~*~
The designated day of their departure arrived, and the three companions gathered for their last breakfast at the Redfruit Inn. As usual, Randy set out a morning buffet, and they all filled their plates. It would be at least a three-day hike to the next real town with an inn and a chance for a well-prepared meal.
Muce could throw together a decent stew, given enough time, ingredients and utensils, but Kwestor’s cooking abilities were pretty much limited to charring a rabbit over a campfire. Donald’s culinary expertise ended with boiling water, at best. Cooking is not a skill included in a prince’s normal education and something he never needed to do for himself back at home.
Kwestor sketched a map showing the easiest and quickest way to the Warden, and they discussed their route, distances, and places to camp.
“If we travel light and fast and go all day, we’ll be sure to get there before the autumnal equinox,” Donald said.
The ranger regarded him with a suspicious and questioning eye. “What do you mean by all day?”
“I think we can do fourteen hours anyway, don’t you?”
“Sure,” Muce said. “No problem.”
Kwestor did not seem to share the prince’s sense of urgency. “I think it would be better if we went at a more normal pace. We should still be able to be there by the equinox.”
Donald insisted, concerned about possible distractions and unforeseen delays. “But, if we’re making good time, we can rest a couple of days in Gondford. Okay?”
This seemed little consolation to the ranger, who winced and rubbed his neck. “As His Highness commands.” This is all he said aloud, but in a tone implying Donald just ordered him to take the place of dubious honor on the gallows.
After eating, they gathered their belongings and headed south-southeast toward the town of Dale. Muce wore his recently refurbished boots and said the cobbler did a fine job. They felt more comfortable than a new pair because they were already broken in and just right for a rough road. He smiled and hummed to himself.
The prince sported a new travel pack to replace the saddlebags his gond previously carried. The skilled design allowed it to rest comfortably on his back with its weight evenly distributed on his shoulders. He got it from the same shop in which Muce had his boots repaired and where they discovered the ancient scroll about the Warden. Before he filled it, he checked inside just to make sure it hid nothing written anywhere.
Kwestor carried no more out of the town than he carried into it except for his share of the food and the traveling supplies Muce purchased with the prince’s money. They left the last of the paving and stepped onto the dust of the road promising to lead them to the next semblance of civilization. “It’s going to rain, you know.”
Donald looked toward the red streaked dawn to their left. He noticed a few clouds overhead, but nothing he thought indicated rain. The dry summer had left the land parched, and he appreciated the need for a good rain, although he did not relish the thought of walking in it. “What do you think, Muce?”
“Well, it doesn’t smell like rain.”
“I agree,” Donald said. The ranger is just being pessimistic again, he decided.
An hour later the wind picked up, whipping their travel cloaks around them, and the sky darkened with threatening clouds.
“Damn!” exclaimed the prince at the same time that an explosion of thunder shook the air. Neither of his companions could have heard him as the sky opened and rain hit them as though dumped from a giant storm god’s oversized bucket.
Chapter Seven