Episode 34: Dawn broke with a pale, misty light filtering through the cabin window. Gregory awoke to find Abigail already up and moving about, her preparations nearly complete. She had changed into traveling clothes—sturdy leather breeches, a linen shirt, and a gray cloak that he recognized as the uniform of the Rangers. A finely crafted bow and quiver hung across her back, and various knives were strapped to her belt and boots.
"How's the shoulder?" she asked without preamble, noticing he was awake.
Gregory rotated it carefully, wincing at the stiffness and pain, but noting it was significantly better than the day before. "Manageable," he replied honestly.
"Good. Eat." She pushed a bowl of porridge toward him. "We have a long ride ahead."
As Gregory ate, Abigail continued her efficient packing, checking and rechecking supplies with the methodical care of someone used to survival depending on proper preparation. He watched her, impressed by her focus and competence.
"How long to reach Bridane?" he asked between mouthfuls.
"Two days if we push hard," she replied. "I know shortcuts the bandits don't. And I've already sent word ahead."
Gregory paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. "You've what?"
"Rangers maintain a network of message posts," Abigail explained. "Last night while you slept, I left coded information at the nearest one. It will be passed along the line, warning our brethren to watch for trouble on the roads."
"Is that wise?" Gregory asked, concerned. "We don't know who we can trust."
Abigail's green eyes flashed. "I trust my fellow Rangers with my life. The code I used will only be understood by a select few, and it contained no specifics—only that I'm traveling to Bridane with a companion and to watch for ambushes."
Gregory nodded, accepting her judgment. "I'm just being cautious. Too many people know about Bryce's return already."
"Caution is good," Abigail agreed. "But so are allies. Now finish eating. We leave in ten minutes."
True to her word, they were mounted and riding before the sun had fully cleared the horizon. Abigail led them on a path that seemed to Gregory to be heading in entirely the wrong direction, but he trusted her knowledge of the terrain. His mare followed Abigail's dappled gray stallion without hesitation, picking her way through the forest with sure-footed confidence.
They rode in silence for the most part, Abigail clearly preferring to focus on their surroundings rather than conversation. Gregory was content to follow her lead, using the quiet time to organize his thoughts about all that had happened since he first encountered Bryce.
By midday, they had emerged from the dense forest onto a narrow track that Gregory didn't recognize from his maps. Abigail set a brisk pace, only stopping briefly to rest the horses and eat a simple meal of dried meat and fruit.
"We're making good time," she said, scanning the horizon with practiced eyes. "If we maintain this pace, we'll reach the Kingsroad by nightfall."
"And then?" Gregory asked.
"Then we ride through the night," Abigail replied matter-of-factly. "The Kingsroad is too exposed to camp alongside. But it's well-maintained and will allow us to travel quickly, even in darkness."
Gregory nodded, impressed by her strategic thinking. "You've done this before."
"Many times," she confirmed. "Rangers are often called to Bridane for consultation. Though not usually with such urgent business."
As they remounted and continued their journey, Gregory found himself studying Abigail with growing curiosity. Bryce had described her as a childhood friend, but there was clearly more to their relationship than that simple description suggested.
"How long have you known Bryce?" he asked, breaking the extended silence between them.
Abigail glanced back at him, seeming to consider whether to answer. "Since we were children," she said finally. "My father was the royal falconer. I practically grew up in the palace mews."
"And you became a Ranger... after your father died?" Gregory ventured, remembering what Bryce had told him.
Abigail's shoulders stiffened slightly. "Yes. I left the capital nine years ago, when I was eighteen."
"That seems young to join the Rangers."
"It is," she acknowledged. "But I had... skills they found valuable. And I needed to get away from Bridane."
Gregory sensed there was much more to that story but decided not to press. Instead, he asked, "When was the last time you saw Bryce?"
Abigail was silent for so long that Gregory thought she might not answer. When she finally did, her voice was quieter, with an undercurrent of emotion she couldn't quite conceal.
"Three years ago. He came to Huster, supposedly on a diplomatic mission. But really, he just wanted to see how I was faring." A small smile touched her lips. "He was terrible at disguising himself. Anyone who knew him would have recognized him immediately."
"You two were close," Gregory observed.
