A Banner Torn (Book 1 Complete)

Kaelid:

"You're hurt," Rannek said, eyes wide.

"It's not deep," Kaelid replied, though the pain suggested otherwise. He pressed his other hand against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

Marta returned to the wagon, her face flushed with exertion and anger. "What were you thinking?" she demanded, seeing Kaelid's bloody arm. "I told you to stay down!"

"He was going to grab you," Kaelid explained. "We couldn't just watch."

Her expression softened slightly. "Let me see that arm."

She examined the cut with gentle fingers, her anger giving way to concern. "It's not life-threatening, but it's not minor either. Needs cleaning and binding."

The caravan regrouped quickly, Vaeldric ordering them to move clear of the ambush site before stopping to tend the wounded. Once they'd reached a more defensible position a mile down the road, Aelrik called a halt.

Three guards had sustained injuries, none of them were critical. Kaelid's slashed arm was the worst among the civilians, earning him concerned looks from the adults and admiring ones from Rannek.

Taelwen, who had some healing knowledge, cleaned and bandaged his arm. "This should heal clean," she told him, applying a pungent salve before wrapping the arm. "But it'll take a few weeks to close properly. Keep it clean and try not to use the arm too much."

Kaelid nodded, wincing as she tightened the bandage. The pain had settled into a persistent throb, manageable but impossible to ignore.

Vaeldric approached as Taelwen finished her work. "Heard what you boys did," he said, his expression unreadable. "Brave, but foolish. Could have gotten yourselves killed."

"Yes, sir," Kaelid acknowledged, wincing as his arm throbbed slightly. When he concentrated on trying to make the pain go away there was a warmth flowing over the area that soothed it and he was able think more clearly without the pain spiking into his head like it had been.

Instead, the guard captain's stern face relaxed slightly. "Still, quick thinking. Not many would have reacted so well in their first fight." He glanced at Marta. "You've trained them well."

"Sometimes instinct overrides training," Vaeldric said philosophically. "Especially in the young." He turned back to the boys. "Next time, though, listen to your overseer. She knows what she's doing."

With that, he moved on to check on the other wounded.

The caravan resumed its journey with heightened vigilance, though the general feeling was that they'd seen the worst the contested lands had to offer. The remaining bandits would be unlikely to attempt another attack after such a decisive defeat.

Marta remained cool toward them through the evening meal, her displeasure evident in her clipped responses and minimal conversation. Only as they prepared for sleep did she finally address what had happened.

"You could have been killed today," she said bluntly. "Both of you. That man was desperate and armed. If Jorren hadn't been there..."

"We know," Kaelid said quietly. "We just... reacted."

"That's the problem with untrained fighters. Reaction without thought." She sighed, her anger seeming to deflate. "But I understand why you did it. Just... don't do it again. Please."

"We won't," Rannek promised. "Unless you're in danger again."

A reluctant smile touched her lips. "Fair enough. Now get some rest. We reach the city tomorrow."

Haelven:

The autumn chill seeped through the thin cover of the forest, but it was better than nothing. Haelven huddled against a fallen log, watching his remaining men tend their wounds around a fire kept deliberately small to avoid detection. Seven left from the original fifteen who had deserted the king's army three months ago, seven broken men with dwindling supplies and fading hope.

The ambush had been his idea, a desperate gamble born of hunger and the approaching winter. The trading caravan had seemed a perfect target: wealthy enough to sustain them, small enough to overwhelm. He had been wrong.

"We should have waited for a smaller group," muttered Keldric, binding a gash on his forearm with a dirty strip of cloth. "Merchant family or pilgrims. Not a full caravan with professional guards."

Haelven didn't answer immediately. He simply stared into the fire, listening to the brittle snap of burning twigs.

"Winter's coming," he said at last, as if that explained everything. And perhaps it did. Winter in the contested lands meant death for men without shelter or supplies. They all knew it, which was why they had followed his plan despite the risks.

"We could try for the city," suggested Faelkir , the youngest among them. His once-boyish face had grown gaunt during their months as outlaws. "Find work on the docks, maybe."

"Only if they don't recognize us," Faelkir persisted. "It's a big city. People disappear there all the time."

Haelven considered it, still staring into the meager flames. The city meant both opportunity and danger. Anonymity was possible, but so was recognition, and the hangman's rope. Still, what choice did they have left? The forest would claim them once the snows came.

"We'll think on it," he said finally. "For now, rest. We move at first light."

As the others settled into uneasy sleep, Haelven replayed the failed ambush in his mind. They had chosen the ground well, a narrow pass with high rocks on either side. The initial blocking force had been a diversion, meant to hold the caravan's attention while the main group attacked from the flanks.

