with Bracken and Brea.
The man known to some as the Godslayer looked to the sun, now almost fully risen over the horizon.
Besides, if Avery was right, it's Spring now, and the next sword will be waking up soon. And I can't see how having help with that could be a bad thing...
Chapter 2
The procession moved slowly yet purposefully through the wooded region, weaving their way through the remnants scattered about upon the ground of so many others who had beaten the path they followed into a much broader road than it had been just the previous year. Many items had been discarded, leaving what had surely been a pristine setting once now littered with refuse. Everything from discarded utensils to odd bits of clothing to even decomposing waste lay scattered on and about the path. The stench was something new to this area, and all of the riders knew it. For even beneath the sweltering refuse of the people who had come before, the land had not completely been choked of life.
Not yet, at any rate.
They were six in number, though the man leading the company stood out distinctly from all the others. The only one who came close to his bearing was the woman who rode at his side, yet for all her beauty, even she paled beside the majesty of the group's leader.
The man who plainly led the group rode a majestic steed, one that was clearly of noble descent. The lady beside him rode a horse a hand shorter than the great stallion upon which her companion rode, though it gave the bearing of a well bred creature, as well. The rest of the procession all rode horses whose lineage left little doubt that they were simple beasts of labor. Had the group not been obviously traveling as a unit, no one would likely have thought the other four connected in any way to the nobles who led the procession.
Avery flexed his right hand, still reveling in the strength of his restored flesh, even after all these months. The time he had been without his limb was significantly shorter than the period in which it had been restored, but still he felt the need to assure himself that it was indeed there. Feeling the power of his closed fist, he felt as if he could rule the world from the back of his noble stallion by virtue of that strength alone. After all, who in all the history of the world could claim to be able to regrow their own severed hand?
Beside him, his wife Viola rode in her own glory. Avery still felt his heart melt every time he looked upon her, and when she would smile, he more than once thought he might give up everything in the world just for the joy that image gave him. Her faith in him was absolute, and her devotion was intoxicating. More than any other woman he had bed since he had set out on this grand affair, this woman ruled over his soul. Had she asked him anything, he feared that for all his power, he would be helpless to forbear her wishes.
As he thought this, Viola did indeed look Avery's way. Seeing his eyes upon her, she blushed and the sweetest smile imaginable brushed her lips. All at once, Avery felt his breath escape him, swept away in the sheer force of emotion he bore for this woman. She may only have been his wife by his own declaration, yet the two were bound by deeper roots than any mere priest could unite them through some other God's blessing. Besides, what other deity could possibly be called upon to unite a God and his bride?
“My Lord,” came a voice from behind Avery, snapping him from his state of adoration.
Avery mastered his urge to yell in return to the interruption, choosing to remain calm instead as he half-turned in his saddle. “Yes, Lartien?”
“The day's end approaches,” answered one of the other men as he rode up closer to his leader. “Should we not scout a campsite?”
Avery looked ahead, letting his senses reach out before responding. “ Our destination cannot be much further, Lartien. We have already passed many pilgrims on the road.
The man known to some as the Godslayer looked to the sun, now almost fully risen over the horizon.
Besides, if Avery was right, it's Spring now, and the next sword will be waking up soon. And I can't see how having help with that could be a bad thing...
Chapter 2
The procession moved slowly yet purposefully through the wooded region, weaving their way through the remnants scattered about upon the ground of so many others who had beaten the path they followed into a much broader road than it had been just the previous year. Many items had been discarded, leaving what had surely been a pristine setting once now littered with refuse. Everything from discarded utensils to odd bits of clothing to even decomposing waste lay scattered on and about the path. The stench was something new to this area, and all of the riders knew it. For even beneath the sweltering refuse of the people who had come before, the land had not completely been choked of life.
Not yet, at any rate.
They were six in number, though the man leading the company stood out distinctly from all the others. The only one who came close to his bearing was the woman who rode at his side, yet for all her beauty, even she paled beside the majesty of the group's leader.
The man who plainly led the group rode a majestic steed, one that was clearly of noble descent. The lady beside him rode a horse a hand shorter than the great stallion upon which her companion rode, though it gave the bearing of a well bred creature, as well. The rest of the procession all rode horses whose lineage left little doubt that they were simple beasts of labor. Had the group not been obviously traveling as a unit, no one would likely have thought the other four connected in any way to the nobles who led the procession.
Avery flexed his right hand, still reveling in the strength of his restored flesh, even after all these months. The time he had been without his limb was significantly shorter than the period in which it had been restored, but still he felt the need to assure himself that it was indeed there. Feeling the power of his closed fist, he felt as if he could rule the world from the back of his noble stallion by virtue of that strength alone. After all, who in all the history of the world could claim to be able to regrow their own severed hand?
Beside him, his wife Viola rode in her own glory. Avery still felt his heart melt every time he looked upon her, and when she would smile, he more than once thought he might give up everything in the world just for the joy that image gave him. Her faith in him was absolute, and her devotion was intoxicating. More than any other woman he had bed since he had set out on this grand affair, this woman ruled over his soul. Had she asked him anything, he feared that for all his power, he would be helpless to forbear her wishes.
As he thought this, Viola did indeed look Avery's way. Seeing his eyes upon her, she blushed and the sweetest smile imaginable brushed her lips. All at once, Avery felt his breath escape him, swept away in the sheer force of emotion he bore for this woman. She may only have been his wife by his own declaration, yet the two were bound by deeper roots than any mere priest could unite them through some other God's blessing. Besides, what other deity could possibly be called upon to unite a God and his bride?
“My Lord,” came a voice from behind Avery, snapping him from his state of adoration.
Avery mastered his urge to yell in return to the interruption, choosing to remain calm instead as he half-turned in his saddle. “Yes, Lartien?”
“The day's end approaches,” answered one of the other men as he rode up closer to his leader. “Should we not scout a campsite?”
Avery looked ahead, letting his senses reach out before responding. “ Our destination cannot be much further, Lartien. We have already passed many pilgrims on the road.
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