She’d been pacing the deck for hours.

  Tulok rested against the railing of the ship and watched as Isolde continued her restless agitation. The sailors around her cut the Knight Wanderer a wide path, staying clear of the obviously irritated champion.

  The Orcish priest chewed absently on the remains of a turnip as he watched her. The Healer's trained eyes assessed the health and welfare of the woman who had been his patient for these many months.

  She had come to his care after falling from the dunes outside his village of Tarf-qua within the great desert. Lost, alone, and utterly bereft of the knowledge of the desert, he had nursed her back to health from the edge of death itself. How many times had he done so in the time that followed their strange meeting?

  How many more times would he do so?

  What happens when you are finally not there when she needs you, or she eventually challenges something she cannot beat?

  He scowled at the dark thought and shook it away.

  He had almost lost her at Swansea. The blight-cursed members of the village had swarmed the champion on the docks. She had been trying to buy Tulok and the survivors time to escape, and thrown herself headlong into the fray.

  She had never intended to survive that encounter.

  She was ready to die for all of them.

  He frowned, deep creases marring his smooth forehead as he mulled over the implications. His red eyes slid over to Isolde once more, searching her armoured figure for signs of her well-being.

  She paced the length of the ship. Her booted feet clomp-clomping soundly as she made her trek to and fro. She spoke to no one but herself and the heavens. Occasionally, she would pause in her actions and thoughts, clearly turning something over in her mind, then resume her pacing.

  His skills told him that she was healthy.

  His heart told him otherwise.

  “They get that way sometimes, you know.”

  A calm voice carried on the wind to him.

  He blinked and focused his attention on the source of the voice. A woman, dressed in leather and linen, watched the priest from a space a few steps away. “Permission to approach, Your Radiance?” she asked.

  Tulok pushed up from the railing where he had been leaning and assumed his trained, formal posture.

  “Please, Captain Salacia, you need not ask.”

  The woman nodded and took a few steps to close the distance between them. She was tall and lean. Her obsidian-colored hair was sun-bleached from time on the water. She wore it braided and secured beneath a decorative scarf. Her skin was worn and creased. Her eyes, the color of toasted almonds, held a wealth of knowledge. Around her throat was a necklace of woven hemp, knotted into the braids were tiny coins of silver and gold.

  Fortune’s Ferry was a swift clipper designed for making the run between Avalon and Port Kraken at a quick pace. She was a messenger ship, and the various Temples and Trade Guilds employed her to ensure the delivery of essential documents and heralds from port to port. She covered the time between ports in half the number of days that a typical ship could. Even so, Hywel’s ship had almost a week on them when they had debarked from Lubri’s docks.

  “Your Wanderer, she’s taken on a Quest, I assume?”

  Tulok pursed his lips and nodded as he watched Isolde continue her pacing.

  “She has.”

  The woman nodded and turned away from the deck to look out across the ocean. The gray clouds filled the sky, and the threat of a storm loomed heavy in the distance.

  “They are a passionate lot, The Wanderer’s Chosen. Dedicated to a fault. Driven. Especially when they have taken on a Quest. You traveling with her after you make landfall?”

  “I am. Our paths are linked in this.”

  The target of Isolde’s Quest was the target of his own.

  Arman Dah’ay.

  The Vidria dwarf was wanted by both the Temple of the Radiant Lord in Ophir and the Tradesmaster, as well as other “concerned citizens” of the Realm of Avalon.

  Arman had been present at the fall of the Temple of Silence at Ahsal in Setesh. A Temple that should not have existed, and one that the Radiant Lord’s people were eager to bury knowledge of again. He had been implicated in the death of one of the Temple’s initiates, as well as the kidnapping of Father Tulok himself.

  Arman had escaped the sands of the Seteshi desert and made landfall in Avalon some weeks ago. The Tradesmaster had issued Arman travel writs for the northern port of Swansea as well as permission to travel inland and trade with one of the island’s ancient Sages - Phaendar Pryderi. That same Sage was responsible for later crafting a blight that threatened to destroy the magic of the island itself.

  A blight that required ingredients from Seteshi soil.

  People wanted answers.

  Arman Dah’ay had them.

  The Captain nodded in response to Tulok’s reply.

  “May the Lady Fortune smile on you both then.”

  He watched as her calloused fingers gently touched the necklace at her throat. Whether the captain was a faithful believer or just a follower of the Goddess of Luck, he could feel the weight of the blessing given. Lady Fortune was a fickle goddess, known to be as quick to give Her blessing as She was to take it away.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  “I... thank you,”

  The Captain smiled at the priest.

  “She was surely smiling on you when my ship happened to be in port when you needed her, Father. I take that as a sign that she favors your shared quest.”

  Tulok inclined his head and placed his hand over his chest.

  “I thank you. May His light guide your vessel on swift and safe journeys.”

  The Captain Salacia nodded in acceptance and then turned her attention back to the pacing knight. She narrowed her dark eyes a moment as if searching for something. Tulok decided to press forward.

  “You mentioned that this behavior is not uncommon for Knight Wanderers?”

  The Captain’s eyes continued to watch Isode even as she spoke.

  “Been on this run for more than my fair share of years, Father. I’ve seen Wanderers depart the Island, and I’ve seen them come home. When they aren’t meditating on what new adventure lies before them, they are railing at the sky for what might yet come.”

  Turning back to the orc, she reached over and patted him firmly on his arm.

  “It’s good she has a Healer with her. They tend to lead with their fists and not their heads sometimes.”

