One of the bandits, who fought Arthur and got away, sent a pigeon flapping with a rolled-up note tied to its leg.

  The pigeon flew for miles, over a span of a day and night without pause, to reach the stone sill of a tower window. It flapped inside the opening and landed on a stand next to the desk, where a finely dressed woman sat mulling over scrolls and tomes.

  She casually removed the small scroll from the bird and sent it on its way out the window. Her red-painted lips stretched with a sinister smile. It looked like her star-scrying was correct, for the movement of the constellations had foretold the once and future king embarking on a long and tedious journey.

  From her previous updates, she knew that Uthur had sent Arthur on a save-face-quest to gather a magical sword and take it to the Mistic Mountains. No doubt to that place, which she so desired to visit herself. But now wasn't the time to take drastic actions, she would let Arthur do most of the leg work for her. If she played her cards right, she would be able to beat him to the punch.

  "So, Arthur Pentaghast of the White Lily, let's see how far you will go." The woman's smooth voice let out a malicious cackle.

  She turned to her crystal mirror on the wall nearby and waved her slender hand (with manicured red painted nails) over it with a thought to see Arthur.

  The crystal revealed the man trekking through a forest with another two men and a horse.

  -- ?? --

  Galahad roared with frustration at having to hold the horse's rein. The cranky nag was stubbornly dragging its shoddy hooves along the dirt, so much so, they didn't travel too far from Chancealot City's stone walls.

  "This is ridiculous." He let go of the reins and lamented over their misfortune when the nag took the opportunity to sprint back to the city.

  "Let her go. If she didn't want to come, no point in forcing the beast," Arthur said, which had San's eyes sparkling and head nodding with agreement. "Just as well we couldn't place a saddle on her."

  Arthur stopped and faced San. "Why are you following us?"

  San innocently tilted his head to one side, paused for thought, then answered, "Because you guys are fun. And I have no more business in Chancealot, so why not?"

  Galahad eyed San up and down, not seeing a hint of a weapon on him. "You're not armed."

  San laughed and patted his shoulder. "Who said I'm not?"

  "Magic?" Galahad gripped the hilt of his dagger.

  "No? Why would I know that?" San answered nonchalantly.

  The man's calm attitude was enough to convince Galahad of him being a non-mage and relax his grip. Besides, if the man did have and honed magic, his body would've instinctively avoided the lance. It was a known fact that magic practitioners were slightly faster than the average man, certainly able to move at the speed of sound without consciously being aware.

  "Dancing and singing can be weapons too," San answered and pouted. "But I guess having one arm in a sling won't help me much."

  His pouting was making Arthur feel guilty. So, he asked what his other skills were.

  San added that he had been a traveling bard for many years, so knew the main areas of the Western Isles well. Fighting to survive wasn't the only means. This fact was enough conviction for Arthur to keep him around.

  "Ok, San, I'll hire you as our guide. But you're to leave us if it ever gets too dangerous."

  "Who said gallantry was dead?" San grinned, feeling happy to hear the man's words.

  Rather than feeling annoyed, Arthur felt equally happy by San's response. Naturally, he masked his emotion with aloofness and continued their trek.

  With the nag no longer in their possession, they were able to move faster; sharing the bag loads with each other. By nightfall, they had gained some good ground.

  Arthur was impressed with the ease and speed of San's skill in having a campfire started. And the fact that San made sure the fire wasn't too high and strong, reaffirmed his skills in surviving the wild.

  "The smoke is a beacon for unnecessary attention," San instructed them. "I'll put it out when we go to sleep."

  Galahad frowned and asked why San was sprinkling powder around the camp area from a poultice he had pulled out of his busted bag. His eyes lit up with interest when San informed him that the powder was a special herb mix that deterred insects and vermin from entering the area since they didn't like the smell. It certainly did smell foul.

  Arthur observed San carefully, wondering how the man came to be a traveling bard. He obviously had cultivated skills to be able to survive in the wilderness. But, kept his wonders to himself.

