

"It's a fine line you walk."

Filgot laughed. "At least this way, I can walk it. Two swords are better than one if trouble finds us in these woods."

"These trees feel like home to me," Kelton said as he absorbed the nature he was denied at house Tarvakian. The path they followed was dappled with the shadows of full green leaves. The soft smells of new growth evoked pleasant times with Gossamer. "I'm hoping to avoid the kind of trouble that would ruin it. Still, it is good to know you trust me."

"It is Yanda I trust," Filgot said with a smile. "Few men would not wish to return to her." They shared a chuckle, the meaning different yet apparent to both men. "She must be angry at your unwoven hair."

"It was her idea." Kelton shrugged. "She thought it too different for this kingdom and desired me to blend as plain property." His red hair had been pulled back into a tail tied by a strip of leather. Some waves caused by the previous weaving still fought through.

"She worries."

"Aye," Kelton said. "It is odd how that matters more than most things. No profit compares." He allowed the horses to move back to the center of the road where the wheels could turn easily in the ruts made by previous wagons.

"It is a fine feeling - being cared for. I have yet to find my Yanda in this world."

"It comes with duties as well as care," Kelton said with a chuckle. "I must bathe too often and have my hair weaved whether or not I wish to spend the time." Filgot sounded melancholy as he spoke of Kelton's relationship. Kelton wished he could tell Filgot the truth of it. He and Yanda were more like siblings, not mates.

"She warned me you know," Filgot said, matching Kelton's light laugh. "Said I would lose my man parts if I were to return without you."

"She should not..." Kelton began but was stalled by Filgot's hand.

"It was not taken as insubordination. She adores you and made it known to me." Filgot laughed again. "Your master said about the same."

"Zello?"

"No, the father,"

"He said the same of you," Kelton said. I am to remember you are with me, and not take risks that force you toward danger."

"All-Father," Filgot said. "It is if we are children. Did we falter on the road with the viners? Nay, we stood shoulder to shoulder."

"I believe that is what Master is worried about. He fears we will take strength in each other and not avoid danger." Kelton made the tsking sound he was taught and waved the reigns the rear of the two horses. They needed to be encouraged to ignore the lush growth along the sides every so often. Lazy eaters were their true nature.

"Aye," Filgot said with a smile. "Exciting, isn't it. Heading into the unknown is a good break from the grind of a normal day." He paused a moment as a thought emerged on his face. "It makes me wonder why your master allowed us to go."

"A promise to his son," Kelton replied. "Zello and I share a dislike of house Barrenkee and Master used that to bind me to House Tarvakian. He is skilled in manipulation - in a good way. This time, his machinations came back as a task he could not deny. Master keeps his vows."

"Aye, an honest man." Filgot agreed.

The road was barely one wagon wide in many places. Trees and brush fought to encroach, horse hoofs and wheels crushing small saplings that dared to find a foothold in the sun. More than once, they were forced to duck or push errant branches out of the way.

They stopped at streams to allow the horses to drink and grab a few bites of the grasses that found purchase along the banks. It took all that Kelton was taught to get the horses moving again without being cruel. He was told the whip wouldn't hurt the thick-skinned beasts, but he still thought it a failure to have to resort to that type of encouragement. There was no reason to become a cruel taskmaster in an attempt to thwart another.

It was well before sunset when they stopped for the night in a rare clearing. Open spaces off the road were at a premium, and they didn't want to risk not finding another before night fell. Kelton unharnessed the horse and saw to their needs as Filgot gathered wood for a fire.

Kelton found the fire to be an old friend. He sat before it, poking at it with a long stick as he gnawed on dried beef. The sounds of the insects were as music and the soft breeze a blanket of memories. There was nothing to think about but the slowly appearing stars. It felt like freedom.

"You enjoy this," Filgot said.

"Aye. House Tarvakian is fine enough though I miss not having my day set for me." Kelton leaned back and looked at the purpling sky through the shadow like leaves. "I remember needing no one, and no one needing me." He smiled. "Well, there was Gossamer. I needed him, or perhaps wanted to need him."