He had watched from the rocks as one of his men approached a wagon defended by a young militia woman. The boys had tackled him with surprising coordination: one creating an opening, the other exploiting it. Not the clumsy, panicked actions of frightened children, something more deliberate.

These thoughts chased each other through his mind until exhaustion finally claimed him, dragging him into restless dreams of pursuit and capture.

Morning arrived with a biting wind that promised colder days ahead. The men broke camp silently, gathering their meager possessions with the efficiency of those accustomed to quick departures.

"We head east," Haelven announced. "Away from the road for now. We'll decide about the city once we're clear of this area."

For a moment, he considered suggesting they track the caravan and make another attempt. But reality quickly reasserted itself. They were too few, too wounded, and too demoralized for another confrontation. The opportunity, if it had ever truly existed, was gone.

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"We keep moving," he said, rising to his feet. "The city awaits, for better or worse."

Perhaps their paths would cross again someday. The thought brought no comfort, only a vague sense of missed opportunity, and the bitter taste of failure.

Kaelid:

Morning light filtered through the canvas wagon cover, rousing Kaelid from uneasy sleep. His arm throbbed dully beneath its bandage, a constant reminder of yesterday's encounter. He sat up carefully, trying not to disturb Rannek who still slept beside him.

The camp was already stirring, travelers preparing for the final leg of their journey to the city. According to Aelrik, they would arrive by mid-afternoon if the weather held and the roads remained clear.

Kaelid unwrapped the bandage on his arm, curious to see the wound in better light. The cut had been long but not dangerously deep, running from just below his elbow halfway to his wrist. Taelwen had cleaned it thoroughly and applied a healing salve before rebinding it.

"That's healing well."

Kaelid started at Marta's voice, quickly rewrapping the bandage. She stood at the wagon's edge, observing him with a thoughtful expression.

"Yes," he agreed, trying to sound casual. "Taelwen's salve must be effective."

Marta's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't press the issue. "Breakfast is ready. We break camp in half an hour."

As she walked away, Kaelid finished securing the bandage, his mind racing. This wasn't the first time he'd noticed unusual healing. Small cuts and bruises had been disappearing more quickly since their encounter with Curio and the crystal shards. But this was different, healing at an impossible rate.

Rannek stirred beside him. "Morning already?"

"Yes. And we reach the city today."

Rannek sat up, instantly alert. "How's your arm?"

"Better than it should be," Kaelid replied quietly. "Much better."

Understanding dawned in Rannek's eyes. "Like the scrape I got climbing the old oak last week. Gone in a day."

Kaelid nodded. "We should keep this between us for now. At least until we understand it better."

"Agreed. Elder Myra might know something, when we return."

They joined the others for a quick breakfast, then helped break camp with practiced efficiency. Three days on the road had taught them the routines, and even with Kaelid favoring his injured arm, they completed their tasks promptly.

The caravan set out under clear skies, the mood noticeably lighter now that they had passed through the contested lands. Conversation flowed more freely among the travelers, much of it focused on their destination and the business awaiting them there.

"First time in the city, you'll want to see the central market," Jorren told the boys as he rode alongside their wagon. His left arm was bound in a sling, injured during yesterday's fight, but his spirits seemed undiminished. "And the temple district. The architecture alone is worth the visit."

"How big is it really?" Rannek asked. "The city, I mean."

"Bigger than you can imagine," Jorren replied with a grin. "Ten thousand people at least, from all corners of the kingdom and beyond. You could walk from sunrise to sunset and not see it all."

The concept was difficult to grasp. Their village held perhaps three hundred souls, and that had always seemed plenty. A place with ten thousand people? The numbers were almost meaningless.

As the morning progressed, the landscape gradually changed. The dense forest gave way to scattered woodlands interspersed with clear fields. Farmsteads appeared with increasing frequency, their autumn harvests mostly complete, winter preparations evident in stacked firewood and smokehouses busy with preservation work.

Traffic on the road increased as well. They passed farmers with carts of produce, traveling merchants with pack animals, and the occasional patrol of city guards maintaining order in the outlying areas.

"We're entering the city's influence," Saelma explained. "These farms supply much of their food. The patrols keep the roads safe for commerce."

Around midday, they crested a hill, and the city came into view for the first time, sprawled across the valley below. Stone walls surrounded its core, with newer districts spilling beyond them like water overflowing a cup. The central keep rose above the surrounding buildings, its towers catching the sunlight. Even from this distance, the scale was impressive.

"There it is," Saelma announced unnecessarily. "Highpass City, eastern gateway to the kingdom."

