Page 68 of The Dark Mage
I n the morning, they moved everything in stages to the road.
Esrin and Zev escorted Lia, Avonlee, and Ohn first. By midday, Fael and Ren’wyn joined Wilenrut, Irik, Sorya, and Relya, bringing the final cart out of the woods and onto the southern road.
The two groups would split in four days—Fael and Ren’wyn continuing south while the others turned east toward the Cap ital.
The six travelers planned to reunite with Zev and Esrin in two weeks in Riva, plenty of time to cover the distance by horseback.
Their rooms would be at the Skipper, an inn near the main wharf.
In the meantime, they relished their shared journey, camping under the stars each night.
Ren’wyn held tight to these moments, tucking them into the deepest parts of her heart reserved for her compan ions.
At night, Wilenrut entertained them with myths of giants and dragons in the northern mountains, while Sorya and Relya shared stories from their time on Anduan.
Ren’wyn recounted the battle with the dark army, and Fael made everyone laugh with his exaggerated version of her tumble into the creek outside Orr.
They shared drinks and laughter, savoring these precious days before their paths dive rged.
On the fourth day, the cart turned down a busier eastern road. Ren’wyn waved a teary farewell as she mounted up in front of Fael on their double saddle, ready to continue s outh.
As they traveled, the days grew shorter and the forests denser.
Rocky cliffs jutted from the wooded hills, adorned with white waterfalls tumbling over their edges.
Riding astride Patina, Ren’wyn reached forward to pat the horse’s strong neck, marveling at the quiet beauty around them.
Settled in Fael’s lap, she noticed the profound stillness of traveling alone together once more.
Cicadas sang in the early fall warmth, and Patina’s hooves created a rhythmic clip-clop on the dirt road.
“How are you holding up?” Fael asked, breaking the peaceful sil ence.
Ren’wyn smiled, thinking of their friends. “I’m doing all right,” she replied. “I miss them, though. It’s strange to be on our own a gain.”
His hand rested lightly on her thigh. “It is,” he agreed, his voice soft. “But I’m going to try not to miss them so much that I forget how much of a gift this time with yo u is.”
She leaned back against him, pleased by the thought of uninterrupted days in his company. A spark of anticipation coiled in her sto mach.
“What do you know about Loringa?” she asked, curiosity tugging at her.
“Not much,” Fael admitted. “And what I do know, I don’t fully trust. Everything I was told about dark mages turned out to be untrue—well, almost everyt hing.”
She giggled. “Almost? What was true?”
“You are terribly violent at times,” he replied huskily, his gravelly tone sending goosebumps cascading across her skin.
“And?” she pressed, voice sly.
“And you can kill quite effectively,” he continued, his fingertips teasing the inside of her thigh. She squirmed at his touch, settling more firmly into his lap, acutely aware of his growing arousal. “And… you keep your beard and goatee trimmed so elega ntly.”
Ren’wyn elbowed him—not very gracefully—and Fael’s shout of laughter echoed through the forest, drawing her own laughter out in resp onse.
“To return to Loringa,” Fael went on, still chuckling, “I’ve heard they’re vicious—raiding, slaughtering, and pillaging the borderlands.
The peninsula itself is a harsh place, with drought and heat giving way to bitter cold and flooding rains.
Survival there demands strength. Many of them turn to piracy, and they’re said to be cruel.
The divide between men and women is vast; women are seen as far infe rior. ”
A little shiver escaped Ren’wyn. It was not a place she desired t o go.
“One of my teachers, Master Jure, was from Loringa,” she said. “He was cold and calculating, and his magic often bordered on cruelty. His story was tragic, but his iron will helped him survive things I can’t ima gine.”
“I don’t know if the Loringans are as wild and cruel as people say or if they’re simply misunderstood,” Fael admitted. “Maybe a little of both. Either way, I’d rather not find out while we’re traveling a lone.”
Ren’wyn nodded in agreement, and the two of them fell into comfortable silence as they continued down the southern road, the cicadas’ song and the steady rhythm of Patina’s hooves their only compan ions.
The next week was the happiest of Ren’wyn’s life, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. She and Fael shared a bed at every inn and a saddle during the day.
Through forests and savannas, across rocky outcroppings, and over clear, babbling streams, they traversed the stunning southern reaches of Luremala and the Loringa foothills.