  Tulok chuckled at that. What the Captain said was true. The Wandering Lord shielded the hearts and minds of his chosen from the clutches of fear. It made them pillars of bravery in the direst circumstances. It also made their sense of self-preservation often lacking. Isolde was indeed her Lord’s Champion in this.

  “I have noticed.”

  He offered the Captain what served as a slight grin. A smile would have been impeded by the tusks that protruded from his lower jaw. She chuckled in response.

  “We should make landfall shortly after supper, provided that the storm stays where it is and doesn’t change my wind. Otherwise, it could be closer to midnight. You have someone meeting you dockside?”

  Tulok pondered the question for a moment.

  “I am … uncertain, truthfully. I expect we will make our way to the Parthenon once we land. We can each rest and speak with representatives of our respective Orders there. They will no doubt have sent word for us by then, and we may gain a better understanding of what our next steps are.”

  He paused and looked over at Isolde. She gestured wildly as she paced, clearly engaged in some thought process that only she was privy to.

  Their departure from Avalon had been rushed, as had been their arrival on the island Realm. Dreams and portents had propelled them forward with precious little planning for what lay ahead. They were soon to be back on the Mainland, where trade in hard currency would take place once again. Travel in Avalon, under their system of leug, had been confusing for the Seteshi priest. The Avalonians bartered with the weight of their honor and the value of name and position. Being from Setesh, Tulok had none of these, and he was forced to rely on Isolde’s name and position while there.

  He was looking forward to the weight of the coin in his palm and the knowledge of what they could afford once more. He longed for the time to prepare for an excursion of this nature adequately—allowances for a review of gear and budgets for travel, food, and board. Tulok scowled for a moment as the memory of planning for the trek to Ahsal resurfaced. He had planned things meticulously then, only to have the threads of his carefully laid plans unravel before his eyes.

  Would it have mattered if they had more time? Perhaps not.

  “Father?”

  The Captain’s voice broke his thoughts.

  Tulok blinked and shifted uncomfortably as he realized he had been lost in his own inner musings.

  “Apologies, Captain.”

  “Nothing to worry about, Father. You both clearly have matters that need tending to. I will let you know if our timetable changes. I hope you find what you are looking for.”

  “As do I.”

  The Captain tapped the fingertips of her right hand to her eyebrow in salute to the priest and headed back to her crew. Tulok watched her walk away and noted her interactions with the others on her ship.

  “Everything alright with the Captain?”

  Isolde’s voice asked from beside him. She had come upon him while he was distracted. Tulok shook his head and turned his focus on the young woman standing next to him. Her brilliant green eyes smiled up at him.

  “I .. what? Oh. Yes. Everything is fine. She was checking to ensure we had everything we needed and wanted to see if we had arrangements for when we made landfall.”

  “Ah.”

  Isolde's eyes darted toward the bow of the ship and the direction they were sailing. There was still nothing but water and cloud cover ahead of them.

  “Did she mention how much longer she thought we would be? I’ve never been on a Clipper. She’s fast.”

  Tulok pursed his lips and stared at Isolde a moment, assessing her.

  “What? Have I got lunch on my face?”

  She wiped absently at her lips and chin with the cuff of her sleeve.

  Tulok rolled his eyes.

  “I am buying you a kerchief when we land, and no. You are—once again—walking about when you should probably be resting and recuperating. You should be taking advantage of the fact that we have nowhere to go until we arrive in Port Kraken.”

  An exasperated sound escaped Isolde’s lips.

  “I don’t know how you expect me to rest at a time like this.”

  Tulok closed his eyes and took a breath. Opening his, he met the gaze of the Knight Wanderer.

  “Eventually, I hope you listen to the voice of reason and allow your body the time to heal before throwing yourself headlong into the next section of this quest.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I really am.”

  Tulok folded his arms across his massive chest and stared down at Isolde.

  “You had several fractured ribs, your nose was broken, as well as your right cheekbone and three fingers on your left hand. Did you use it for blocking, or shove it into the mouth of something to shut it up?”

  “Little of both?”

  Her eyes looked away as she rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly.

  Tulok’s eyes rolled skyward as he reached up and rubbed his forehead.

  “Radiant Lord help me, you are impossible.”

  “Would you have me any other way?”

  He looked back at her, his face serious but caring.

  “Alive, Isolde. I would have you be alive.”

  The response gave her pause. He could see her weighing his words and the weight they carried. She chewed on her bottom lip in thought and nodded silently.

  “I will …be better…”

  He sighed deeply and nodded, the invisible weight on his shoulders disappearing for a moment.

  “That is all that I can ask for.”

  Isolde moved to stand by the railing next to Tulok. She braced her hands on the wooden surface and leaned her shoulder into his massive form, her eyes on the horizon. He looked down at her, his countenance softening for a moment. He shifted his weight slightly to lean back into her as well.

  “We’ll find him, Isolde.”

  His words seemed the balm that her raw and agitated soul needed at that moment. He felt her relax against him and exhale a held breath she did not know she had been holding. Her eyes closed, and she let her head hang forward. She nodded silently.

  Above them, sailors scrambled through the intricate rigging of the multi-sailed ship. Tugging lines, tying knots, watching the horizon, and the storm that threatened in the distance. A voice called from the lookout.

  “LAND!”

  Isolde’s relaxed figure snapped straight once more, and her eyes flew open. Beside her, Tulok inhaled deeply, settling the fires of his own wrathful Gurkh that gnawed momentarily on the edges of his reason.

  They caught each other’s eyes that carried a shared declaration.

  Now it begins.