Chapter 10

                                    

                                          
As the sun set they stopped in a broad meadow–a wide, unexpected space in the middle of the wood. With the last rays of the sun Joakim made out perhaps an acre of open ground, green-grassed and flat compared to the slowly rising road they'd followed for most of the day. To east and west, over the sea of trees, snow-capped peaks soared in the distance. 
Joakim grimaced, bending over to stretch his thighs. Even he had heard of the Drayal Forest. It ran for a hundred leagues around the mountains, home to few men and fewer roads. 
"Why take this route and not the trade road?" he asked Erstas as the old man cooked stew over the fire. The night air was pleasant and cool, but Joakim's legs ached from the hard seat of the wagon. "Surely that would've been easier. We would've had inns every night."
"Then what would have happened to the child?" Erstas nodded to where the girl brushed down the horses. "No, I am inclined to believe our path was chosen by greater hands than our own. Fate drew us this way, and I, for one won't question it."
"Fate," sneered Cren, polishing her sword with a dirty rag. "There's no such thing."
"Do you truly believe that?" Erstas asked. "You do not see the hands that brought us together? The way our path has been smoothed? I cannot help but think the Six support us. Zaden corrupts the very balance of the world."
"If the Six supported us, neither you nor I would be here," Cren said. "And Zaden would have perished like the dog he is. We make our own fate, old man, or we would, if not for damn magicians."
"We're not all cursed, Cren," Erstas said, his eyes never moving from the cooking pot. "Would you judge us all on the behaviour of a few? I know magic gave you scars, but it made mine as well."
"And yet you still dally with it!"
"You cannot blame a sword for the blood it spills. The guilt belongs to the hand that wields it," replied Erstas.
"You don't know... You never saw... They laughed!" Cren said, fists balling. "They laughed as they–"
"They will keep laughing until Zaden is defeated," Erstas said, as calm as the moon above them. "Should we keep a weapon sheathed because it once cut us?" 
Cren's head tossed back and forth, mouth caught between towering rage and awful silence. "That's not fair, old man," she replied eventually, head lowering in defeat.
"Life rarely is, but we must do our best regardless. Whatever steps have brought us here, you are my friend, and I will walk beside you for as long as you'll let me."
Cren grunted and wandered off, leaving Joakim gawping by the fire.
"Who are you people?" he asked, aware that for all the time he'd spent with them, he had very little of an answer.
"Just people," Erstas replied sadly. "People with a sworn duty. Here, help me with this..." He poured the bubbling stew into four bowls and handed one to Joakim, but offered two to the girl.
"Would you like to find Cren?" He asked. "You could give her dinner. I'm sure she'd like to see you."
The girl peered at him for some time, but eventually she nodded, taking the bowls and disappearing into the night.
"Good." Erstas watched her retreating form. "Some topics are too dark for children."
"What sworn duty?" Joakim asked, determined not to be shaken off. "Stop Emperor Zaden, you said. Stop him, how?"
"It has to do with the plasticity of the soul bond. Have I told you about that?" Erstas asked.. 
"I don't know what plasticity means."