"Gossamer?"

"My father, if anyone could be called that," Kelton replied. "A great storyteller, the best I've ever heard. We traveled together, away from towns and such. Lived like you and I do this very night." Kelton bit his bottom lip. "It was I who begged to see the world." He dropped his eyes back to Filgot. "The world is not what I envisioned. It cost me everything to see it, and here I sit with my fond memories, wondering if it was worth it. Ignorance has value, I think."

"For me," Filgot began, "it is my soft bed I miss. Critters crawling about that I am sure will find their way into my britches this night. The fire is pleasant enough, but what will come of us if it rains. You find solace where I see risk." He said it with calm as if his thoughts were merely passing through. A warrior never shows perceived peril on his face. "Ignorance has little value. I would much like your experience with the forest right now."

Kelton laughed. "If it rains, we get wet." He almost relished the idea. Gossamer and he would hold up during a wet spell and have long talks of nothing important. They seemed important now.

"It is a silly concern," Filgot admitted. "I was raised under a roof and have rarely been without one. Doors channel threats, yet out here it could come from any direction." He paused a moment looking at the fire. "I do not fear a challenge; I only wish to know where it comes from."

"And I feel cornered in a building. No freedom of movement if a challenge appears." Kelton looked away from the fire, toward the darkening woods. "Here, there are no restrictions beyond what nature provides. A tree can be hidden behind or used to protect a side. If there is a need to run, there is little to stop me."

"We are a good together then," Filgot said. "I'll be wary here, and you can be wary in the city."

"It smells better here."

"Aye, there is that," Filgot admitted, nodding his head. "I only notice the smells of the city when I travel away from it." He looked up and sighed. "It smells sweet here, and the fire adds comfort to it. My nose likes wood better than coal." Something snapped in the fire sending up a few sparks, seemingly accenting his words.

"Too many people in the city," Kelton continued. "I can spread out here and not be invaded by others. I have missed it."

"Where do you hail from?" Filgot asked.

"A woods not unlike these," Kelton replied with a sly smile.

"Best if no one knows?" Filgot leaned back on his elbows as if the question was only curiosity and the answer unimportant.

"Aye." Kelton nodded. "I am from House Tarvakian now."

Kelton enjoyed the conversation that followed. Stories of Filgot's exploits in taverns, his conquests, and failures with women, and discussions of sword techniques. It was if Filgot didn't see Kelton as property, but more of a companion. A welcome twist from when he first arrived at House Tarvakian.

They didn't see another soul in their first two days of travels. Kelton was beginning to think he had mis-guessed Barrenkee. Early afternoon of the third day, the wagon neared a clearing that looked well used. The grass bore signs of wagon wheels, with an old fire circle burnt into the clearing's center. A tree near the road on the far side of the opening had two perpendicular slashes cut into the bark. Not unlike the marks Gossamer and Kelton would use to mark the entrance to their campsites. Kelton looked backward and saw a similar marked tree on the opposite side of the clearing.

"We should stop here for the night," Kelton said, pulling on the reins to slow the horses.

"So soon?" Filgot asked. There was still many hours of daylight left. Plenty of time to find another clearing without wasting half a day.

"This one is marked." Kelton pointed at the tree with the slashes.

"Those are marks?" Filgot squinted as he examined the tree.

"Aye." Kelton turned the horses toward the opening. The wagon hobbled across ruts as it the horses pulled it into the clearing.

They set up camp as they had the previous nights. Kelton took care of the horses, and Filgot collected wood for the night. They reused the existing fire circle and soon had a small blaze going though the days light was long from expiring. It was ingrained in Kelton's being from an early age. If you stop to camp, build a fire. It defined the site as home.

"We're being watched," Kelton whispered. The sun had yet to find the horizon, the shadows stretching into each other. They had been sitting with their backs against trees. Filgot caring for the sharpness of his sword as they talked of nothing important when the feeling drifted into Kelton. It wasn't the strong sense he had in Aragonia. It was a feather of the intent he could once feel. The direction was unknown, yet Kelton could sense someone filled a portion of the emptiness between the trees that surrounded them. Perhaps more than one someone.

