A Kingdom Beyond the Horizon

And Miles to Go Before I Sleep

"Oweyn!"

Forridel threw back her hood and knocked, frantic, on the cottage's wooden door. She stopped for a moment, listening. The knights' shouted orders could be heard from afar and the alarmed clucking of hens sounded from the yard, but otherwise all was quiet.

"Oweyn!" She called again for her friend, yet no response came. The woman couldn't tell if the increased rapidity of her heartbeat was due to her run here or her concern for Oweyn's wellbeing. Her hand trembled where she held it, poised to knock on the door once more.

It occurred to her that the stillness of the air around her should have scared her, it really should. Yet all she felt was fear for her friend and a strange empty feeling far in the shadows of her mind. There were no people in the streets: many had probably gone to the market in the morning and others would be locked up inside their homes, waiting for the storm brought by Uther's hatred to pass. This section of the town seemed lifeless, but soon enough the King's men would strike.

Forridel waited a moment more, alert to every sound and movement. She didn't want to intrude on the privacy of Oweyn's home, but he was her friend after all, and a close one.  The woman thrust her hand forward to use her abilities on the latch. Something stopped her, though. In the midst of her panic she had an impulse, and instead used her outstretched hand to grasp the handle and push the door inwards. This she did without thinking, and it proved a worthy strategy. The door was not, in fact, fastened.

Why would he leave his home without even the slightest semblance of security? The sorceress swept inside to take a brief glance about herself. The shelves were blank, the table clean, the small cot in the corner devoid of blanketing and cushion, and— Forridel lunged forward to open a cabinet— there was nothing in the cupboards either. It was clearly a planned departure.

She froze in place for a moment, then a name jolted to the surface of her jumbled thoughts.

Vanora!

Forridel rushed from the cottage without bothering to close the door, hoping with a good bit of desperation that her fellow sorcerers were not lost to her yet. And, just in time to see her go, a squadron of knights entered the square.

The sorceress was quick on her feet as she weaved between houses and into alleyways, holding her skirts in a bundle. The knights' shouts of evident pursuit propelled her ever faster. As she pressed on, her hood flopped about on her back, reminding her that she had forgotten to cover her face. What did it matter now? They were after her, they had her name on a proverbial hit list. It didn't matter who saw her; she was running, and during a culling of magic. That would attract enough attention by itself. All she could do was run.

Run.

She dashed around a corner, almost slipping on the smooth cobblestones. The air she forced into her lungs tore painfully through her chest.

Faster.

There was a gap, just a small one, between the two thatch-roofed houses ahead. Going around would take too long. She couldn't breathe anymore, and still she re-gathered her skirts, preparing to edge through.

Over here!

Oh, they were coming, all right. Forridel skidded into the left house, then grabbed at the grimy wall for traction with a free hand, redirecting the force to push her towards the gap. She began to run again before she saw the shovels and rakes ahead. Of course it was the perfect place to store old tools, especially if there was no rain. The fugitive crashed into the equipment, trying to jump over the fallen rakes and skirt around the rest as quickly as possible. This was not very quick at all: Forridel knew it, too.

Just behind her was a knight whose speed must be owed to a bit of extra training that the rest seemed not to have gone through.
The girl stumbled, a rasping breath scraping her lungs, and leapt back into the sunlight on the houses' other side. She didn't look back again, rushing towards the forest. All she could hope, as she made her way to rescue her friend, was that the ill-positioned gardening tools would delay the knights more than it had done her.

Only a few moments into the forest and Forridel could not bear to hold her pace any longer. The knights' voices and pounding footsteps were fading, for she knew the woods better than they did. Still, navigating to the dwelling of Vanora on this day required a new path to be taken.

The woman, choking down breaths of damp air, made her way at a brisk jog. Could Vanora have heard the news? Where was Oweyn? Who had she left behind?
That thought, the thought of those people of her kind who had no one to foresee the attack and warn them...it grasped her heart as the noose in the town's square might have done her neck, if not for Merlin. She'd never thought much of him or even paid him any mind when she saw him: in the market buying herbs, at neighbors' houses delivering potions, in the village being pelted with rotten fruit for some misdemeanor or another. Yet here he was, a sorcerer, a warrior, and a kind soul, protected only by falsified ignorance and his slave rank. He had braved this how long? Years?

Forridel was determined to find the few who had not been taken; they would flee Camelot together. It was the very least she could make of the servant boy's risk.

By now she had been traveling further than her train of thought might lead her to believe: she was likely no more than half a day's ride from the Camelot/Escetir border. The woman had no steed, though fortunately she did not require one, for reaching the border was not her goal. On foot, she could make it to a hideaway in an hour, a hideaway secreted amidst the trees for those who needed it most. With luck, Oweyn was waiting for herself and the others there.

Luck.

Forridel scoffed, then shifted to alertness. Someone was watching her. She kept her pace steady without changing her direction, knowing it could hardly be a knight. She would have heard them long ago, no, whoever it was had been here before she came. Bandits? Perhaps. She kept her magic ready in case this possibility proved itself the truth.

A cool tendril of the wind swirled about the edge of her cloak, then several dry leaves crunched from behind. The traveler froze.

"F...Forridel?"

The woman turned to see the anxious eyes and countenance of Vanora herself, as well as the other two members of her family emerging from the overgrowth.

"Vanora!" She rushed forward to embrace her lifelong friend. "How did you-? Who told you?"

"Oweyn," the dark-haired woman murmured. At her friend's evident confusion and worry as to the lack of his presence, she shook her head.

"He sent us with his possessions. I don't know where he went, only that he promised to join us by nightfall, if not sooner. There was no time to press for answers."

"Of course." Forridel sighed. She knew Oweyn, and he would not be dissuaded from protecting the things most valuable to him. Friends, family, old books and scrolls, amulets...she couldn't fathom his reason this time, but if he had it his way, he would rejoin them soon. Magic and wits beside him, Oweyn would survive.

"We should keep moving. The house isn't far now and we can talk once we're safe there."

Vanora nodded, took her daughter's hand, and forged ahead, Favian and Forridel keeping watch as they followed.