Penitent

Chapter 244 Book 4 Ch 25: Working Diligently

Another night passed and the next morning they set out for Swandia. The group was small, but well equipped. Along with Michael, Marcus, Lance, and Pyotr were Blake, Laird, and a few other knights along with a small group of diplomats. There had been a temptation to send a larger group, but speed was too much of a factor to expand beyond the bare minimum and it was important not to draw any more resources than necessary from the preparations in the south. It also allowed them to have a number of spare horses. Being able to change them out and rotate which ones weren't bearing heavy loads meant they'd be able to move more quickly and ride them harder. Even the diplomats volunteered to ride in a wagon rather than a carriage in order to save time for everyone else and reduce the weight being moved.

They made excellent progress, managing to reach the border of Broan in less than two weeks. They stopped to rest in villages or towns that Michael and Ollie had already visited on their way through Old Hume when they first arrived, and he was gratified to find all of them had held out okay. It also meant he could spend time healing anyone that needed it, granting additional blessings to key people in each village, and leading groups in prayer. It seemed that wherever he had stopped to help, a group of devout followers of the gods had sprouted up behind him.

As they neared the border with Broan they noticed a number of slave crews clearing brush and chopping down trees. They were being watched by overseers on horseback that cast wary looks toward Michael's group as they rode by.

One of the diplomats, a younger man named Bard, was shaking his head as they passed by one of the groups. "Bastards. They know this is Hume land. They're taking advantage of our predicament."

"It's not worth the confrontation right now," replied Undred, an older diplomat who took a moment to adjust her dress as the wagon went over a bumpy hill.

The younger man frowned, nearly pouting.

"After things with the rifts are settled, we'll drive them out," said Lance.

Bard nodded, placated.

While Michael had been able to speak with Lance many times on their journey so far, he seemed a bit more internal. More distant since they'd been reunited. Michael wasn't sure if it had to do with his paramour or the letter he'd delivered him. Either way Michael had chosen not to pry, though if his mood lasted too much longer he'd probably push the issue.

When they reached the border crossing with Broan they saw a small fort built right over the main road. It was an ugly building of gray stone that stood out harshly against the otherwise pastoral landscape. The guards were wearing chainmail with tabards of faded blue over them and they eyed them warily as they approached.

"Hail," said the eldest of the diplomats, a man named Harol. He threw himself over the edge of the wagon with surprising grace as he pulled a document from a small leather case and presented it to the nearest of the fort guards.

The guard, a young man with a scratchy looking blonde beard, grabbed it and began to carefully look through it, nodding as his eyes blankly worked their way across the page.

Another guard appeared from around the corner, saw the scene, and shook his head as he walked quickly toward the guard reading, stopping just behind him and smacking the back of his helmet.

"Why are you pretending to read? You can see the symbol of fair passage right at the top anyway."

"Oh. Yes. Sorry Sergeant."

The Sergeant shook his head and gestured for the town. "Go ahead. Don't make trouble."

Michael and the others nodded and began to move their horses through the gate.

"Less trouble than last time," said Ollie with a smile.

"They caused problems last time you came through?" asked Lance.

"Well, not at this one. At the entry in Swandia. They tried to capture us to take us as slaves," said Michael.

"Dumb fucking move," said Marcus.

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"Definitely wasn't a smart one," agreed Ollie.

They hesitated in the center of the fort. It was more like a small town than a military fortification, and there was an inn and stable.

"Should we stop for the day, or push?" asked one of the knights.

"Push," replied Michael simply, moving his steed to continue straight through the fort and out the gate in the rear of it. There were some unhappy glances among the knights and diplomats.

"Good call," said Knight Blake as they kept moving. "I'd rather sleep in horseshit than that Inn. Last time I was there I was stabbed."

"They committed an act of violence against a knight of Hume?" asked Laird concerned.

"Not exactly. I really shouldn't have assumed a man with four fingers would be capable of moving a blade between my fingers without hurting me… though I truly didn't expect him to manage to hit my leg."

