Kelton and Gossamer walked most of the day. They woke early, rolled up their meager belongings and started off after a cup of tea. They were not far from a village called Drabkin's Forge and expected to arrive near sunset. Not much of a town but it did have a small merchant district that contained a tavern they had visited a few years before. The owner had been welcoming, fronting a meal for a story or two from Gossamer. Kelton remembered him as a heavy man with a wife that was as skinny as he was fat. It was their happiness that he remembered the most. Always laughing.

"Do you remember the tavern's name?" Kelton asked.

"One Eyed Crow," Gossamer answered. "Torin, the owner, was kind enough before. I forgot his wife's name. Quite the cook if I remember right."

"That's right. She makes those soft-ball things."

"Dumplings." Gossamer nodded. "It will be nice to taste them again."

"We live like kings, after Joycelyn's meal, now dumplings." Kelton's words slowed and quieted as he neared the end of his comment. He felt a group approaching from behind them. Too fast for feet. Out of habit, he pulled Gossamer off the road and toward the trees.

"Horses coming," Kelton whispered as he found some bushes thick enough to hide them from view. A moment later the sound of hooves were clearly heard. Multiple horses were running at a trot which was odd for such a lazy road. They watched as a group of seven soldiers moved past their position, all sitting tall in the saddle wearing leather breast plate draped in the King's blue. Kelton admired the bright blue cloaks. Color, beyond nature, was a rare commodity in the world he knew. Earthen tones were the norm. He wondered how they achieved the color, since he'd seen it nowhere else. Gossamer pulled Kelton down to the ground, and they sat out of sight as the patrol moved on unknowing.

"Rare sight," Kelton said when he could no longer hear the hooves.

"They have to get about like the rest of us," Gossamer said. He got comfortable, leaning back. "Let's wait a bit. Make sure that's the last of them." Kelton shifted the wrapped swords off his back and laid them down. They were hidden enough at first glance, but a search from a careful eye would be risky.

"Where to do you think they're going?"

"Who knows the King's business?" Gossamer said as he shrugged his shoulders. "They were in a hurry, so I doubt it will concern us."

"Wish I was king. I'd make changes, fix things. I'd never let people get marked like Joycelyn, nor allow this Choosing thing."

"You'd be a good king," Gossamer agreed. "Though even the king has his problems. He not the only power in Aragonia." He snorted. "Not even the most powerful." That didn't sound right to Kelton. The king had many men and enforced the laws.

"Who's stronger than the king?"

"There are many empires across the sea. Aragonia is a small nation when you consider the Koplities or the Masocrates. If it weren't for the ocean, our island would have fallen to one of the two long ago." Kelton had only seen the ocean a few times, and it looked unending. It was hard to imagine that there were lands beyond it. It was equally hard to imagine a land as large as Aragonia as an island. Especially since it housed lakes with their own islands.

"Ignoring the more powerful kingdoms, you have the Brethren," Gossamer continued. "The king serves at their convenience."

"I thought they only speak for the Goddess," Kelton said, trying to understand.

"They claim to," Gossamer agreed. "Their words carry her weight. If they wished a new king, there would be a new king."

"The king wouldn't go against the Goddess."

"True." Gossamer stroked his beard, thinking deeply. "Though I think it's better put that the King won't go against the Brethren."

"But the King's men enforce the laws."

"That works well for the Brethren. King Gregory handles the people, and the Brethren handle him. It's been that way since the Reformation."

"Doesn't seem right."

"It's not. It's just the way it is. Don't go talking about it in town," Gossamer warned. "Could lose our heads if the wrong people heard us putting a voice to it in public."

Something had changed. Gossamer was talking to Kelton as an equal. Before he would hide what he considered hard truths and now there was trust in his words. Trust that Kelton could hold them, process them, and not share them where they could do harm. Still, he wanted to know more.

"Doesn't the Brethren fear the King's army?" It seemed sensible enough. Gossamer paused before answering. He looked at Kelton, his lips pursing inward as he thought of an answer. Maybe Kelton wasn't fully an equal yet.

"The Goddess blesses all things," Gossamer said slowly, "some more than others." His hesitancy was visible, and Kelton could see that he changed his mind before continuing. "The Brethren are a formidable enemy that the King cannot afford to confront head-on." He chuckled. "Not that the Brethren would allow his army to grow large enough to be a real threat. Power isn't always visible."

"So, if the Brethren are the real power in Aragonia, why don't they just rule it? Why have a King at all?"

