The sounds of the breakfast fires and the plucking of a lute signaled the arrival of morning. Inside their tent the Shrikes were already awake. Svetlana helped Balian don his armor. Her hands and eyes lingered as she buckled the final strap on the full plate. Balian felt as if there were no greater power in the realms than when his wife stared him deep in the eyes.
Svetlana turned away to dress herself as Balian busied himself signing and sealing a document. Balian almost did not recognize her when he looked up again. She wore riding leathers and her hair was braided beneath a flapped cap. Balian's heart skipped a beat, "Leathers suit you sweetling. You are not making our parting any easier."
"Husband, you would say anything suits me."
Balian crossed the room and grabbed her by the waist. "You will lead the Council in Stagfell as Stewardess until I return. Remember our first talk back in Oleg's stables? I told you I would see you on a throne. Though it came in a way that I wished it had not."
Sadness veiled Svetlana's eyes but she smiled. "Be careful out there. Come home to me soon Bal and I'll wear these leathers on your return."
Svetlana wanted to say more but it was nothing that their long exchange of looks could not express. She feared for him. She knew not what awaited him anymore than he did, only that it would be unlike anything he had ever faced before. To voice those fears may crack his confidence. Not that he would ever show it, but if she looked deep enough in his eyes, she could still see the young knight that rode into the trading post several years ago.
Then the young knight vanished and Balian the lord spoke. "I’ll be fine. Capable friends surround me. Take this letter and pack it away safely. Take the northern rode towards Leveton, skirt the town and head south. You should arrive well ahead of when anyone thinks you should. And be careful. Wini is not going to like you going out on your own."
******
The northern road from Restov had not changed in the years since Oleg Leveton brought her out to his trading post. The featureless plain was hot and dusty. The Tor Levines Mountains rested behind her to the east. Although they hardly seemed to shrink in the distance, Svetlana knew she was making good time.
The dust on the road was recently disturbed by many feet. Svetlana did not have to be ranger to know that a large group had traveled towards Leveton recently. A trade caravan or bandits? She could not be sure.
Hours later Svetlana passed a large column of mercenary soldiers. They appeared to be a band of crossbowmen with tower shields. Many looked to have been traveling a long road and appeared to be low templars from the north where many in the citadels continued to fight the demons of the World Wound.
She rode up beside the column, “Hail soldiers. Where might the road be leading you?” A veteran with a grizzled face regarded her with one eye, “Mind yer business woman!”
He kicked dust in her direction and Svetlana urged her palfrey toward the head of the column. She found a small man with an ornate crossbow on his back leading the men. The crossbow drew attention in a way that could only suggest it possessed magical qualities. The slitted visor of his top-head helm was up and he wore a high-angle breastplate that would protect him well from bolts and arrows.
Svetlana nodded at the man and took a swig from her flask of watered wine. "A long dusty road. You must be thirsty."
"Aye, but we are well provisioned." He patted his own flask hanging from his side. "A long stride at a brisk pace and we will arrive at Fort Drelev long before we are scheduled. Hooktongue Slough is a nasty place, but I suppose no worse than anywhere else in the Riverlands." He glanced at the sword at her thigh. "To be out here you must have an urgent purpose?"
"I am Silverfoot, the swiftest courier between Restov and Stagfell."
"Ah of course! You speak with Captain Agnald of the Flying Manticores." He nodded over his shoulder at the supply carts. One of them carried ferocious looking caged manticore. The beast surveyed the scene with disinterest. "You spread the word down in Stagfell that the Flying Manticores will sell their swords for good coin." He toss a silver at Svetlana that she caught with both hands. "Now if you'll excuse me lass, marching is hard work and this talk is not making my tongue any wetter."
Svetlana saluted him, "May Desna grant you good travels." She gave her palfrey a kick and it trotted out in advance of the column. In another hour they disappeared in the distance behind her. Mercenaries on the march. While my Balian is occupied in Varnhold, the rest of the Riverlands keeps busy. I will keep the city until he returns.
