Fabrian accepted there’d be good days and bad days. After her breakdown a couple weeks back, Fabrian, Cleri and Hail created an actual training regiment—one without an unapproved amount of weight in her pack. It'd been a month now since she'd arrived in Two Kingdoms Lost in Tears and Sorrow. And as they traveled closer to the Aganian border, her physical training and worldly knowledge improved.

On average, Fabrian traveled five hundred paces (two stadia) in front of the caravan, or what would be a quarter mile. That was a short enough leash to run back if anything seemed imminent, but far enough for her to scout ahead for any issues further up the road. Cleri and Hail decided that on days where Fabrian had longer headway, she'd take less weight to work on her overall stamina and speed. On days where she wasn't as far ahead, they'd put about thirty to forty pounds of rocks in her pack. Her old body could once handle a yoke-carry PR of 220 pounds; but for once, forty pounds didn't feel shameful. With every incremental weight increase, or an extra pace ahead of the caravan, Fabrian could feel the difference in her body handling the external stress.

She could see it too whenever she happened across a mirror. Her face was still angled and narrow, but her cheeks and jaw rounded just a little. Her shoulders had started to become more defined too. The muscles around her neck were more prominent, and the lats around her sides were also firming up. 

To add to her weight training, Hail and Cleri convinced one of the caravan's blacksmiths to make a socket for them to lay rocks securely on her glaive staff. While none of them trusted her quite yet with a blade, they wanted her to become accustomed to the full weight of the weapon. 

“And now you have a very effective bludgeon,” Cleri had said with a smirk. 

Netali often took Fabrian along with her to merchant dealings. She was always kept hidden beneath a hood so she'd remain unrecognizable. But the information she gleamed was invaluable. 

Cloth like satin, silk, and velvet were priceless. The more ornate or embellished, the more expensive the cut. Spices, salts, and other minerals were also highly regarded in the trade circles. 

Merchants tended to travel in large groups, like Netali's, and would splinter off from group to group depending on the season or what they were selling. Contracts were on an at-will basis per caravan, and within the caravan itself, merchants were free to barter with one another for goods. 

The barter system, Fabrian discovered, was secondary to their monetary system. The soldiers that had followed her when she was first exiled had broken down the money system pretty accurately. Most commoners and people living outside of the cities bartered. A farmer traded wheat and eggs to the blacksmiths for repairs on their tools. A blacksmith traded silverwares and handcrafted household items for things like polish and whetstones from shopkeepers. And so on the system went. 

Food was the only thing bought and sold the most, nothing ever more than a single kroka. Fabrian equated the coins to dollars—a ro equivalent to a half-dollar, a kroka  between seven and nine dollars, and the kroner…that one she still didn't understand, but it was expensive. Most of the common folk never saw more than a kroner at a time. Fabrian's carpet bag had fetched a price of ten kroner, not to mention the gown she'd been wearing was fifty. Now she understood why Netali took her in without hesitation. She’d been a walking bank. If she hadn't met the merchant woman, she may have actually met an end because of bandits.

Only a few weeks from Agan, Fabrian was proud of the headway she'd made in the last month, having accumulated a small bit of wealth. Netali assured her it'd be possible to settle in Agan without having to homestead. However small, there was a foreseeable future for Fabrian at the end of this journey.  

“How are you feeling today?” Hail asked, popping into the training circle before morning rollout. 

“Sore,” Fabrian laughed softly, wrapping her hand with iron-studded leather. Another item she'd recently bought. This body was starting to throw a good punch, and the knuckle wraps would give substance since she still lacked heavy power behind the throw. “But yesterday was a good day.”

“I'll say, you went pretty far from the caravan yesterday. I didn't think you'd make it back in time for check in.” Hail grabbed a whetstone to start her evening glaive maintenance. 

“I couldn't help it. It was such a nice day, the sun on my skin, the breeze through the air—it felt like….” Fabrian paused and smiled faintly at the ground. “It felt like I could run forever.”

Hail laughed. “You're certainly shaping up nicely from the scrappy little thing that showed up at camp. If you keep up this pace, you may actually be able to outrun Cleri.”

Fabrian snorted and began her rotation of stretches. She sat on the soft patch of grass and leaned over at the waist slowly, breath by breath, until she could reach her toes. Her fingertips brushed the front of her boots, and she focused on the way her chest inhaled and exhaled until she felt the muscles in her legs loosen. She crossed one leg over the other, twisting her torso and feeling the way her back expanded and decompressed. The sound of Hail's sharpening stone against her blade made an ambient rhythm that Fabrian used to time her breathing. Her mind calmed, and gradually, her muscles began to relax. 

“Are you going far out again?” Hail asked. 

“Yeah, probably seven stadia.” Fabrian stood and crossed her arms behind her back, extending her collar outward. Almost a full mile ahead of the caravan—which if she had a car, would not be a problem. At best, the other guards could take a horse from one of the wagons. That would be a tense twenty minutes at minimum with potential bandits. But she'd camp out in the forest to maintain a safe position to continue on at dawn. “Netali heard there’ve been…casualties further up the road. About a day-and-a-half’s ride from here.”

“Damn,” Hail paused for a moment. “I'll give notice to the other guards. The last thing we want is to be caught off guard.”

“Agreed. If we lose any more inventory, the caravan will fall behind on profit margins to hit for the harvest season.” Fabrain agreed. “Sucks that this is the only road that leads into the next city.”

