The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 17: The Way to Autumnsgrove, Part 5

 At Ammas's request Casimir produced a map of the lands outside the Straits of Twilight. The Vilain Reaches represented one of the larger and wealthier of the Anointed Realms, and stretched from the Dyrothi border on the Chalk Hills to the Taskwood Canyons far to the west, arcing down to the Azure Sea to embrace a long stretch of the Torchlight Coast. Between the hills and the canyons stood vast tracts of farmland, some of the most fertile in all the Anointed Realms. Right where that farmland fell away into the great shadowy delves carved by the River Ortien, the city of Vilais had stood for centuries. The Lady Terazla had retired to the bluffs above the city when her days as a Cursewright-Vigilant had come to an end, and there she had laid the foundations of Autumnsgrove.

"We may see others on their way to view the ruins," Ammas told them. "It's still a popular site for tourists, but there are markers posted warning the unwary not to get too close. It's not a safe place, and not merely because of Doyenne Sulivar's watchfulness."

"And we'll be getting too close," Vos said. Denisius laughed hollowly.

"Just follow my lead, and you'll reach Autumnsgrove safely," Ammas said with a brisk smile, rolling up the map. 

Carala and Denisius exchanged a look, but neither raised any further complaint. It wasn't Carala's look which convinced Denisius to hold his peace for the time being; rather, it was the angry glare from Casimir, who had not failed to note any of Lord Marhollow's criticisms of his master, implied or explicit.

Ammas himself felt rather more ambivalent. Denisius's skepticism of his abilities might come from an honest place of doubt, but more and more the cursewright wondered if it had struck Carala's promised husband as it had begun to dawn on him that the princess had been at Ammas's sickbed rather than his own early that morning.

They left the monastery in the early afternoon, while the sun was still warm on their faces. This was a lonesome country, well suited to the isolated monasteries that dotted the hills here and there, nearly every one of the Ninefold Faiths represented. Only Tol Daether's devotees could not be found here, as ascetics had little use for gold. They made good time, despite the uneven ground and both Ammas's and Denisius's recent illnesses. So it remained for the next four days, until the weather turned foul. 

"We've been lucky at the lack of rain," Vos informed them as they woke to a miserably gray dawn, rain sluicing down their trio of tents -- Ammas, Casimir, and Barthim in one (rather cramped); Denisius and Vos in a second; Carala on her own in a third. "But maybe it's for the best. If we are being tracked, I imagine not even a werewolf could follow our scent in this wet."

It delayed them, but Ammas was pleased with their progress nonetheless. The Chalk Hills were nearly at an end, and he expected their passage through the Vilain farmlands to be speedy and uneventful. In this he was proved correct. Their days were marked with seemingly endless rows of corn and wheat, almost ripe for the harvest. On a few occasions laborers hailed them as they passed, but none seem terribly concerned with them, not with Barthim's size and tattoos, nor Ammas's ominous robes and concealing hat, nor Casimir's youth. Vos muttered that as long as armed wanderers weren't actually bandits, no commoner would dare to notice them.

In the late afternoons and evenings they made camp in small groves of trees or on the banks of nameless streams and ponds. Vos and Denisius sparred most nights, while Ammas led Casimir in his lessons. At first they took turns with the cooking, but when it proved impossible for anyone to surpass Barthim, they simply left the matter to him. Only Casimir came close, and he seemed almost as pleased with this as he did his lessons with the cursewright. 

Occasionally Casimir joined in with the sparring, but no one had a blade lightweight enough for the boy to wield. Denisius taught him the basic steps, fashioning a straightened wooden branch in place of a sword. Though he still seemed to resent Lord Marhollow's temerity in questioning Ammas's abilities, he did take to these new lessons eagerly. "Better this than more games of Whistling Jack," Carala had murmured to Ammas one evening. Ammas had laughed and agreed.