"Why do you hide in the bushes when we work?" Gossamer replied. "Like you, they prefer not to be seen. It leaves them free from the day-to-day and shields them from blame. The people of Aragonia need a symbol for their discontent, so the Brethren gives them the King while they use the word of the Goddess to support his claim to the throne. Most know the truth but rarely put words to it."

"The King is weak," Kelton surmised. It was a revelation. Everything he knew had to be shifted around to make room for a power he didn't fully understand. He had seen members of the Brethren from afar, Gossamer always steering them well clear. Wearing white robes, they walked with confidence, eyes always forward and ignoring those around them. Kelton had thought it piety, now he imagined smugness. "I thought his throne was given to him by his father."

"So it would seem." Gossamer nodded. "This King's sons died before you were born. With no heirs, who do you think will succeed him now?"

"Is it too late for him to father another?"

"Mayhap, or mayhap the Brethren doesn't wish an heir to the throne." Gossamer's eyebrows rose, an indication he wanted Kelton to think, make his own decision. Whenever Gossamer was in teaching mode, he always took a step back during poignant parts, letting Kelton come to his own conclusions which were usually equivalent to his.

"They don't trust the King to raise an heir?"

"Very good," Gossamer said with his congratulatory smile. "The Brethren wishes a King that is more...manipulatable."

"So, why doesn't the King tell the people?"

"Ahh, that would seem wise at first. But what if a large part of the royalty, the other Hold Lords and their supporters did not rally to him? What if they enjoyed the power and did not want to risk it? Is it worth the turmoil and the deaths it would cause to just to prove a point that would likely fail?"

"Mayhap the King is not brave enough to try," Kelton said, remembering his words about Rebecca and the Choosing. It seemed simple to him. Even an orphaned thief knew when things were wrong.

"Mayhap," Gossamer agreed.

"The King could stop the Choosing," Kelton continued. "Surely the people would back him them. It is folly to let them take girls like Rebecca." He waved his hand as if it contained a sword.

"So the little one did find her way into your heart." Gossamer chuckled.

"Is it too much to stand up for those who can not?" Kelton argued. "Do not all your heroes fight for others, beyond themselves? I declare her my sister, and she'd have my sword if need be." He stood with a determination that surprised him as well as Gossamer. Years of stories had found their way into his mind, forming his ideas of right and wrong. It was the only logical conclusion.

"She already has a family," Gossamer said calmly, waving him back to the ground. Kelton retook his seat behind the bush. "It is important you understand that we must all look out for our own. Getting involved has consequences your young mind has yet to know."

"What happens to those that are Chosen?"

"No one knows."

"Then how can anyone let it happen?"

Gossamer sighed. "The heroes in my stories are not real, Kelton. All those who have stood up to the Brethren have perished. The Brethren declares them damned, heretics of the Goddess, and they are soon forgotten. It is better that one life is lost than many."

"Then you are right. I could not live in town for long," Kelton said. "I would not stand for such things like a Choosing." His hand swept back and forth, slicing through imaginary enemies with an invisible sword.

"Never challenge a Brother!" Gossamer said. There was anger in his eyes that shocked Kelton. "They do not have compassion for those who thwart their will. It is not your own life at risk, it is all that witness your actions as well." Kelton dropped his sword arm, sensing a fear mixed with the ire in Gossamer's words.

"I'm not ready to lose you," Gossamer said, his voice losing its tension. Kelton saw sadness in his eyes. An imagined life without him.

"Nor I you."

"Then we'll steer well clear of the Brethren and any of the King's Own, agreed?"

"If we must." Kelton nodded agreement, and Gossamer smiled dispelling the dark cloud that had made a brief appearance. Kelton didn't understand why bad things were allowed to happen. He did understand Gossamer, and when Gossamer was afraid, there was something to be feared.

"We should move on," Gossamer said as he stood. Kelton followed suit, lifting the wrapped swords onto his pack.

Their trek continued. The sun slowly fell behind the trees and Kelton began to think they had misjudged the distance to Drabkin's Forge. He was sure they were on the right road, though it was strangely quiet. They had seen no merchants, which was odd for such good weather. Usually, there were many taking goods from one town to another, feeding the wants of Aragonia.

"Many coming," Kelton whispered, pointing behind them. It was always hard to get an accurate count by feel. He knew it was more than five, maybe ten or fifteen. "They're moving a little quicker than us. We could outrun them." Gossamer shook his and pointed toward the trees. Once again they found themselves hidden by foliage and watching the rutted road.

Kelton heard the wagon before it neared. He instantly recognized the horse pulling it. The grey dappled beast that pulled Joycelyn's wagon. It was being flanked by a larger, prouder jet black horse on which rode a blue-cloaked soldier. The King's own.

