Previously on The Path of Poison…
Sepp, adopted son and apprentice to the hex man Búcher, attempted to flee from his home when war arrived on the doorstep, but Búcher was cut down in the escape. The refugees were turned away from what was supposed to their safe haven, and Sepp now ponders his next move…
Chapters 1, 2 and 3 are available here, here and here
“Now, just a quick swig of this at evening—a finger measure, no more. You’ll be out before you know it.” Sepp always made sure to illustrate such things, no matter how obvious it may seem. Miss Imalde seemed quietly relieved to have it. He’d made it a little more potent, so it would last longer.
“Bless you, Sepp,” she said with a touch on his arm. “Oh, what about my little man here?” she asked, looking down at the dozing infant.
“Hmm...You might try wetting the tip of your little finger and letting him have that. But no more, and only if he seems really upset or something. You can also thin it in some water, too. And there’s nothing dangerous in there, so don’t worry!” He said so with a smile, he wouldn’t have her worrying. Suddenly, there was a call from around the corner. The call to move out. Sepp turned back to Miss Imalde who was looking down. He wanted absolutely nothing more in the world right now than to stay here, and help. But he knew he couldn’t.
“Stay safe, miss, okay?” She looked back up with an anxious little smile, and reached out with a free arm and gave Sepp a short half hug. He obliged.
“You take care, Sepp.”
He rose, gave a short bow to the other women who smiled back, and he left.
He had slung both packs around him now properly, keeping Búcher’s closest to him. The rest of his group were gathering a short ways from the barracks. The captain was standing before everyone, waiting, the other guards were already on their horses. Sepp walked up with a few others, and the captain began to speak.
“We’re heading for a small town north of here. As I’ve been told, the roads out here aren’t in the best shape and the country is still pretty rough in these parts. It’s half a day’s walk on foot if we start now.” People murmured in the crowd. “Look, I know we were all expecting a place to stay tonight, but the barracks are already well over capacity and they’re on strict rationing. The commander extends his apologies, of course.” Voices began to call out from the crowd.
“Can we not head back to our homes?”
“Is the fighting not over?”
People were starting to get loud. The captain held her hands up, attempting to get their attention.
“This isn’t a case of returning the next day, or next few days, or weeks. This isn’t a simple border scuffle. You all know there’s been trouble for years now between the venerates. We just happened to be the easiest way into the canton for them. To be honest, we...don’t even know how well the defenders are holding up. If at all. We’re safest here for now, across the border.”
Glances and whispers were shared across the crowd.
“Take a few minutes to gather yourselves, and then we must head out.”
The trek from the old guard tower was much like it had been before it. Rugged, uneven, awkward land. The roads ceased to exist in some places and had to be rediscovered. Apparently there had been some call to renovate them that the officials in the capital of Lundermark were attempting to address. The Lunderman family which reigned over this land had a good reputation abroad, but were a little slow on the uptake sometimes. The group marched on at an easy pace, the captain letting the people take things as easy as they could, and finally broke for a rest a few hours later. On horseback, and without a tired, hungry party of refugees, the town would likely have at least been in sight already.
Sepp was sitting on a rock by the roadside, in view of the temple guard who were resting their horses. He tended to sit near them. It felt safer. The initial regenerative surge from his earlier encounter was beginning to wear off. Serpent’s Breath, he thought, had it really only been a day since the attack? Everything felt like it was weeks ago. But around this time yesterday, he’d lost his father to the blade of a mercenary. He took an extremely long, deep breath. He was sick of the twisting and churning and weight already. He looked around him. How much more of this could he really take? Sure, the trek would be safe and simple. The mindless tramping along was almost alluring. Just get led along, easy. But another several hours of silent wandering with only his thoughts felt like torture. Fixing up that drink for Miss Imalde had felt like divine intervention. Head down in the work, that sounded ideal. Or to sleep for as long as he possibly could.
Sepp got up with a short sigh, and decided to walk around a little. He wouldn’t stray too far, but sometimes it helped to move and think. He carefully stepped down the short incline from where his rock was. People had spread out a little to find suitable resting spots. Some were on the grass, some spread out on the slope by the road. As he wandered down, however, he began hear to talking, coming from a lone tree not too far away. Sharp whispers. Something about it caught him, and he idly wandered a little closer. Three people sat about one side of it, huddled close, discussing intently.
