The Reformation Wars: The Unmarked Swordsman

Chapter 13

All too quickly, the sun rose again, and Tom set off with a grumpy Alice riding behind him. Out of what she'd insisted to be boundless kindness on her part, Alice had permitted Tom to rest himself for about two hours the evening prior, before she herself slept for the remainder of the night. He found the minimal respite barely adequate for his needs, but compared to none at all, he was left no room for complaint. 

Of course, lacking those precious two hours of her own sleep, Alice seemed a bundle of restrained rage, brewing in negativity and ready to lash out at the slightest trigger. Adding to that the fresh memory of Tom's blunder as they travelled back down the same road they should have never travelled, her disgust visibly grew in intensity as the day progressed. 

Frankly, who would blame her? Tom asked himself, Surely not me. 

Needless to say, their trot back to the fork of failure was attended by an oppressive silence, wherein Tom led the way with a hung head, swearing he could feel Alice's dagger-sharp glare piercing the back of his neck. 

His body urged him to snatch another moment of sleep, and it burned to resist the temptation. I probably could, he considered, noting how Exuberance followed the trail perfectly without any input on his part. But how lazy and disrespectful of me, who hasn't even fully paid penance yet for past blunders. 

He glanced back for a moment, mainly to check on the black mare Forbearance, as well as to ensure Alice still retained her mount on the horse's back. Sure enough, the mare followed Exuberance with a hung head, lacking in enthusiasm, but still keeping pace. And to his regret, Tom spared a glance at the horse's rider. Alice's leer rested on him, immediately pushing his attention back to the road ahead of him. Even the dirt stretching before them appeared more pleasant. 

Why am I even doing this? For a vain hope of some matchless reward? Merely a cold sense of duty? Self-loathing? 

That must be it. A man must truly hate himself to willingly subject himself to such torture. Insanity incarnate is my devotion to this journey of Delquez's. 

After a deep breath in and out, he shook his head. No, that's not it. I don't hate myself, and I am not insane. It's for righteousness I do this. I swore to uphold God's law as a knight, along with Monterayne's honor. And for that reason do I endure this trial. Not because it serves me, but only because it is becoming and righteous. 

Emotionally, Tom still found himself downtrodden, but at least under that, his resolve had been strengthened. Terrible as things now appeared, he had sorted his motivation out, thereby increasing his ability to endure. 

**** 

Hours later, Tom and Alice arrived at the path's fork, just as the sun approached its zenith in the sky. The knight's strategically timed bouts of galloping, followed by longer stretches of brisk walking had assisted in covering the distance in about an hour's less time than previously. 

Immediately recognizing a pile of boulders they had passed on the way from Mintfeld, Tom discerned the correct path to their right, which led northwest, not south as he'd previously believed. Though Alice's palpable frustration remained in the air, he still felt a burden lift from his shoulders. At the very least, they were traveling the correct road again. 

The next several miles they covered passed uneventfully, Tom hoping to stop at a distant creek for lunch. Clear waters trickled down the stream, screaming to be slurped up by their horses and scooped up into the canteens. 

Tom slowed their speed as they skirted a lush knoll. Once he rounded its edge, a broader view of the watered countryside spread out before him. Vibrant plants lined the creek, forming pleasant nesting places for the chirping birds flitting from one branch to another. Their songs filled the air with the light cheer of springtime.