"Where?" Filgot asked in a low voice, his eyes never leaving the sharpening stone as he ran it along the blade.

"My guess, other side of the road," Kelton whispered. He poked the fire as if it held all of his attention. The other side of the road is where he would lie. A good view of the whole clearing without having a high risk of exposure.

"Intuition?" Filgot smiled as if he didn't trust Kelton's words.

"Aye, and it has never failed," Kelton whispered back. "Order me toward the wagon."

"See to the horses," Filgot said in a normal voice, his head jerking toward the wagon. "I'll not have them unfit for travel on the morrow."

"Aye." Kelton grunted his reply and tossed his stick aside as if it was all a bother. He moved toward the wagon to gather feed, a ruse to be near buckboard and the sword it hid. He spent time leaning over the wagon's rail filling feed bags. For the first time in a long time, he missed his sense. To know the where and the count would have been convenient. It was unnerving as if he had heard a strange sound echoing in the dark of night yet could discern nothing of its source.

A figured appeared where Kelton did not expect. A woman, with her hand on the hilt of a scabbarded sword, rounded the hobbled horses. He moved toward the buckboard, feed bag in one hand. His peripheral vision caught more figures crossing the road. Five men spread out and moving toward Filgot. Like the woman, they wore poorly cured and sewn leather, at least by Tarvakian standards. It reminded him of his previous life.

"You have nothing to fear from us, collared one," the woman said. She held up her non-sword hand. A gesture meant to allay fears. Kelton dropped the feed bag and feigned surprise. He backed against the wagon, closer to the buckboard.

"Good day," Filgot said with calmness, almost non-caring. His eyes still concentrating on sharpening his blade. Kelton was pleased he didn't stand or show surprise.

"Good day," one of the men returned. He was a short, stout man with an untrimmed beard. His brown hair parted down the center, each side leather-tied in a tail that framed his face. Kelton looked back at the woman. She smiled, but her hand never left the hilt of her sword. It looked comfortable there.

"You are new," another of the men said of Filgot. It sounded like an accusation.

"On this trail, Aye," Filgot said. He placed the sharpening stone on the ground and sword across his legs to give the men his full attention. "Do you take issue with an owner changing his guard?"

"Nay," the stout man replied. "If the change is true." He paused a moment, then smiled. "Where does the seven petaled flower bloom?" Kelton cringed inside. Barrenkee was cruel but not a fool. It was a code of some sort. The response only his guards would know. Felicity didn't have enough information.

"Ah, a test is it?" Filgot said. "It seems in his haste, owner Barrenkee has forgotten to mention that to me. Illness forced the change at the last moment."

"I told you he wouldn't know it," a third man said, then pointed at Kelton. "He talks to that one as if he weren't property." Kelton's sense was way off. They had been watched for a lot longer than he had sensed. Maybe days longer.

The woman slowly drew her sword. It wasn't offensive, more precautionary. Her confidence with the blade was apparent. Other swords were drawn as Filgot stood, the hilt of his blade finding his hand, though the tip was pointed down along his leg.

"It is a long ride, and I desire conversation," Filgot said. "Is it your aim I lose my position for talking to a collared?"

Kelton turned his head slightly to get a fix on the buckboard. Things were not going as planned, not that the plan was perfect in the first place. It now all seemed sloppy. Perhaps Master was right. They needed more information before embarking.

"Cardin!" the woman called out. "He is scarred from mouth to ear." Her sword now pointed at Kelton, and her confidence was congealing into a more aggressive posture.

"What?" the stout man replied. Filgot's posture was shifting, no longer slack but tightening. A fight was brewing, and Kelton was sure Filgot knew when talk lost its power. His brawls in the taverns had not been a total waste.