“We're getting close to the Natalez-Agan border, it was intended to minimize migrant foot-traffic. You can bet those stupid marauders take advantage of that.” Hail dug into her pockets for a second before pulling out a small tube no larger than a piece of chalk. She offered it to Fabrian. “Here. Take this. Since you’ll be out of our sight, if anything happens, you can signal us with this.”

Fabrian took the tube and observed it. It reminded her of bamboo. “What is it?”

“A whistling arrow,” Hail explained. “See that red string at the end of the tube? Pull it if you’re in trouble. That tube contains a small arrowhead infused with explosive powder. When launched, it makes a loud whistling noise that we use to signal each other. It lets out a bright flash too, so it's hard to miss.”

Explosives? Interesting. I'll investigate that later, Fabrian nodded. “Thank you, Hail.”

“Safe travels. Pack light, no rocks this time. I have a bad feeling about things.” Hail said as she began to strap on her leather cuirass and faulds. 

Fabrian agreed. For whatever reason, the bandits up at this point had been no better than burglars. This was the first time they'd received notice about deaths on the route. 

She returned to Netali’s wagon to pack a sleeping roll and some dried food into her rucksack. Fabrian also grabbed a bottle of malt—she didn’t want to drink on the job, but the nights were getting colder, especially in the forest. It’d be a good way to keep warm while packing light. Grabbing her stave, Fabrian bid farewell to Netali. Netali in turn wished her luck and warned her not to be reckless. Fabrian had originally wanted to jokingly make no promises, but after seeing the older woman's dark gaze, she solemnly agreed. 

“If there’s even the slightest bit of concern, come back immediately,” Netali followed her with a frown.

“Are there organized thievery circles?” Fabrian asked. “Or are these just individuals with too much time on their hands?”

“Is there a difference? There’s always thieves and bandits on these roads, but never like this. Maybe they did organize.”

“Great, a robber's union,” Fabrian sighed. “Don't worry. I'll stay out of sight in the forest. If there are malicious people on the road, they shouldn't notice me.”

“See you at the rendezvous point, then.” Netali waved goodbye. 

Fabrian headed out once the sun began its ascent into the crystal blue sky. Like her first venture into Avantharine Woods, she was greeted by birdsong, the rustling of emerald leaves against one another, and the melancholic swaying of branches above them. 

It would take about an hour for Netali to have all the merchants ready to move on. 

According to the last headcount Fabrian had helped Sanda with, they had over forty wagons, each one holding anywhere from one person to a family of merchants. That was a lot of people to mobilize and keep on their travel schedule.

Fabrian kept her pace brisk, pleased that she was no longer winded when walking or jogging enroute. It reminded her of the days in her parents' orchards, face tilted up, sun filtering through the leaves, dappled rays on her skin.

As she ventured further and further away from the caravan, she passed a herd of deer and tracks of some dog prowling after them. An owl dive bombed at her head when she hiked too close to the tree it nested in, and she hastily avoided its vengeful talons. She eventually arrived at one of the checkpoints on Netali's map, a river that doubled back to the capital of Natalez; it was a teal body of water with a slow current. Fabrian knew better than to trust the near-stagnant water, growing up with too many stories about kids drowning in hidden undercurrents. The river took her westward, away from the road, so she had to speed up to return on track. By evening, nothing led her to believe there was trouble on the road. From her woodland vantage point, she’d seen very few travelers on the road, mostly slow-trudging farmers with ox-pulled carts. 

Once her knees started to protest and her lungs constricted with exhaustion, Fabrian softly chanted a cadence, something she and the other officers belted out during morning runs with the squads. “Up in the morning at the break of the day, work so hard we never play, run through the jungle where the sun don't shine, and all I do is the double time…”

When dusk crept over the land in lavender hues and it became harder to see past the treeline, Fabrian slunk close to the road to double down on her reconnaissance. In the direction she came from, far in the distance, she outlined faint signs of the caravan's camplight, a small tawny speck nearly out of sight. She kept to the roadside closest to the forest and moved with her stave braced defensively. After an hour of nothing amiss, she disappeared back into the forest before it darkened any further. Netali and the others would reach her current location by midday tomorrow, and that placed Fabrian within the bandit threat radius by sunset the following day.

Once in the safety of the woods, Fabrian searched for a large enough tree for her to sleep in.She found a sturdy old oak and clambered up, reveling at how much easier it was than the first time. She unlatched the straps on her rucksack to strap her legs to her branch and allowed herself to doze off. 

The second day continued in the same way. She woke up just before dawn to a fine layer of dew dampening her trousers and tunic and causing her curls to frizz. Annoyed but ultimately unbothered, she hurried down to do her morning stretches and indulge in some meat and a swig of the malt for warmth.

Fabrian jogged along the road until the sun rose high enough to melt away the mist and morning dewdrops. She ducked back into the safe woods and followed along from the shadows of the canopy until sunset. 

Once again, she closely inspected the road at dusk. This time there was a flurry of horse tracks: five or six riders, far fresher than any others. The dirt had been upturned in deep gouges…Galloping? Fabrian wondered why this group would pick up their pace so suddenly. She doubled back to the start of the tracks and noted no previous signs of chase or struggle. Further inspection would be necessary at first light. 

This time, Fabrian wasn’t able to suitably camp in a tree. Instead, she found one with large enough roots to provide coverage. Laying her bedroll down underneath, she took refuge among the gnarled tangles. She ate a quick meal of dried figs and jerky, drinking water from a quickly dwindling wine skin. She’d just sunk into the beginning vestiges of sleep, when she woke suddenly, vision rocking violently from side to side. 

From the copse of trees that faced the road, thundering horses shook the air—someone yelled frantically, and the roar shouting taunts and metallic clashing followed.