The next day, the party gathered at the gate, soon after being joined by the trader riding his wagon. It was similar to the carts that moved goods along the trade routes, with wooden walls and a high seat for the driver. The trader’s name was Fedder, and he was accompanied by his son Ronil. The boy was in his late teens and, just like his father, carried a bow.

“We’re happy to have you along for the trip.” Fedder told them when he helped stow their gear in the back. “I always feel safer when I can travel in a group.”

“We’re just as glad for the company.” Bordan replied. “How far is it to the city? We came a different way, along the northern road and then the back country.”

“You must’ve had one hell of a journey then.” The trader said. “It’s a little over a week, with half that once we reach the trade road. Sometimes have to wait a day or two to tag along with the next caravan going my way, but with you as protection I don’t think we need that.”

The group left the village in good spirits, the adventurers walking alongside the cart, carrying only their weapons. Summer had given way to fall, and the days were slowly getting colder, but they were mostly spared bad weather, and the packed dirt road was easy to navigate. They walked at a leisurely pace dictated by the two oxen pulling the cart, so traveling was much more relaxing. Add to that the knowledge that they were heading home instead of hurrying towards yet another fight, and it was simply an overall pleasant walk.

To pass the time, the adventurers chatted with the trader and his son. As it turned out, it was the first time Ronil was allowed to come, as his father deemed it a safe opportunity for the boy to experience the road with adventurers around for protection. It was the first time Ronil was traveling further than to the neighboring village, and he was soaking in the experience with eyes as round as saucers. He was also extremely curious when it came to the adventurers, and he kept begging for stories. As it was their first journey, those stories ran out quickly, even though he couldn’t get enough of hearing about their fights. He was especially fascinated with Salissa’s part in them, as he had apparently learned that she was a mage before their departure. Edwin understood his interest very well, magic was rare enough in the villages as it was, and now he met a mage that not only used her gift but used it to fight. Thankfully, he was too much in awe or too shy to probe her with questions the same way he did with the rest of them, as it clearly made the girl, who was probably only a few years his senior, quite uncomfortable.

They made their way across the country unmolested, staying in a different village each night. After a few days of much of the same, the dirt trail spit them out on the stone-paved eastern trade road, within view of a waystation’s palisade. They drew into the protective wall, pulling the cart through to the northern gate and unhitched the oxen. As they worked, a caravan entered the waystation from the direction of Pel Darni, cart after cart passing through the tall gate with the drivers calling greetings down to them. When the animals were taken care of, the group headed to the station’s tavern, hoping to ply the drivers for news from the city.

--- ----- ---

The adventurers were sitting in a large crowd, the drivers having immediately declared their willingness to gossip and pulling up several tables.

“Come on, that can’t be true. You’re joking, right?” Bordan said incredulously, looking around as if seeking help. None of them laughed, though, with some of them nodding or grinning at his reaction.

“I swear it’s true, ask any of them.” The storyteller said, clearly enjoying the open mouths of the adventurers. “Duke Marrad has declared himself king.”

“But…can he do that?” Leodin asked. “I mean, he can’t just say he’s a king and that makes it true, right? A king is…” He stopped, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “…special.”

Nobody answered at first, so Edwin spoke. “Well, technically there’s nothing really special about a king. If you think about it, the first king must have also named himself, or maybe he was named by his followers. It really only matters if his people believe him, I suppose, and if they agree that he’s their king instead of their duke, then that does in fact make it true.” He looked over to the storyteller, who nodded sagely.

“The Marradi seem just fine with the idea.” The driver agreed. “They always thought they were something better, didn’t they?”

“So…” Leodin started, then trailed off again. Edwin looked at him with a raised eyebrow, gesturing for him to speak.

“Does that mean he’s our king now too?”

The room drowned in voices as the surrounding drivers started clamoring in protest.

“Absolutely not.” Bordan answered firmly when the ruckus had died down a little. “He can call himself a king all he wants, and if the stupid Marradi want to believe that I, suppose they can. Those self-important windbags have wanted to rule Harvand for a century, and empty titles or not, they’ll never get their dirty hands on our land, not while a single one of us draws breath!”

