Bouncing along on top of his horse, his head throbbing from the (lucky) shots he’d taken at the Inn from those hired men, he thought, I want to get rid of this fucking egg. It sat in its satchel strung across his back.

The East Shore was a long ways off yet.

He wasn’t so sure about all this, though. Take the egg to the East Shore. Then what? Demaria didn’t say. Or wouldn’t. Of course, he couldn’t allow Jorbert of all people to get ahold of a dragon. Assuming that was what was really inside it. He didn’t know. For all he knew, it could be an over-large chicken.

But he’d gotten that coin purse off the bald man--Gregor Hilbane, if his memory served him right. The man never gave his name, but Jorbert had. That little noble prick. He’d gotten that coin purse, though. He felt well-paid and that was what mattered. He could well afford his own plot of land now.

Give Demaria the egg and get the fuck out of here.

That’s what he wanted most. His frustration was lurking in the back of his mind, because the elf would not take it, said she could not. She as only allowed to watch it. But by whose orders? It didnt make much sense. Then give it to someone else and then ditch the elf; have no more part in this. The egg is dangerous, no matter what’s inside it, because its the belief in what’s inside it that matters. And if Jorbert believed, there may well be others.

His head had square nails stuck through his temple. He rubbed at the spot with his finger. The whole idea hurt to think about. He would make his plans later and ditch the elf and live out his days in obscurity. In good health. Maybe find a woman to take as his wife.

“How did you become a sell-sword? Is it a family trade, Merek?” Demaria asked.

He glanced up ahead. She was riding on a white horse; she’d traded her dress in for leather breeches and a plain tunic to match. Her blonde hair still flowed. She was looking back at him with a small, puzzled grin.

“Can’t figure it out?”

She shook her head.

The orange waves of fire. Men fighting in his village. The trunk, the cart, his narrow escape. It made him sick to think about. “I was just another man down on his luck, who happened to grow big enough to fight. A retired soldier saw that, trained me, encouraged me to join a Hoverstone’s army, told me to use that to fight back against the Highlanders. He died.” A little more complicated than that, isn’t it? “And I went my own way. I’ve only ever wanted to farm my own land. Have children. Grow old and die.”

“I wanted similar.”

“Really? You wanted to farm?”

She laughed. “No, but the rest of it.”

She was no longer talking to him with one-word answers, thank goodness. That would have made for a bad traveling partner. It helped, more likely than not, that he now believed she was an elf. “What’s stopping you?”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Coin.” He held up his coin purse. “Which I have enough of, now.”

She nodded, her hair flowing wheat-barley upon the wind. “I have a duty to my people. Until that is served, I cannot do as I please.”

“How did that come about?”

She turned back around in her saddle. “Elves are not immune to politics, Merek. It seems that every creature that thinks is subject to that struggle.”

“The struggle of cost.”

“Something very much like that. Mine is love.” She held up her fist. “Hold.”

Merek stopped his horse.

“Into the brush.”

He nodded and followed her off the trail through the woods, into thick brush between tall, proud oaks. “What is it? What do you see?”

“Men up ahead.”

“What kind of men? Good, bad, what?”

“I’m uncertain. But in your experience in the Flatlands, do men usually put up checkpoints with Hoverland guards?”

“Rarely, maybe during a time of war, rebellion...maybe to catch a Kingslayer,” he offered. “I can’t think of any other reason.”

“Then they’re looking for us.”

“Jorbert.”

She nodded. “Is there another way around?”

“In the Flatland, always.” But he had a suspicion. He leaned around her and looked through the brush. The view was blocked, mostly, but he could make out the light wooden structure, a plume of white. “But I have a better idea.”

“It’s unwise to fight our way through, Merek. I saw many, many men.”

“Not fight,” he said. “Steal.”

“Elves don’t--”

“Yeah, yeah, you keeping saying that, I know. But I steal. And what I’m going to steal is tied down just there.” He grinned. “A hovership.”