The Royal Road was incredibly dull, despite the madcap pace Franz Joseph, the third insisted on setting. The colorful lights in the night sky had faded, the moon had returned, and all seemed to be as it once was. The only interesting thing, other than Franz Joseph’s incessant fretting about Lucía, was the newfound experience of maintaining a grip on the reins with only one unbandaged hand. To his chagrin, Ludwig had nearly fallen twice, and he could have sworn he’d seen Gisele laughing behind his hand both times. Ludwig, of course, was more obvious. The cunt. Ludwig’s offers to help, while given accepting in kindness his sister's hand, only made the wounded King laugh louder.
''I allow the compromise, after all you are my older brother. *Cough Pussycat *Cough *Cough''
Franz muttered something impolite under his breath, turning his gaze back to the road. A caravan of travelers lie ahead, and it wouldn’t do to be heard speaking about matters of the royal family, not when they were supposed to be three wandering merchants and their apprentice headed to Wasserfall in hopes of finding work. A terrible fucking idea.
Franz wasn’t quite sure why he had decided to go along with it, though the prospect of being left alone at Wasserfall surrounded by a horde of angry barbarians had probably played a part.
“Ho there, fellow travelers!” boomed the man at the head of the party before them, turning in his saddle to wave. Beside him on tired palfreys rode a few others, who likewise offered polite smiles as they approached.
“Headed south?” the man asked, looking them over with an earnest sort of enthusiasm.
“Aye. To the South like every other sod on this road, I imagine.”
Franz felt suddenly aware of his half-grip on the reins, and the uselessness of his bandaged hand.
“Us, too. Name’s Leonard, and this here’s Vance, Buford, Riper, and Edge. Forgive Edge, she doesn’t speak much. Shy lass, isn’t she?”
One of the girls blushed atop her pony. There were two women in the company, both near the end of their youth, if Franz had to guess. The two smaller men, Vance and Buford, looked like craftsmen of some kind but Leonard was more sturdily built, a leather jerkin squeezed over hairy chest and arms, a shock of black hair on his head.
“If you’re looking for work like we are, no doubt there will be lords in the South with coin enough to hire a few good men. Women, too,” he added, when one of the girls cleared her throat loudly.
“That’s the plan.”
Franz Joseph ''Blackheart'' von Recklinghausen was shifting impatiently, Ludwig ''The demon's groom'' von Recklinghausen stared at the two women curiously, and Edward ''the Silent Blade'' von Recklinghausen remained as silent as ever.
“Well, may the road treat you kindly in these interesting times,” Franz offered, spurring his horse.
“Wait! What would you say to joining us? The roads these days aren’t secure, what with everyone traveling to the South. Thieves prey upon the unsuspecting, and there’s safety in numbers. Doubt anyone would bother us with the likes of him around. Vance fought for the Emperor a few years back and Buford here knows how to swing an axe for firewood, but I’m afraid I’m utterly useless. Gentle giant, you see.” He gestured almost apologetically to himself.
“We’re rather in a rush.” Franz kept glancing to the road ahead.
“As are we. These ponies may look old, but they’re fast enough. We’ve been making great time.”
“The truth is,” Leonard said, lowering his voice, “I’m not entirely certain I’d be able to defend the likes of them. Edge and Piper, I mean. I count on people mistaking my size for strength, but… Well, highwaymen have gotten bolder, they say. If they were to test my threats, they’d find me a useless, quivering sack of shit.”
Franz sighed. Well, if I’m going in for this defending the innocent business. Fuck.
“Might as well,” he said. “Strength in numbers, eh?”
They were nine in all, then. Seated around a fire that night, Franz learned that the two smaller men were carpenters and the women seamstresses. Leonard professed to have taught them each their trades himself, and the five used to be in the employ of a traveling group of mummers, building sets and stitching costumes until the leader of the company decided to take their productions across the south domain.