Abigail's smile faded. "Once," she said shortly. "That was a long time ago."
They lapsed into silence again, but Gregory's mind was piecing together the fragments of what remained unsaid. There had been something between Bryce and Abigail—something significant enough that it still affected her years later. And yet, whatever it was had ended with her leaving the capital and choosing a life far from court.
As the day wore on, they pushed their mounts harder, eating up the miles between them and Bridane. True to Abigail's prediction, they reached the Kingsroad just as the sun was setting, its last rays painting the western sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink.
The Kingsroad was the main artery of Comer, connecting the capital to all major cities and towns. Wide and well-maintained, it allowed for much faster travel than the forest paths they had been using. But as Abigail had noted, it also offered less cover and more exposure to potential threats.
"Stay alert," she cautioned as they joined the road and picked up their pace. "The Kingsroad attracts all sorts—merchants, travelers, and those who prey on them."
Gregory nodded, acutely aware of his still-healing shoulder and limited fighting ability. "I'll follow your lead."
They rode through the gathering darkness, the moon providing just enough light to see the road ahead. Occasionally, they passed other travelers—a merchant's wagon here, a group of pilgrims there—but most gave them wide berth, perhaps deterred by Abigail's Ranger cloak and the purposeful way they rode.
It was well past midnight when Abigail finally called for a brief rest. They dismounted in a small copse of trees just off the road, leading their horses to a tiny stream to drink. Gregory stretched, trying to work out the stiffness in his muscles and the ache in his injured shoulder.
"How are you holding up?" Abigail asked, her voice low. In the moonlight, her face was all sharp angles and shadows, her red hair appearing almost black.
"I'm fine," Gregory assured her, though in truth his shoulder was throbbing painfully. "How much farther to Bridane?"
"If we maintain this pace, we'll reach the city by tomorrow evening," she replied. "Sooner if we push harder."
Gregory nodded, relieved. "Good. I'm anxious to get back to Bryce, make sure he's safe."
Abigail studied him with those penetrating green eyes. "You care about him," she observed. "Not just as your prince, but as a person."
"I suppose I do," Gregory admitted, somewhat surprised by the realization. "We've been through a lot together. And he's... not what I expected a prince to be."
"No," Abigail agreed softly. "He never was."
There was a wealth of meaning in those simple words, and Gregory once again found himself wondering about the history between these two. But before he could frame another question, Abigail tensed, her head turning sharply toward the road.
"Someone's coming," she whispered, her hand moving to the bow slung across her back. "Multiple riders, moving fast."
Gregory strained his ears and caught the distant sound of hoofbeats. Many hoofbeats, growing steadily louder.
"Guards?" he suggested hopefully. "A patrol?"
Abigail shook her head. "Not at this hour, and not at that speed. Get the horses deeper into the trees. Quickly!"
They led their mounts further into the small copse, using the trees for cover. Abigail nocked an arrow to her bow, her movements fluid and practiced. Gregory drew the knife Lord Halvorn had given him, feeling woefully unprepared compared to his companion.
The riders came into view—a group of about eight men, moving at a gallop despite the darkness. They were dressed in dark clothing, their faces obscured by hoods or scarves. As they thundered past the copse, Gregory caught glimpses of weapons—swords and crossbows—strapped to their saddles.
"Not bandits," Abigail murmured, her eyes tracking the riders until they disappeared down the road. "Too well-equipped, too disciplined. Those were trained men on a mission."
"Heading toward Bridane," Gregory noted with growing unease. "You don't think..."
"I think we need to get to the city as quickly as possible," Abigail cut him off, already leading her horse back toward the road. "Those men weren't riding like that for no reason."
Gregory followed, a knot of dread forming in his stomach. "You think they're connected to whatever's happening with Bryce?"
Abigail swung up into her saddle with graceful urgency. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I don't believe in coincidences. Not when so much is at stake."
Gregory mounted his own horse, wincing as the movement jarred his injured shoulder. "Then let's go. We've wasted enough time already."
With newfound urgency, they set off down the Kingsroad, pushing their mounts to a pace that ate up the miles but could be sustained through the night. As they rode, Gregory couldn't shake the feeling that events were accelerating beyond their control, that they were racing not just against distance but against time itself.
And deep down, he feared they might already be too late.
