Garinor crawled out of the tent and into a gray morning with heavy clouds looming overhead, threatening to release their wares to the ground below. He was utterly exhausted from lack of sleep and he felt his eyes burning as he tried to keep them open. As he gathered himself to his feet, he was greeted by Song, the camper who had brought him to Chief.
“You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”
“It was a long night,” he admitted.
“It looks to be a long day.” He pointed up to the rain clouds. “We have to march but it’s not going to be easy. We could use your help.”
Garinor pitched in as they worked to secure the tents and supplies, tying fabrics down in an attempt to blot out as much rain as possible. He paid much of his attention to the injured fighters, assisting the resident healers as they secured bandages and arranged litters so they wouldn’t take on water as they were carried. The journey wasn’t easy and Garinor slogged through the rain, dragging one of the litters, determined to show his usefulness to the group. He was assisted by Song, who was charged with showing him around.
Progress was slow and the rain created a treacherous path for the litter-bearers. One of the other groups stumbled and fell and the men and women became stuck in the quagmire of mud. Without hesitation, Garinor set down his own litter and grabbed a nearby rope to help hoist out those who had fallen in the swampy muck. It took time to pull the stretchers and carriers out of the mud and then he insisted they lash together the litters side by side so if one carrier stumbled again, the others nearby would help to support them. It was an effective plan and by spreading out the weight they were carrying, the bearers had a much easier time of things.
Chief drove them mercilessly through the rain, determined to put as much distance as possible between his group and the prince’s army. They paused when the rain broke away to eat a hasty snack, but otherwise they pressed onward until evening approached. The rain cleared and they reached a slightly rocky hillside. Garinor helped rake away the stones and then learned how to pitch the tents.
Hunters ran off to find food for the night and then the camp settled into a basic routine. They dried off as best they could and Song lived up to his name, crooning a warm ballad that soothed the weary travelers and ushered in a calm, peaceful night. After his performance, he walked over to Garinor and threw an arm around him.
“Thanks to you, we get a tent tonight,” he grinned cheerily.
“A tent? But there are others who need them, aren’t there?”
“Maybe, but we rotate them and with all that you did today, especially new to the gang, you’ve earned it.” He tugged on Garinor again. “And since I’ve been put in charge of you, it means I get to share the tent. So thanks!”
Garinor laughed at the man’s enthusiasm and they spent the rest of the evening getting to know each other a little better.
“Let me tell you a little bit about us,” Song opened. “We’re a group of protectors, secretly banded together to guard some important people. Our group was established about fifteen years ago and we’re very careful about the people we let in to our secrets.”
“You should stop there then, Song. You still don’t know me all that well.”
He punched Garinor jokingly in the arm. “Now, now. I think your actions speak well enough of who you are, so no more of that nonsense.” He shook his head and then continued his story. “When we come into the group, we don’t make usual introductions. Often, we’re recruited by fellow members. We don’t usually get people who wander in like you did. You caught us at a particularly needy time.
“Once we’re here we take up pseudonyms to preserve our real identities in case there are spies around. There’s Quiver.” He pointed to a woman walking by. “She’s the one you first spoke to and usually it would have been her job to watch over you, but she’s too fine an archer to tend to newcomers and she’s always off scouting or hunting. Chief used to be known as Fists, because he’s a real killer with them.” He lowered his voice and whispered so Garinor could hardly hear him. “It probably isn’t something I should tell you, but it was his cousin, Hand, that was sent to fetch you from your home that day. I hate to say it, but I think that’s part of the reason Chief is letting me initiate you.”
“I don’t follow. Is it so you can keep a closer eye on me?”
Song hesitated then shook his head. “No, not really. Since Hand died trying to defend you, I think he feels he needs to add his own bit of protection.”
Garinor grinned. “I guess that’s why he gave me the most talented warrior of them all.”
Song responded by pushing him into the dirt. “Keep it up and I’ll have you tethered to a tree and let Wobbles over there practice his dagger-throwing skills.”
“Wobbles?”
Song cleared his throat. “Not all of us choose our own names,” he said with a wink. “Sometimes other names stick. But listen, if you’re ever separated from us, you should look for our sign.” He reached down his tunic and pulled out a gold chain with a talisman hanging from it that was the depiction of a fist tightly clutching a dagger. “It’s who we are. The Daggerfists.”
Garinor gasped. “That guard—Hand—he was wearing that too.”
With a nod, Song buried the necklace again. “I can’t say for sure, but I think he was going to take you to the General and not the king.”
Garinor’s eyes opened wide. “He would deny the king’s order?”
“If it was important enough, he would. We all would.” He shook his head when Garinor pressed him to explain. “No, it’s your turn to tell me your story.”
Though he had related some of his tale to Chief already, Garinor was more than happy to recount his tale to his new friend. He detailed the events that stuck most clearly in his mind, like his friends defending him in the forest, his time with Elder Dorin, seeing Arvion on fire in the distance, and meeting the women at the orphanage.
Song reacted to all of Garinor’s recollections in dramatic fashion, gasping at the right parts, which prompted Garinor to gush into more detail. He knew that Song was just prodding him along, but he didn’t mind. He enjoyed the chance to relive his journey, hard as much of it had been. His reactions to the orphanage, however, were the more animated.
“How was Inera? Is she still pretending the whole thing was her idea? Or Arine? Was she ready to challenge you to a duel?”
“You know them?”
“Yes.” He paused and then bit his lip. “I spent some time there years ago. My… my brother was lost and my parents didn’t cope with it well at the time so they sent me there for safekeeping. Amazing place, really. I try to visit when I can.” He then slapped Garinor on the shoulder as he remembered something. “If you were there and you left, then the Lioness will journey out to meet up and report about it. That gives me a great idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Tomorrow we’ll go to the outpost and see if she turns up there. I’ll clear it with Chief in the morning, but it’ll be a great excuse to run off for a bit.”
“You don’t like the large crowds?”
“It’s fine when there’s not too many of us, but you may have noticed we had a lot more this morning. A group joined in overnight. But when there’s that many, I’d rather break away for a little while.”
Garinor raised his eyebrow. “I don’t believe that.”
“Why not?”
“W—Well,” he stammered for a moment. “Actually, I guess it’s more that I would like it not to be true. When you got up and sang tonight, it was absolutely incredible. Everyone in the world should have the chance to hear you.”
Song was going to shove him back to the dirt but he saw the sincerity in Garinor’s eyes and he blushed. “Shuddap!”
Garinor laughed. “I will, as long as you never do.”
“Okay, it’s time to go to sleep,” Song deflected. “No more out of you, little one.”
That only made Garinor laugh more. They climbed into the tent and settled down to sleep, and Garinor looked forward to a restful night after the harried day that followed his evening with the wounded fighters.
A little while later, Song broke the silence. “Garinor?” he whispered.
“Yes?”
Song rolled over and looked at the boy. “I wanted you to know… I’m Kihel.”
“Thanks, Kihel. That means a lot.”
Song rolled back over and grinned to himself. “Just don’t turn out to be some lousy spy or something.”
“Nah. If I was going to be a spy, I’d make sure I was a really good one instead.”
His remark was met with a pillow shot to the head and the two broke into laughter.