"And his hair is bright red." The woman's eyes left Kelton for a moment as they glanced toward Cardin. Kelton moved, his hand darting under the buckboard and pulling the sword from its sheath. The woman tensed in surprise as Kelton turned from cowering to full out assault. His blade moved as Rolic had taught him, attacking his opponent's sword, knocking it aside. When she returned it toward center, he used his sword to help its momentum and twisting it as Rolic had done to him. She lost her grip and with it, her blade. It flew into a bush as she tried to back away - against the tree Kelton steered her to, the tip of his blade pointed between her breasts.

"Do we trade words, or fight?" Kelton yelled at the men. He was surprised the maneuver worked, and it almost made him ill. There was no way he would make good on the threat to plunge the sword into the woman. She was a helpless part in a game no one should be playing. At least, that's what he saw in her fear-filled eyes.

"I say we talk," Filgot said. The tip of his sword still pointing toward the dirt. "I've just sharpened my blade have no desire to dull it." Kelton rolled his eyes.

"Words," Cardin agreed. The men stopped their advance on Filgot and let their blades dip low. "Though there will be nothing to say if you scratch her."

Kelton dropped his blade to his side. "My sorrows, my lady." He gave a slight bow of his head, yet kept his eyes on her. If Yanda taught him nothing else, she taught him women are as lethal as men.

"You are not of house Barrenkee," the woman said. She gestured toward her sword in the bush. Kelton nodded, and she retrieved it. Like Kelton and Filgot, she chose to keep it along her side. Ready if necessary, yet non-threatening. To Kelton's surprise, she turned her back on him and walked toward Cardin and the other men. He couldn't tell if it was boldness or trust.

"He is the one we have heard stories of," the woman said to Cardin.

Kelton moved toward the fire where all had gathered around. The distances between them all exceeding the width of a blade swing. He moved next to Filgot, who was still standing calmly like old friends had come calling. Silence followed as the uneven sides studied each other.

Filgot chuckled and sat back down, laying his sword across his lap. Kelton shrugged and joined him. The woman was next, then the rest followed. A strange meeting where the distances between were wider than comfortable.

"You are not of house Barrenkee," Cardin said, repeating the woman's early comments. "Yet you know more than you should. Had it not been for the tarp, you would have been turned back by a tree fall or such. Now, I am at a loss about what to do with you."

"You assume we'll allow the choice to be yours," Filgot said. He had a way of making his eyes sparkle as if the thought of a fight was a pleasurable endeavor. An act he had mastered in the taverns, Kelton assumed.

"You see, it's your use of 'we' that gives you away," Cardin continued. "A guard of house Barrenkee is unconcerned with property. They certainly wouldn't allow one near a sword."

"I'm a practical man," Filgot said. "There are many I trust with a blade when times call for it. Kelton is at the top of that list."

"It is him," the woman said, her eyes never leaving Kelton. "They say he can fight a hundred and nary tire."

"A story, my lady," Kelton said.

"You removed my sword easily enough," she argued.

"Had you not locked your wrist, I would have found myself exposed to your counter." Kelton held up his empty hand as if it held a sword. "Next time allow it to turn and return your blade atop mine." He demonstrated by twisting his wrist as Rolic had taught him.

"Taking a sword from a woman is an easy task," one of the men grunted. Anger flashed in the woman's eyes at the words.

"I have seen a woman take down many men," Kelton responded quickly. "A sharp blade works best with a sharp mind, and that exists equally in both men and women." Filgot chuckled at the words.

"You agree with him?" the man asked Filgot.

"He shares a bed with a woman I'd fear to face in battle," Filgot replied. "Sorinnian. Beautiful and deadly if she chooses to be."

"She was given to you?" the woman asked Kelton. It was said as if he were no better than dung.

"She is where she chooses to be," Kelton replied. "I am where I choose to be."

"You are owned. She is owned." The woman waved away his words. "Know that when she spreads her legs for you, her heart holds nothing but hatred..."

"It does not!" Kelton said, his anger rising at the idea. "Never have I demanded. Never have I taken. Not once have we..." His words slowed, and he looked toward Filgot whose eyes were wide with surprise. "She is not mine to take, no matter who has given her," he added quietly.

"Never?" Filgot asked.