“Wasserfall is our home,” Leonard explained. “There’s nothing for us on the northern shores. We’re better off here, finding work with another troupe. Hells, we have half of one already, only need the actors. Besides, travel by rivers is dangerous.”
“What sorts of plays do you do?” Ludwig asked. He held his tin cup of broth in two hands, peering over its rim at the strangers as though they were the most interesting people alive. “Any about knights?”
“Knights, kings, gods, dragons, you name it. We did one a few months back about the womanizer Emperor's life. Piper here got to play the beautiful and cuckolded princess when the real girl got the runs. She did a fantastic job, I’ve always said you should act, Piper. Leave the costuming to Edge.”
“This is going to be unbearable,” Franz complained to Ludwig later, when they were unraveling their bedrolls beneath a canopy of pines. “That man talks too much.”
Ludwig laughed aloud. “Not nearly as much as you.”
After three days of listening to Ludwig rehearse a truly terrible speech (plus a few more poorly thought out lies) and learning several increasingly unpleasant new nicknames, their caravan reached a lake. With no luck fishing, their use of it soon turned leisurely, and He found a shady place beneath a copse of aspens from which he could watch Ludwig and - Vance, was it? - attempt to teach Edward to swim. He picked idly at the bandages on his hand, his back against the smooth bark of a tree trunk, and had just started to nod off when a voice called out to him. He glanced up. Edge was standing not ten feet away, hands clasped in front of her. She was smiling at him, which was a significant improvement over anything he’d seen on Ludwig’s face of late. Though, to be fair, Edge was generally an improvement over Ludwig, visually.
“Your hand. What happened to it?”
“I fought a bear in single combat over the fairest maiden in the realm. It was rather dramatic.”
Edge smiled wider and took a step closer.
“And that long scar near your eye?”
“An old battle against a giant to gain the knowledge of all things. As you do.”
“Can I see it?” She nodded at his bandaged hand, and Ben extended it tentatively.
Edge knelt beside him and unraveled the bandages slowly and carefully, her gaze flitting from her work to his face, watching his reaction, perhaps looking to see if he flinched. Under the linens, new skin gleamed bright where it stretched over the stumps of Franz’s last two fingers. A long scar inched its way across his palm, ending just before the base of his thumb. She ran her fingers gently over the line.
“Does it hurt?”
“Oh, constantly. Like a fire or something. Poetic, like that.”
Edge laughed lightly.
“Here, I have something that might help.” She adjusted her skirts and then slipped a hand into one of the many folds of the fabric.
“Got a lot of pockets,” Franz observed.
“I’ve got a lot of things.” Her smile never wavered. “This is water dropwort,” she explained, “but you you might know it as-”
“Hemlock.” He’d seen it before. His mother ''The white witch'' had once shown him how to crush the leaves, roots, and seeds of the plant into a paste for treating everything from a skin irritation to a bladder infection.
“It kills the bad things good and dead,” she’d said, grinning as she dabbed at his bruised knee. She’d wiped away his tears and he’d laughed, Franz remembered. “Of course, keep it away from your mouth or it’ll get you too! Does knowledge of medicinal plants come in handy in the theatre?” He asked.
Edge dabbed his hand with the substance, and it stung.
“The theatre? No. The road? Yes.”
“I suppose you spend a lot of time on it.”
“Aye.”
“And it treats you well?”
She shrugged. “It has its ups and downs. I like seeing new places, but it’s hard to keep friends, you know, when you’re always disappearing.
There. Much better...” She stood, and looked down at him with a smile that reminded Franz of someone long dead. “Was it worth it?” she asked, pointing to her own eye. “Knowledge of all things? You look like a pirate or a burglar with that scarred face.”
“A beautiful burglar who is going to steal your heart…”
Edge smiled. “Personally,” she said, “You need to put more effort into it, Mr. Burglar. I'm not an easy girl. If you may excuse me.”
Franz watched her go. Suddenly the journey to the South was not quite so dull.