Fael’s arms were strong and warm around her as they rode, and they filled the hours with stories, laughter, and bits of shared wisdom, the countryside stretching lazily before them.
“What did you bribe Esrin with to get us this much time alone together?” Ren’wyn asked on the fourth day. Fael had estimated they still had four more days to reach Riva, but the longing in his voice made it clear he wished for more.
“That I wouldn’t murder him slowly with a dull dagger after removing his balls,” Fael replied da rkly.
Ren’wyn burst into laughter, turning to see the mischievous glint in his eyes.
“No, honestly,” he continued, “I reminded him how long the trip can take, especially double-saddled. He didn’t put up much of a f ight.”
“Good,” she smirked, letting her happiness show fr eely.
They made love every night, their passion undimmed by aching muscles, sunburned skin, or the weariness that came from long days of riding. Ren’wyn couldn’t imagine a better way to spend her time, even with the occasional sore ness.
That night, their only one camping in the open, they stopped on the edge of a vast, unsettled stretch of the Loringa foothills.
Fael had purchased a thick woolen blanket in anticipation of the cooler autumn air, and Ren’wyn looked forward to curling up with him under the stars.
They camped at the base of a rocky cliff that curved against the persistent eastern wind, setting a fire where the forest met the open plain.
Ren’wyn gathered firewood and spread their bedrolls while Fael coaxed flames to life.
After supper, she nestled into Fael’s arms, savoring the warmth and the feel of his chest rising and falling against her back.
Eventually, he stirred, stepping away to begin the Passage.
He drew his short sword as he moved, modifying the elegant, flowing forms of the exercise.
Ren’wyn watched the controlled power of his movements, his body a fluid dance of strength, before standing to work through her own routine.
Stretching and pushing her body, she recognized her increased strength and confid ence.
“You’re faster,” Fael noted as she finished, his sharp gaze assessing her form.
Without warning, he tossed her a da gger.
“Fight me,” he said, teasing and serious in equal measure, beckoning her closer with crooked fin gers.
“No,” she said, placing her hands on her hips.
Fael shifted into a deeper stance, his arms raised in front of him. “Come on, Ren’wyn. Show me what I’ve taught you.”
“Fael, I’m tired,” she groused, but his grin widened as he shuffled toward her, his intent c lear.
When he lunged and grabbed her arm, pulling her forward, she stum bled.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided, his smirk deepening. “Not like that. Figh t me.”
“Fael!” she cried, laughter bubbling through her frustration as he pressed her firmly into the dirt.
“Fight me,” he repeated, stepping back and taking his stance a gain.
With a resigned sigh, Ren’wyn adjusted her grip on the dagger. This was going to end badly—Fael was faster, stronger, and better trained. But as she drew the blade back slightly, settling into a defensive position, something shi fted.
The world grew sharper, more focused. Her body felt balanced and strong, her mind calm and clear. When Fael moved sideways, she adjusted fluidly, her stance st eady.
It was strange not to feel like prey.
For the first time, she wasn’t overwhelmed by fear or the instinct to freeze or flee. Instead, she felt powerful, her body and mind ali gned.
A rush of old memories threatened to surface—the bruises from her father’s blows, Erst’s sneering words, the times she had felt small and helpless. Her chest burned with rage, her magic stirring with her anger, and the beast within her growled to life.
Fael took another step in her periphery, and without hesitation, she lashed out with the da gger.
The strike was fast and strong, and Fael dodged, his hand snapping out to catch her w rist.
“Good!” he praised, but his words barely regist ered.
The roaring in her chest drowned out everything else.
Ren’wyn swept her free arm toward his face. Fael deflected the blow, grabbing her punch and twisting her dagger hand away. She stumbled but quickly regained her footing, feeling the Passage guiding her from deep in her b ones.
When she threw her weight into Fael, it was like crashing against solid rock, her body breaking over him like a wave.
“Not bad,” Fael said, his tone light but approving. “But you’ve got more fight in you than that, Ren’wyn. Sho w me.”
Ren’wyn’s grip on the dagger tightened, her body buzzing with adrenaline. She wasn’t done yet.
His body shifted, and he pushed her away with a snarl. Now, Fael crouched low, his eyes smoldering like molten coals. Ren’wyn gripped the handle of her dagger fiercely as he circled her, slow and deliberate. Her pulse thundered, and she ja bbed.
Fael dodged easily, his hand striking the inside of her forearm with preci sion.