"Thank you," Amukelo said, his voice steady but thick with sincerity. "You don't even know how much it helps me. Honestly, I had no idea how I would get to Norton in a reasonable amount of time, and not only have you made that possible, but you've also given me the tools to make this journey safer and more likely to succeed. Thank you. I will bring justice to them—to all of them." The weight of the vow hung in the air, heavy and solemn. Amukelo felt the eyes of every parent on him, their gazes carrying both hope and sorrow.
Rudyard, standing tall beside Joslin, shook his head slowly and said, "No, young man. It's us who should thank you. The fact that you made the effort to come all the way here from Llyn, without even knowing how you'd manage to return or even what kind of reception you'd get... that means more than you could ever know." He paused, his expression growing more thoughtful, his eyes softening. "And whatever you might think, it's not your fault. I think everyone here would agree."
Amukelo's eyes met Rudyard's, and then moved to each of the other parents in turn. Every single one of them nodded in solemn agreement. A wave of emotion hit Amukelo, and for a moment, he had to look away to keep himself from breaking down entirely. His eyes welled up with tears, and although he held back the sobs that threatened to rise, a few tears rolled down his cheeks, catching the morning light.
He nodded, his voice cracking as he said, "Thank you... thank you so much." The words were soft, almost a whisper, but the gratitude and relief in them spoke volumes.
Then, one by one, the parents stepped forward to say their farewells. Bral's mother placed a gentle hand on Amukelo's shoulder and wished him strength and safety. "You have a good heart," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Please, stay safe... and bring justice to them, like you promised."
Idin's father and mother were next, their faces a blend of grief and pride. "You carry our hopes with you," Idin's father said, his voice steady, though his eyes shimmered with barely restrained tears. "May your journey be blessed, and may you find the peace you seek."
Joslin placed her hands together in a gesture of gratitude and respect. "Amukelo, you brought us news that was hard to bear, but... you also gave us a chance to honor them. We can say our goodbyes properly. For that, we thank you."
Rudyard, with a nod, gave Amukelo one last look of encouragement and said, "Go, and do what you must. But remember—whatever happens, you're not alone in this world. And if you ever need help, you know where to find us."
Amukelo's throat tightened with the emotion of the moment, but he fought to keep his composure. He thanked each of them in turn, feeling the sincerity in his words. When all the farewells were spoke he mounted his new horse.
With a gentle squeeze of his knees, the horse began to move forward, its powerful strides carrying them away from the mansion. Amukelo took one last look back at the families gathered there, all watching him leave with a mix of sadness and hope. He raised a hand in farewell, and they waved back, their figures slowly shrinking as the distance between them grew.
The path away from Gathe was familiar—the same road he had traveled when he first arrived, but now the circumstances were different. The sun hung high in the sky, casting warm, golden light over the landscape. The sandstone walls of the town behind him glimmered under the sunlight, and the rolling hills around Gathe were painted with the colors of late summer. There were fields of tall, golden grass that swayed gently in the breeze, and the distant outline of mountains loomed on the horizon.
As Amukelo left Gathe, he turned back once more to look at Gathe, now a town framed by the bright sun. A part of him felt connected to this place and its people, tied to the memory of his friends and to the new bonds he had formed with their families.
"I hope I will see this place again," Amukelo whispered to himself, his voice carried away by the breeze.
Amukelo had settled into a steady routine during his journey. He would rise early each morning and begin his day with sword training, working through the crisp dawn hours. Despite the chill in the air and the dwindling daylight, he continued this practice both at sunrise and as the sun dipped below the horizon.
The rhythm of his travels was peaceful, though marked by a certain urgency. The horse, gifted to him by Berthold, was powerful and well-trained, responding quickly to every command. Amukelo marveled at the strength of the creature, its dark mane flowing like a river in the wind as they galloped. It was sturdy enough to carry him across great distances, shortening his journey to Norton significantly.
The days were becoming noticeably shorter and colder, and the season was in the midst of its transformation. The leaves had turned to deep shades of red, gold, and orange, and frost now coated the grass each morning. Amukelo could feel winter approaching, biting into his skin whenever he rode against the wind.
Despite the cold, he kept his training regimen relentless. And while his breath formed clouds in the chilly air, his body stayed warm from the constant movement. Most days were spent in silent contemplation, and he found a sort of solace in the rhythmic clopping of the horse's hooves against the earth.
It had been nearly two months of quiet traveling, without any notable encounters. That all changed one day as Amukelo approached a wide, strong river. According to the map, this river was crossed by a single bridge. But as he neared the bridge, the faint outline of a lone figure began to form, growing more distinct with each step closer.
When Amukelo finally got a clear view, he saw a man standing in the middle of the bridge. The man was tall and had an overly confident posture, arms folded across his chest like a self-proclaimed conqueror. He wore simple leather armor and had a sword sheathed at his side. The wind ruffled his shaggy hair, which seemed to match the reckless grin plastered across his face.
Amukelo paused at the entrance of the bridge, his horse coming to a gentle halt as he looked at the man with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. He shouted to the stranger, "What are you doing standing in the middle of the bridge like that?"
The man uncrossed his arms with a flourish and puffed out his chest, clearly enjoying the moment. "I'm waiting here," he declared theatrically, "for a worthy opponent!"
Amukelo blinked, staring at him blankly. "So... you're telling me I need to beat you to cross this bridge... or is there a toll option I'm missing here?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, but the man didn't seem to catch on. Instead, he burst out in roaring laughter, holding his stomach as if Amukelo had just told the greatest joke he'd ever heard.
"Hahaha... You'll regret those words!" the man bellowed. "But don't worry—I'll spare your life when I beat you!"
Amukelo rubbed his temple, a sigh escaping his lips. He muttered under his breath, "Ahhh... It must be exhausting to be this delusional... and stupid." He looked up at the man again and said coldly, "Listen, I don't have time for nonsense. But if this is what it takes to get across, then fine. But I have to warn you—if you have any tricks up your sleeve, or if your 'comrades' try to jump me, none of you are making it out of here alive."
The man didn't even flinch at Amukelo's warning. He just grinned wider, showing a few missing teeth, and said with the same air of idiotic confidence, "Hah! You're funny! There's no one else here, just the two of us. And don't think you can beat me—I've trained my whole life for a day like this!" The man gave a pose like a heroic statue, as if he were the main character in some grand story.
Amukelo sighed deeply, the weight of second-hand embarrassment pressing down on him. He dismounted his horse and tied it securely to a nearby post, making sure it wouldn't be startled during what was sure to be a quick and uneventful fight.
As he got closer to the bridge, he sized up his opponent. The man's stance was all wrong—too rigid, overly wide, like someone trying to mimic a warrior's pose from a poorly drawn picture. But the real comedy was in his eyes: wild, intense, and clearly under the impression that he was some kind of legendary swordsman destined for glory.
"Alright then," Amukelo said, rolling his shoulders to loosen up, "let's get this over with." He walked up to the man, his hand resting lazily on the hilt of his sword.
The man was still grinning like a fool. "Oh, don't worry," he said confidently. "I'll make this quick and painless. For you, anyway." He puffed out his chest again, as if the act alone would somehow intimidate Amukelo.
Amukelo just shook his head, thinking to himself, 'Who is this fool..?' He took a ready stance, his focus now fully on the fight ahead. The man mirrored him, squaring off in a clunky stance, his eyes filled with overblown excitement.
The air around them seemed to grow colder, the wind picking up slightly as they faced off, each ready to make the first move. Amukelo could only hope that this man's stupidity didn't rub off on him by the time this was over.