Cory sat at the buckboard, his face grim as he held the leather leads. Kelton watched the sad faces of Joycelyn, Taggert, and Rebecca as they passed. They were sitting stiffly on the crates that contained their lives rocking from side to side as the wagon rolled between ruts. Six more of the King's soldiers followed behind in two neat rows. Between them and the wagon, a white-robed man sat upon a striking brown mount, maybe a hand taller than the rest. His long hair, the color of his horse, was pulled severely back and braided halfway down his back. Gossamer pulled Kelton down to the ground.

"If we get separated, you stay hidden until they leave," Gossamer whispered in his ear. "Go back to our last camp. I'll meet you there in a day or so." Kelton's mouth moved, questions forming though Gossamer's concern kept them unspoken.

"We are not alone, Captain." It came from the group on the road. Kelton couldn't tell who had spoken since Gossamer had him flat in the dirt. The horses all stopped, and Gossamer stood, his right foot squarely on Kelton's back as if he might disobey Gossamer's last order and rise.

"Thank the Goddess," Gossamer said loudly. He wore his best smile as he lifted his pack to his shoulder. "I first thought you less friendly. I am heartened to see the King's law so far from the settlements. Might an old man travel with you." Kelton recognized Gossamer's storytelling in his words. "Oh, your Eminence. I did not see you there. I am not worthy of the Goddess's blessing." He moved forward, away from the bush and Kelton.

"None are worthy." The same voice that had announced they were not alone spoke. Kelton put it on the white-robed figure, a member of the Brethren. "Though all those that seek the blessing are welcome." It was a practiced statement, one that traveled falsely through the air.

"I'll have your name and purpose, old man." This time the voice was more commanding. Kelton figured it for a soldier, possibly the Captain.

"A storyteller, sir. I am known as Gossamer. My goal is the tavern at Drabkin's Forge."

"Are you any good?" The Brother spoke again.

"You can ask these good people. I traded stories for a fine meal two nights past." Kelton remembered Gossamer's lessons. Always wrap your lies in a bit of truth. No need to hide the familiarity with the family, or trust them to hide it.

"Quite good, your Eminence," Joycelyn agreed. She was equally skilled at deception. Kelton could only hope her children wouldn't give him away, though he wondered why he was hiding in the first place. Gossamer didn't seem to have a problem exposing himself. Maybe, Gossamer didn't have confidence in Kelton's ability to deceive.

"Then you will join our troupe and regale us with a tale or two this night." The Brother spoke as if an agreement was a foregone conclusion.

"As you wish, your Eminence," Gossamer said with great deference. Kelton dared to raise his eyes and watched as Gossamer climbed upon the wagon. The soldiers were looking about, but the Brother stared straight ahead as if the world wasn't moving fast enough for his liking.

"Move us along, Captain," the Brother instructed before Gossamer was fully seated. He sat quickly as the lead soldier pulled the draft horse along. Kelton could see the strain on the family's faces. Their wagon was moving in the wrong direction, guided by those they intended to avoid. It wasn't until the wagon was out of sight when Kelton began to associate the situation with the Choosing.

Kelton replaced the wrapped swords across the top of his pack and shouldered it. There was something stirring in his gut that made him queasy. He walked out onto the empty road and looked back at the line of undergrowth that had hidden him and Gossamer. They had been well off the road and the foliage thick enough to camouflage from watchful eyes, much less lazy observation. He wondered how the Brother had known they were there. If he had seen Gossamer, why didn't he see Kelton as well? Gossamer had acted like his being spotted was a foregone conclusion, yet seemed to know that Kelton was well hidden.

Kelton's stomach lurched. He knew guilt when he felt it. The thievery had caused Joycelyn's family to be delayed. It was his fault they were found and dragged back to where they didn't want to be. All his words, his spouting about being a hero was just that, words. He laid behind a bush and let it all happen. He should have stood up and demanded their release. Instead, he lay there and let them take Gossamer as well.

Kelton looked to the north, toward where Gossamer instructed him to go. He turned south, feeling the wagon and its party slowly receding away. It would be easy to follow and it if came to it, redeem himself. Stealth has always been his ally and the coming night would simplify it even more. He knew he was worth more as a hidden partner than groveling at a campsite safely waiting for Gossamer's return. He wasn't a child that could be shoved to the side. There were risks and he freely accepted them. It was his fault Rebecca was taken where she didn't choose to go. It must be rectified.

After all, he promised.