Blood and Burden

As dawn's pale fingers stretched across the sky, the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle murmuring of the river stirred the stillness of the camp. Nathan, slumped against a tree, stirred in his sleep, his fingers loosely curled around the hilt of his sword. A squirrel, braver than most, skittered down the trunk and prodded his palm with curious urgency.

He startled awake, his eyes snapping open to find the tiny creature staring at him, unbothered by his sudden movement. With a groggy exhale, he straightened, rubbing his neck where sleep had left it stiff.

As the remnants of his dreams faded, he glanced around the camp. His heart sank. The space where Amara had lain was empty, the blanket she'd borrowed folded neatly by the firepit. Disappointment and frustration welled within him, a bitter tide he hadn't anticipated.

I let my guard down, he thought, his grip tightening on his sword. Foolish, to trust a stranger just because of a sob story. She probably fabricated half of it.

He sighed heavily, dragging himself to his feet. He made his way to the river, the chill of the morning air brushing against his face. He intended to wash away the remnants of sleep, but as he reached the riverbank, he froze.

There, crouched by the water's edge, was Amara. She splashed water over her face, humming softly to herself, oblivious to his presence.

The tension in Nathan's shoulders eased, replaced by a rush of something between relief and embarrassment. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out: "I thought you'd run away."

Amara glanced up, her expression caught between surprise and amusement. She wiped her face with her sleeve and stood, water dripping from her hands. "Run away?" she echoed, her tone teasing. "Why would I do that? Being alone is not fun, and besides…" She grinned, tossing her damp hair over her shoulder. "Traveling with you guarantees my livelihood, doesn't it?"

Nathan blinked at her, momentarily disarmed by her candor. Then, to his own surprise, he chuckled—a low, warm sound that seemed to surprise them both. "Fair point," he admitted, gesturing toward the camp. "Go on, grab something from my pack for breakfast. We'll need the energy."

Amara offered him a mock salute before turning back toward the camp, leaving Nathan to shake his head at her peculiar mix of charm and audacity. He knelt by the river, splashing the icy water over his face, the cold biting into his skin and chasing away the remnants of his earlier irritation.

By the time he returned, she had already helped herself to a modest portion of dried meat and bread, sitting cross-legged near the fire with a contented look. Nathan joined her, breaking off a piece of bread and chewing thoughtfully.

After they had eaten and packed their things, Nathan glanced at her, a question lingering on his mind. "Do you have a horse?" he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

Amara gave him a sheepish smile, confirming his suspicion. "I've never even ridden one," she admitted, her tone almost apologetic.

He frowned. "Then how in the world did you make it from the central regions all the way up here?"

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground. Her fingers idly traced patterns in the dirt before she answered. "I... snuck into a merchant's goods carriage," she said, her voice quieter than before. "Hid among the crates until I reached the taiga woods. Got off as soon as we stopped in the town there."

Nathan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So, you've essentially traveled as a stowaway."

"Resourceful, isn't it?" she replied, her grin returning.

He gave her a flat look but didn't press further. Instead, he turned to his horse, stroking its neck thoughtfully. "Well, this complicates things. I only have one horse, and I'm not sure it can handle both of us for long stretches."

"Guess we'll have to figure it out," Amara said with a shrug. "I'm not exactly heavy, you know."

Nathan exhaled, a mix of resignation and reluctant amusement tugging at him. "Let's hope the horse agrees."

With that, he helped her onto the saddle before climbing on front of her.

As they ventured beyond the shadow of the taiga woods, the air grew warmer, and the sight of rolling flatlands greeted them, a vibrant contrast to the stark tundra they had left behind. The lush, emerald grass swayed gently in the breeze, as if welcoming them to the southern expanse. It was a subtle but unmistakable sign—they had reached the borderlands, the very edge of the northern region.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves filled the silence between bouts of conversation. Their exchanges were light at times, amusing even, as they shared fragments of their lives. Amara recounted how she'd managed to acquire the imperial knight's armor—a tale riddled with half-truths and a roguish smirk. Nathanael, in turn, offered glimpses of his upbringing, though his words were measured, as if he were wary of revealing too much. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a tentative camaraderie born from their shared road.

When the great wall of the border came into view, their pace slowed, the sheer magnitude of the structure compelling awe and unease in equal measure. The colossal stonework stretched endlessly across the horizon, an unyielding barrier that cleaved the empire. Nathanael's gaze traveled upward to the fortified towers interspersed along the wall, each bristling with weaponry. Massive ballistae and iron-clad defenses stood sentinel, their grim purpose unmistakable.

He furrowed his brow, his thoughts veering toward disquiet. Why such formidable defenses here, at the northern boundary? The northern region was harsh and wild, but it was part of the empire still. Were they preparing for war, or was there some other threat, lurking and unseen?