  As San suggested, the fires went out as they were going to sleep. Arthur kept the first watch. About an hour into his watch, he encountered his first intruder.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He unsheathed his sword and leaped for the racing attacker. Both he and the attacker skidded to a halt.

  "Chifton?"

  Chifton snorted.

  "What are you doing here?"

  Chifton grumbled and said that he needed some forest air. Arthur peered at him closely, noticing the nervy twitches to his nostrils beneath the moonlight. He guessed that the real reason was the stable hand had told on him to the bookie, which had stirred up a party of angry gamblers for his head.

  "Stewed horse is tastier when savoring revenge, am I right?" Arthur sniggered.

  The horse huffed and trotted off to stand near the others.

  Arthur sheathed his sword and returned to his watching spot against a tree. A short while later, Galahad tapped his shoulder for a shift change.

  San was sitting up against a trunk, awake and pulling his woolen cloak around his body to stay warm. He still seemed to be cold.

  "Here." Arthur sat down next to him and shared his cloak with him.

  Both men's hearts began beating weirdly, as they shared each other's warmth.

  "Um, sire, I think I'm okay." San gulped, feeling shy.

  Galahad's curses and shouts jolted them out of the moment and up on their feet.

  They were surrounded by bandits in brown leather and tatty tunics. All revealed an assortment of swords, maces, and axes sharp for the killing.

  "Well, well. We have some customers." A scraggly, white-bearded old man stepped before them.

  Galahad screwed up his face at the thought. "Customers? You don't even know what that means."

  "It means you give, we take." The white-bearded bandit chuckled.

  "That's not a customer! A customer is a person who buys products from a seller, and from where I'm standing, you're not selling anything!" Galahad waved an arrow about with a flourish.

  Arthur smirked as he moved into a position. San slipped into the shadows, to hide from the bandits' view.

  "No. A customer gives to the seller when demanded! That's a customer." The white-bearded bandit passionately argued back, getting roped into the debate.

  "That's a flawed business model. You won't get any loyalty with that." Galahad continued to argue. "I doubt your income can be regular. What a horrible job being a bandit."

  "It ain't horrid!" Another voice chimed in. "We get to rob a lot of good shit!"

  "And how many hours do you have to wait in the cold for that good shit?" Galahad added, which had the bandits scratching their heads.

  "I, I guess someone has to do it!" Another voice added, which stirred up agreements among the bandits.

  "Yeah? Well, standing in the cold for hours just on a hunch that some sorry bastard comes along, with a decent amount of good shit, is a pretty bad job if you ask me. You should be demanding penalty rates from your boss. And a uniform allowance. That's slave labor, that is!" Galahad continued to argue and buy time for the others.

  "Guess we'll get our penalty rates from you!" The white-bearded bandit sniggered as he raised his weapons again to resume the fight.

  "Oh, you think? I'm your customer. If you want to stay in business, you should entice me with a loyalty rate. At the minimum, a discount." Galahad licked his lips and unhooked his daggers. "Better yet, let me demand my refund."

  He threw his daggers at the white-bearded bandit, lodging them in the man's chest with a perfect aim. Kicked back oncoming attackers and evade-rolled out of the path of attacks, rolling and landing next to the white-bearded bandit to retrieve his daggers. He swerved, twisted, and leaned back to avoid sword blows. With a few swift movements, sheathed his daggers and gathered his bow; firing an arrow with a perfect aim at the oncoming bandit.

  Curses and cries were released when Arthur managed to eliminate the other bandits with ease.

  San released his hand around the head of his flute, which was stowed inside his tunic; heaving a sigh of relief that he didn't have to play it.

  "Pitiful small fry." Galahad shook his head. "I understand the need to survive, but there are better ways to do it, isn't there, San?"

  San stepped out to approach them and nodded his agreement.

  Chifton mentioned that dawn was cracking. They all decided to pack up camp and start walking as fast as they could.

  --

  The woman's crystal mirror became cloudy, and soon the images of Arthur and his men were gone. The magic had run out. No matter, she had enough information to start her plans.