Kaelid stared, trying to comprehend the sight. The buildings packed so closely together, the thin lines of streets between them, the tiny figures moving about like ants in a colony. It seemed both magnificent and overwhelming.

"It's huge," Rannek breathed beside him.

"And we've only just begun to see it," Marta added. "Wait until you're inside those walls."

As they descended toward the valley, Kaelid became aware of the warmth in his arm had faded, leaving it feeling mostly normal. He unwrapped the bandage discreetly, using his body to shield his actions from Marta's view.

The cut had closed completely, leaving only a thin pink line where the knife had sliced his flesh. Two days of healing compressed into hours. He rewrapped it quickly, unsettled by the implications.

The caravan joined a steady stream of traffic heading toward the city gates. Wagons, riders, and pedestrians converged on the broad avenue leading to the main entrance, creating a colorful, noisy procession.

Guards in the city's colors, blue and silver, stood at regular intervals along the approach, watching the incoming travelers with professional attention. At the gates themselves, a more thorough inspection took place, with officials checking cargoes and questioning merchants about their business.

"Standard procedure," Aelrik explained as they waited their turn. "They'll verify our trading charter and inspect the wagons. Nothing to worry about if you've nothing to hide."

When their turn came, the process was efficient but thorough. The officials recognized Aelrik from previous visits, which smoothed their passage, but still performed their duties with care.

One guard, noticing Kaelid's bandaged arm, asked, "Injured, boy?"

"Yes, sir. During the journey."

"Bandits in the contested lands," Aelrik supplied. "We fought them off, but not without cost."

The guard's expression hardened. "Where exactly?"

"The narrow pass about a day's ride west. We reported it at the watch post."

"Good. Patrols have been dispatched." The guard turned back to Kaelid. "You should have that looked at by a proper healer. Infection is no small matter."

"Yes, sir," Kaelid agreed, though he knew the cut was already well beyond the risk of infection.

After the inspection, they were permitted to enter the city. Passing through the massive gates was like entering another world. The noise hit them first, a cacophony of voices, animals, and commerce that made the village market day seem like a whispered conversation in comparison.

Then the smells, some pleasant, baking bread, roasting meats, exotic spices, others less so, tanneries, open sewers, too many bodies in too little space. The visual assault came last but most powerfully, a riot of colors, movements, and architectural styles that defied immediate comprehension.

"Stay close," Marta instructed, noting their overwhelmed expressions. "It's easy to get lost here."

"Too much," Rannek murmured beside him. "It's all too much."

Kaelid nodded, understanding exactly what his friend meant. After the relative simplicity of village life, the city's complexity was overwhelming. Yet beneath the chaos, patterns emerged. People moved with purpose, following unwritten rules that governed this shared space. Commerce flowed like water finding its level, goods and services exchanged in a dance as old as civilization itself.

"You'll stay here while we conduct our business," Aelrik informed everyone once they had unloaded essential supplies. "Three days, perhaps four. Then we return to the village before the mountain passes close."

As the travelers dispersed to their assigned rooms, Marta gathered Kaelid and Rannek. "We share a room on the second floor," she told them. "Get settled, then we'll discuss the rules for your time here."

The room was small but clean, with three narrow beds and a window overlooking a busy side street. After the wagon and bedrolls, it seemed luxurious.

Kaelid sat on one of the beds, finally unwrapping his arm completely now that they had privacy. The wound had healed to a faint scar, barely visible against his skin. Rannek stared at it in amazement.

"That's impossible," he whispered. "It should take weeks."

"I know." Kaelid traced the scar with his finger. "It doesn't hurt at all anymore."

"What doesn't hurt?"

They hadn't heard Marta enter. She stood in the doorway, her expression shifting from curiosity to shock as she saw Kaelid's arm.

"That was a deep cut yesterday," she said slowly. "I saw it. Taelwen cleaned and bandaged it."

Kaelid and Rannek exchanged glances, unsure how to explain.

"I've always healed quickly," Kaelid offered weakly.

"Not this quickly." Marta approached, taking his arm and examining it closely. "This isn't normal, Kaelid. No one heals this fast."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unasked questions. Finally, Rannek spoke.

"It's been happening since the crystal shards. Small things at first, but getting more noticeable."

"Crystal shards?" Marta's confusion was evident.

Kaelid sighed. They had kept their encounter with Curio and the Petrakahrn secret, sharing it only with Elder Myra who had been helping them understand their developing abilities. But perhaps it was time to trust someone else, someone their own age who might understand.

"It's a long story," he said. "And you probably won't believe most of it."

Marta sat on the bed opposite him, her expression serious but open. "Try me."