You Move On

You look away from her pleading gray eyes. "I'm sorry, I can't stay here with you," you say.

A look of sadness and resignation washes over her face. "I understand. Just know I’ll always remember what we had last night."

As you turn to leave, she calls out, "If you’re looking to find out what became of the warrior queen, your best bet is to head to the capital city. It’s about three days south on foot. It isn’t much, but it’s somewhere to start."

You nod and make your way back to the farmhouse to gather your things. As you depart, you catch sight of her watching from a distance. You can just make out the glimmer of a tear rolling down her cheek before she turns back to her work.

Wondering if you've made a grave mistake, you turn away from the small farmstead and begin walking toward the capital.

Your first day on the road passes uneventfully. You camp by a small stream, dining on wild raspberries and a small fish. Who knew your skills as an archaeologist would translate so well to living off the land?

Around noon on the second day, you hear the sound of horses approaching from behind. Turning, you see a line of green-cloaked soldiers in brightly burnished breastplates riding in tight formation. As they near, you notice their cloaks are emblazoned with a stylized golden sun, waves radiating from its edges.

"Make way for the queen's guard!" the captain bellows, prompting you to scramble off the road. In your haste, you stumble and land in a ditch.

The captain raises her fist, signaling the troops to stop, and shakes her head.

"I said, 'Make way,' not 'roll into a ditch,'" one of the soldiers snickers, earning a withering look from the captain. "I sometimes forget how fragile men truly are."

The captain is a mature woman in her late forties, a scar running down the length of her face. Her polished armor catches the sunlight, making it hard to look directly at her.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" she asks, her voice gruff but not unkind, perhaps feeling a bit guilty for startling you.

"I'm trying to reach the capital. Am I on the right path?" you ask.

“It’s the way to Ariavel,” she nods. “On foot, you should reach it by midday the day after next.” She pauses. “Be warned, though: while there aren’t any bandits this close to the capital, a handsome thing like you might still be in for a rough night if you run across the wrong woman.”

“I’ve been fine so far,” you tell her. “I’ll stick to daylight travel and keep my distance from other travelers.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself. But if you catch the eye of a lonely farmer who decides to take you for a tumble in the bushes, don’t come crying to me.”

You nod, and she heels her horse back into motion, her troops falling in line behind her. Despite their discipline, you notice a few of them eyeing you like a piece of meat as they ride by. Maybe you should be more cautious, you think as you watch them disappear down the road.

That evening, you find a secluded bush to sleep under, but with the captain's warning lingering in your mind, sleep eludes you.

At first light, you make your way back to the road, beginning the final leg of your journey to Ariavel.