Of Gods & Champions: Book I: Fate

XVIII. War Ain't Good For Nothin'

"YOU'RE NOT EVEN SLIGHTLY worried?" Sallan asks as we ride along in a light shower of snow.

"We're facing a murderous overgrown wolf and his deranged, evil otherworldly powered master, Sallan," I reply, still looking ahead. "Nah, I'll think we'll breeze right through it."

"Hey, I'm the sarcastic one!" Sallan protests, but then the snow becomes heavier, and I pull up my hood.

"Don't you think we should find a place to stay for the duration of the snow?" He asks, glancing upwards at the gathering snow clouds.

"You're right," I sigh, "But there's no place where we can get sufficient coverage."

I kick Argas back into a gallop, and we scan the nearby landscape for trees or a crevice or something that we could burrow into to shield us from the storm.

The snow flurries dancing in front of us cloud a good deal of our vision, but they can't mask the giant plume of smoke rising up in the distance.

"Is that smoke?" Sallan asks, poking his head next to mine to peer farther ahead. "All the way out here? There's only an icy valley over there."

"Either way, we need shelter and warmth, and where there is smoke, there's warmth," I say, and I turn Argas towards the smoke.

Soon enough, we drawn much closer and we can see that within this valley is a small town, with actual log cabins and stone lodges built up, with smoke drifting up from their roofs.

"Unbelievable," I say, fixated on the town.

Someone spots us pretty early on, and before we've drawn within yelling distance, three men have started galloping towards us on the backs of muscled brown bears.

"Ilah," Sallan says in a low voice.

"I know, I know," I respond, and I slowly and discreetly lower my hand to my waist and slide it around the handle of my sword, lifting it slightly out of it's sheath.

"From where have you come, strangers?" One man yells across to us from afar.

"Um... Biawood village," I call back, "But my friend here just crawled from the unknown depths."

"I must be rubbing off on you," Sallan grumbles.

A young man rides up to us then, curly yellow hair framing his face, with a large axe lying across his lap.

"Ilah Sagewood and Sallan... the spirit fox," I haltingly introduce us, pulling Argas back from lunging at the strangers. "We need lodging for the night, what with the storm rolling in."

The man smiles, and extends his hand for me to grasp. "I'm Bene, the town woodcutter. We'd be happy for such... Fair and lovely company as yourself to stay for the night."

I fight the urge to blush, conscious of Sallan's critical eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.

"Thank you," I say, clearing my throat. "Lead the way."

He turns his bear around and gallops back to the other men, and I snap Argas's reins to follow him.

"You trust these guys?" Sallan asks quietly.

"They've given me no reason for trust, yet none for distrust either," I tell him firmly. "It's only one night, anyway, Sallan."

By this time we've descended past the mouth of the valley, and entered the small town, where the open windows of the cabins quickly alight with fire as townsfolk peer out to see us pass by, hair wild and disheveled, clothes dirty and unkempt.

"We're taking you to meet the town's chieftains before we get you settled," Bene tells us as we enter a small town square where two identical young but muscled men await our arrival.