“We’re going to move from town to town,” said a fellow with a long, drooping moustache, and olive skin but greying hair, “just to get shunted off every turn until we're so far away from the war no one will care.” Sepp recognized him. Skivor, a woodsman. His axe even sat in a sheathe on the ground nearby. Beside him was a much younger man, perhaps only a few years older than Sepp, and then a woman with golden locks tied back tightly, and dark eyes, closer in age to the younger man.
“When do you propose slipping off then? Are we even gonna tell the commander?” asked the younger man.
“Pfah.”
“You don’t think they won’t notice people missing?” the woman added.
“Not their-” Skivor stopped. His head turned, and the piercing gold of his eyes met Sepp, who froze. Skivor seemed to regard him for a moment as the others followed the woodsman’s gaze. Skivor nodded slowly. Sepp felt a tug in his body. He didn’t listen to it.
There was a tension to Skivor that Sepp found immensely intimidating. There was no real threat to him, but he didn’t seem exactly welcoming either.
“I heard what you were talking about…”
“Aye. And?”
“I...want to come with you.” Skivor only moved to raise a single eyebrow.
“Why’s that?”
“You’re right.” Sepp ignored his gut. It was asking him just what he thought he was doing. “If the guard tower had a group arrive before us, then we could get to the town and find the same thing.”
“Take a seat, then.” There were no seats, so Sepp squatted down beside them.
“I’m Sepp, by the way.” The other two introduced themselves.
“I’m Barosh, was a farmhand.”
“Seva,” said the lady. Her brow furrowed for a second. “Hey, you’re the apothecary’s lad, right?”
“I was, yeah.” They could sense the tone a mile away.
“What happened?” Seva asked.
The words just fell out.
“Master Búcher died trying to escape.”
“You got family in the group?” asked Skivor.
“Master Búcher was my only family.”
None of them spoke for a second. Skivor seemed to think.
“We’re all kind of alone here, don’t worry.” Barosh gave a sympathetic smile and a nod.
They talked amongst themselves.
“Yeah, not the guards’ problem. It was their job to get us out, we’re out.” Skivor sat back as he said this.
“Fair.” Seva seemed onboard with the idea.
“Really don’t think we should tell them?” Barosh, not so much.
“Nah. We should just slip away. Don’t want to cause a fuss with that captain.”
“She seems reasonable, though,” Barosh argued.
“Yeah, until things don’t go her way. They’re temple guard. We don’t need that. Here, lad, what do you think?” asked Skivor.
“Well…” Sepp mused, “I mean, we’d be able to move at our own pace, we’re smaller, quieter.”
“And more likely to be met well if it's just us and not thirty-odd starving refugees,” added Seva.
“So, where are we headed?” asked Sepp.
“Lundermark.” Skivor answered for the rest. “A few weeks of travel, easily, but we stick to the roads most of the time, we’ll be fine. I don’t know this land, but I’m a decent tracker, Seva knows the plants and such. As do you, I’d imagine.”
“I do,” Sepp answered a bit too readily. “And I know healing, and have plenty of supplies.”
“Sounds good, then.”
“I’m the muscle,” Barosh said as he gave Sepp a friendly jab with his elbow.
Skivor picked up his axe, and thoughtfully ran his thumb over what seemed to be a well-worn section near the head. He gave a decisive sigh and stood up.
“We should be heading off. They won’t be taking much longer. You got your stuff, Sepp?”
“I do, yeah,” he replied, patting his two packs. Barosh had two slung over his shoulder. It seemed he was carrying Seva’s, too. Skivor had a large pouch at his side and nothing else.
“We should cut through the brush now, bypass this road and the town, find a proper highway as soon as we can.” Skivor took one last gander up the slope. No sign of movement yet. He turned and began walking, the others followed. Sepp stood still. A nervous energy had been surging through him this whole time. There was a tremor in his chest. He felt like maybe he was now leaving something else behind, but he pushed that idea down, far down, clenched his fist, and jogged up behind Barosh. The land ahead turned from wrinkled slope into brush, and then into widely spread savannah, and the horizon was lost in the Voerlund wilderness. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he thought perhaps he felt a slight chill in the air. Wind from across the Great River.
Head down in the work, moving forward, doing something. Anything. This is what he wanted, right?
Another excellent chapter! This story just keeps getting better and better!