His musing was interrupted as Amara spoke, her voice breaking the spell of his thoughts. "You're wondering why there's enough weaponry here to raze a kingdom, aren't you?" Her tone was wry, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of concern. "Let me save you the trouble—don't bother asking the guards. They'll just glare at you and threaten to report you for espionage. Trust me on that one."

He tilted his head toward her, a question unspoken but evident in his expression. She shrugged. "If you really want answers, the locals are your best bet. Guards follow orders; villagers have opinions. And if you know where to listen, opinions often tell you more than orders ever will."

Nathanael considered her words, his eyes lingering on the towering gate ahead. The guards stationed there were numerous, their movements brisk and their postures rigid with discipline. Even from a distance, it was clear they were not idle. Every tower seemed similarly manned, the watch unbroken. Something was amiss, though whether it was a threat contained within or without, he couldn't yet say.

With a quiet exhale, he nodded. "We'll pass through, then. But not without learning what we can."

Amara grinned, her usual irreverence returning. "I like how you say 'we.' You're getting used to this whole traveling-together thing, aren't you?"

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, instead urging his horse toward the gate.

*****

In front of them stretched an unbroken queue, a procession of weary travelers in carriages, on horseback, and on foot. The hum of restless voices and the clatter of hooves mingled with the faint creak of wagon wheels. Nathanael dismounted, taking the reins of his horse in hand, and guided the beast toward the line. The sun hung high, casting elongated shadows across the great wall as they waited, each minute dragging longer than the last.

When their turn arrived, two guards stepped forward, clad in dull plate armor that reflected the light like worn steel. Their scrutinizing gazes settled on Nathanael and Amara as one of them barked the expected request. "Identification."

Nathanael hesitated, his hand briefly brushing the hidden badge tucked beneath his cloak—a symbol that would proclaim his lineage to anyone familiar with the duke's insignia. But it would also draw precisely the kind of attention he sought to avoid. With measured calm, he straightened and offered an explanation instead.

"We… left in haste," he began, his tone carrying a note of practiced weariness. "My wife and I—" he gestured to Amara, whose expression quickly turned into something resembling wifely exasperation—"had to abandon our home after an incident in the town. It was sudden, and we didn't think to bring our papers in the commotion."

The guards exchanged a glance, their skepticism as plain as the dirt under their boots. Nathanael resisted the urge to glance at Amara for confirmation that his tale might hold. He didn't need to—her cough interrupted the moment, a weak and theatrical hack that startled even him.

The guards' attention snapped to her. One frowned, his suspicion softening ever so slightly into irritation. "Sick, is she?"

"It's been a difficult journey," Nathanael added quickly, his voice low, conspiratorial. "We'd prefer to keep moving."

The guards mulled it over, their faces unreadable behind the slight slant of their helmets. Finally, one waved toward the gate. "Fine. No papers, no problem—if you pay the toll."

Relief began to edge into Nathanael's chest, but it was short-lived. As he fished out the coins from his pouch, another guard stepped forward, narrowing his eyes. "Pull back your hood."

His breath hitched. "It's just for the sun," he deflected, though he could feel the weight of their growing suspicion pressing down on him.

"Pull it back," the guard repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With no viable recourse, Nathanael relented. Slowly, he lifted his hood, revealing the features that had for so long been synonymous with his family name. For a split second, he feared recognition—the sharp intake of breath, the hurried salutes, the cascade of questions. But to his astonishment, the guards betrayed no hint of recognition.

One of them merely grunted. "Fine. Leave your belongings on the table for inspection."

They complied, setting their bags atop the rough wooden surface. The guards rummaged through their things, scrutinizing the contents with all the fervor of men desperate to find something incriminating. Yet, there was nothing to find, and the guards waved them on, albeit with a terse warning.

"Make sure to get new identification when you reach the city."

The gate creaked open, and the line pressed forward. As soon as they were through, Nathanael let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging as though he'd carried the weight of the wall itself.

"That bad, was it?" Amara quipped, her voice laced with humor.

He shot her a look but couldn't entirely suppress the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "You seemed to enjoy yourself back there," he muttered.

She shrugged. "You really sold the whole 'husband' bit. Very convincing. Shall I start calling you 'darling' now, or is that too forward?"

"Don't push your luck," he replied dryly, though her laughter broke the tension lingering between them.

As they passed further into the southern lands, the stark severity of the border wall receded into memory, replaced by the sprawling, fertile plains of the central region. Here, towns and cities dotted the horizon, their smoke plumes rising in lazy spirals to the heavens. Nathanael pulled the map from his pack, tracing the path they would take. Their destination was still a day and a half's journey away, a city nestled at the heart of the empire.

He folded the map and spurred his horse forward, Amara falling into step beside him.