章節 8: Departure, Part 5
The sound of snapping leather rang out as driver after driver goaded their steeds into motion.
With a light "Hyah!" and a lurch, they were on the move.
Morne looked out the back of the wagon, his thoughts drifting aimlessly.
"I, for one, am glad to be rid of that place," Treyflena bemoaned, rubbing her neck to massage a crick out. "Even with a bedroll, that dirt was more like rock."
"How d'you think Morne feels?" Morgthon said. "He slept without comfortable padding between him and the dirt. That's probably why he looks like a zombie."
The three girls turned to Morne, finding their leader's words to be true.
Morne's eyes had black bags under them, the result of two days of less-than-stellar sleep, and they were slightly unfocused, as if he was daydreaming.
"Oh," Treyflena intoned.
Essenla stood, plopping down on the other bench and leaving the first to Morne. "Hey," she said, snapping her fingers.
Morne blinked rapidly, his foggy eyes landing on her.
"Get some sleep," Essenla demanded, pointing at the bench.
Not needing to tell him twice, Morne laid down and straightened out on the wooden bench, his eyes closing of their own accord.
It wasn't a king's bed, and it was only marginally better than the ground, but to the exhausted Morne, it felt like a bed of clouds.
.......
He swapped between wagon and ground like this twice more during the journey, not bothering to chase the elusive matron called sleep at night anymore, instead preferring to get his shuteye in the wagon.
This left little room for idle chatter with the Crimson Gradle Company, but somehow the three women still managed to drag him into a conversation now and then.
He never said much, but that didn't deter them. If anything, it made them try harder.
It was during one of these conversations, on the road during the final day, that Morne heard something interesting.
After having been woken up by a nasty bump in the road, Morne was informed of how close they were to Untelneb and decided to stay awake, allowing Essenla to take her seat back.
"I heard that Azath is planning to Anoint someone," Treyflena said out of the blue.
"Really?" Essenla asked skeptically. "What's your source? That off-kilter 'fortune teller' that isn't even a Mage?"
"She's reliable!" insisted Treyflena. "Lady Naplen predicted the Hasthan cult underneath Vreyy's chapel in Vreyyn a few years ago, remember?"
"She also predicted that the moon would fall down and destroy the planet by this day last year," Cretaya replied contemptuously. "And that you'd grow tired of sellsword work and settle down with some pompous noble from the capital.
"As if those money-grubbers could ever make someone other than themselves happy. And Polytel is gaudy anyway."
"Yes, she's had some misses, but this one is accurate," insisted Treyflena. "Lady Naplen said that the God of Death, Justice, and Logic is going to Anoint one of his followers in response to Jiklok Anointing a mortal of his own."
"So the claim isn't just that Azath will Anoint someone, but also that Jiklok has one?" Essenla asked critically. "And that Azath has to make a new Anointed specifically in response to Jiklok making one?
"Sorry, Treyflena, but that sounds ridiculous. I don't know what Lady Naplen puts in her tea, but she's getting awfully close to heresy. Predicting the actions of the Gods is just begging for trouble."
"He didn't *have* to, he *chose* to," Treyflena replied. "Azath likes to keep things balanced. That's why his emblem has a little scale on it. And I'm sure the Gods won't mind. Lady Naplen said it was Pevna that gave her this gift, so why would the others be mad?"
The three argued as Morgthon and Morne kept their silence. But while the faces of the men were as calm as a pond, Morne's mind was racing.
'They found out already?' he thought.
They were Gods, he supposed, but he had hoped to go unnoticed for a year or two to hone his magic.
As of now, he didn't even know a single Spell. All he had to defend himself with was his physique. While certainly above average, it wouldn't do much in the face of a storm of ice.
Now people were aware of his existence, even if it was just these four and this Lady Naplen for now.
While he was slightly worried, he wasn't outright panicking. It wouldn't be that easy to find him out.
There was a reason his Mark of the Anointed could vanish. According to what little he knew, only the Gods could see a hidden Mark, as a God had created it.
Though people knew Jiklok had a new Anointed, there wasn't a way to connect that with Morne.
So long as he didn't walk around like a fool with the Mark on full display, he would be safe.
With that thought, the small spark of worry within his mind was doused, allowing him to return to a state of total calm.
The wagon rolled to a stop, and the driver said behind the cloth cover "we're here."
The five passengers stood, hopping out of the wagon.
Treyflena stretched, hands toward the sky, before bending down the middle to touch her toes. It was quite an enticing sight, the way her leather hugged her curves with each motion, but one that neither Morgthon nor Morne bothered to appreciate.
"Much better," she said after straightening. "I was starting to feel cramped."
"With this, our obligations are at an end," Morgthon told Morne. "There's a visitor's center just inside the gate. They can direct you to a place to sleep and whatever you came here for."
"Thanks," Morne said with a nod, leaving the caravans behind.
He followed the three wagons – privately owned, he was sure – that had broken off from the others to the gates of Untelneb and stepped to the back of the line.
A band of men and women in dark crimson armor strode out of the gates while Morne was waiting.
They met up with the Crimson Gradle mercenaries to his back and exchanged greetings before the sellswords that had participated in this trip joined the growing line to enter the city.
'Looks like their job is done,' Morne thought.
But his was just beginning.
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