Ollie laughed, and some of the tension among those Michael wasn't close to lessened at the good humor. Michael wasn't without empathy when it came to the discomforts of riding hard and living rough, but when he balanced their discomfort against his son's slavery he found their complaints wanting. Still, he took a moment to heal them of their bruised backsides and aching spines as they rode.

As it was getting dark they reached a small village. A brief conversation with their headman led to them being allowed to shelter in a small storehouse. As Michael was loading things into it, he paused as he saw a number of slaves huddled in a nearby set of huts. He finished unloading the cart and carefully made his way over to it. There were a few watchmen keeping track of the slaves, but they were on the outer edge and not paying close attention so he was able to slip past them easily.

From what he recalled the majority of the slaves in Broan were bought from the mountain tribes from Broan's eastern range, but they also enslaved takers and obviously the descendants of slaves were enslaved as well. He reached the center of the huts and came upon a man with a wild unkempt beard and tattoos across his bare chest. They looked a bit like the terrible tribal tattoos that had grown unpopular before he'd died on Earth, but with a bit more artistry to them. The man leapt backward at the sight of him.

Michael raised his hands up in a gesture of harmlessness.

"It's okay. I'm a healer. I just wanted to see if anyone here needed help." He wasn't about to cause an incident between Hume and Broan when things were so tense, but if he could at least cure some ills then he wanted to make an effort.

The man paused, but before he could say anything another slave rounded the corner. It was a woman with short cut sandy-brown hair and green eyes. Those eyes widened with recognition as she saw Michael.

"Bruntus's champion," she said.

Michael's own eyes widened in recognition as well. "You were one of the hidden villagers. I don't believe I ever got your name… Though I remember you pointing a crossbow at me when we first met." He reached for his sword and started to look around. "We need to get you out of here."

She shook her head and held up her hands. "No. I am where I am needed."

Michael released the handle of his sword slowly. "What's going on?"

She turned to the other slave and said several words in a language he didn't recognize. The man nodded and walked away.

"The Hidden Village was found. We had planned for this. Our role was to scatter across Hume, spreading the faith and finding what allies we can through Bruntus's diligence."

Michael nodded. "Yes. I saw the aftermath of what happened."

"Did you make use of what we could not?" she asked, genuine concern in her voice.

"I did. I also killed all those enemies that were still there and buried your dead."

She bowed, saying a short prayer of thanks to Bruntus.

"So, that's what you're doing here as a slave? Finding converts?"

"That is part of my goal. Bruntus does not favor slavery. He believes that a man should strive to labor well, not be forced into it. Aside from that, those mountain clans in the East may hold the key to an ally in our fight against the rifts."

"Oh? Do they have the kind of resources to be able to help?"

"The ally is not the clans themselves, but rather their god."

"I'm guessing they don't worship the same gods we do?"

"That's correct. They have found their own god within the mountain. One that has kept them safe, cared for them, and granted them wisdom and warmth when needed."

"What is it then?"

"A dragon. One of the few not hunted down by the old Hume empire. If I can show it the logic of aiding us against the rifts then it will be a tremendous boon."

"A dragon?" Michael pictured a roaring beast of red scales drowning rift monsters in fire as it passed above them. "Yes… I could definitely see that being helpful." Michael frowned, suddenly balancing the value of dividing his attention between reaching his son and the potential value of finding this mountain god.

She shook her head, reading his expression. "Your involvement would be too loud," she said, shaking her head. "I and several others are already working toward stoking a small slave revolt and escape. You would disrupt more than help. Though… if after the revolt you were able to reach the mountains, it may be good to have one as close to the gods to yourself as a negotiator. From what knowledge we kept of dragons, they only respect the strong."

Michael frowned, suddenly worried for the young woman in front of him. "I will trust Bruntus to tell me when I may be of aid to you, and to guide me your way."

"As is diligent," she said, bowing her head slightly.

Michael took a breath and let it out slowly. "I originally came to see if any slaves needed healing. Can you take me to any that do?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"And what's your name?"

"Brunhilde," she said.

"Thank you," he said, smiling. "It's better than thinking of you as 'crossbow girl'."