Again, the room devolved in noise, as the drivers voiced their agreement to the words of the former soldier. Edwin had never heard Bordan speak as passionately or as disdainfully about anything. It made sense, though, as the man had spent most of his life beating back Marradi aggression at the country’s border.

“It’s not a stupid question.” Edwin told Leodin. “Even though our ancestors went into exile, the three duchies have always considered themselves part of the kingdom they left behind. In many places, we’re still beholden to the same laws. If one of the dukes wanted to become the king of all three duchies, he’d need the agreement of the other two dukes, though. The second duke of Marrad actually tried that during the Volarki war if I recall correctly. Even then, when the three duchies really only existed in name, Harvand and Pertam vehemently opposed him.”

Edwin scratched his chin in thought, trying to remember decades-old lectures on history and politics.

“By naming himself king, the duke pretty much does the opposite: He severs Marrad’s ties with the old order and the other duchies, creating a completely new kingdom of his own. He was already pushing his duchy towards war, now he’s burned the bridges, if you will. The only way for him to save face is to win.”

“Exactly.” The storyteller nodded sagely. The driver had followed their discussion with interest, but he clearly wanted the limelight back, and he still had another anvil to drop. “Duke Harvand said that too. That’s why he immediately declared martial law and instituted the draft.”

The adventurers involuntarily leaned back, sharing troubled looks.

“Damn Marradi.” Fedder spat. “They ruin everything. Why can’t they just leave us the hell alone?”

“Yeah!” One of the drivers called. “This time they’ve gone too far. We need to show them that they can’t push us around once and for all! Let’s see how they feel when the gull flies over their capital!”

Again, shouts and murmurs of agreement filled the room, but Edwin shook his head.

“I agree with the sentiment, but there’s a reason why the borders didn’t change much in the last hundred years. Neither us nor Marrad have a feasible way to break city shields. I can’t imagine what they’re hoping to achieve here. It’s just going to be more of the same, countless men dying for a few kilometers of land that no sane farmer would want, because it’s just going to change hands again in a year anyway.”

The drivers grumbled, but nobody contested his words. The mood was sufficiently soured however, and soon after, the adventurers retired. The dark clouds that hung over their heads persisted through the night, with actual storm clouds forming above as they hitched the oxen to the wagon the next morning. Thick raindrops clattering onto the stone road made conversation difficult, and the travelers spent the day walking and brooding.

The next day, the rain had thankfully stopped, only returning as a light drizzle every now and then for a short while. Around noon, a wagon approached from the front, and they stopped to feed their oxen and exchange a few words. This wagon was different than the usual freight carts, although it too had high wooden walls. It was wider, and instead of a single raised driver’s bench, it had an enclosed gallery all around. As both vehicles stopped and Bordan approached the wagon, several figures armed with bows and crossbows climbed out of a door in the side to greet them. Soon, both adventuring parties were chatting amicably.

“I think we patrollers had it the easiest with the monster wave.” Said Unfrid. The leader of the other party was a little younger than Bordan, short and wiry, with a perpetual smile on his face that was marred by two scars. “Sure, we’ve encountered more monsters, but they mostly stay in the forests near the villages to begin with. It’s easier and safer for them there. Also, we were heading up and down the trade road anyway, that didn’t change. For you, more requests means more and longer trips, for us it just means a little more excitement.”

“Easy for you to say.” One of his companions interrupted. “I’d like to see my family.” He turned to the newcomers to explain. “Before, we would usually switch out with another group every week to get some downtime, now we get that maybe once a month. I know we chose this over doing requests, but I’m really starting to get tired of this damn road.”

The patrol wagon was designed to be able to stay outside during the night, but Fedder’s cart wasn’t, so the two parties soon bid their goodbyes and kept moving. Pel Darni was only a short trip away now, but their minds returned to the news they’d received. The future had seemed clear and bright, now there were dark clouds on the horizon.