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Shadowdale, 1372 DR. 14th day of The Fading.

The next morning, his parents saw him off. The new rucksack he had was heavy with gear. He felt like a pack mule.

Bran had given him directions on how to get down to Suzail, the capital of Cormyr. The path was relatively simple: head south along the North Ride, over the mountain pass to Tilverton and then follow the road south to Arabel, and then down to Suzail.

Alistaire, one of his mother's elven friends, had also come to see him off as well. The shorter elf had pressed something into Aiden's hand and pulled him down so he could whisper in Aiden's ear.

"This may one day come in handy, bhin'te'lûne," the elf said.

Aiden didn't know more than a few words of elven, and raised an eyebrow at Alistaire. The old elf merely smiled at him, then went to stand next to his mother and father.

Aiden waved at them all and then took off, following the road over the western bridge out of the village. Scruff quietly padded along next to him. As he walked he stared down at the ring the elf had given him. The green ring was engraved all the way around with a floral pattern, like ivy. The signet was embossed with a crescent moon in silver. He slipped the ring onto his finger and looked down the road. He spotted the caravan waiting at the south edge of town. Several guards, teamsters, and one other person in doublet and hose was standing near the caravan.

As he walked up to the trio of wagons that were sitting there, the portly looking man in a tight buttoned doublet and hose broke off his conversation with a wagon guard and looked over at him. He assumed the person was the merchant who ran the caravan.

"Took you long enough to get here. We're running a half mark late now."

§

Several hours later, he found himself mumbling under his breath as he walked alongside the rearmost wagon with Scruff at his side. At least the wolf-dog seemed to be enjoying himself, trotting along with his tail flagged and tongue lolling.

The rather rude merchant who had organized the caravan had told him earlier that his father had arranged for him to accompany the caravan south over the Thunder Peaks to Tilverton. The caravan would continue south to Arabel and even Suzail. The journey to Tilverton was nearly two hundred miles, and another hundred miles from Tilverton to Arabel, then another hundred or so miles to Suzail., At roughly sixteen miles of travel per day, plus one day stops at each town, it would take them an entire month to get to Suzail. More if they ran into delays up in the mountains.

He had struck up a few conversations with the caravan guards at the rear wagon, two of which were mercenaries out of Sembia, and one who was a farmer who had decided that he wanted a bit more adventure in his life. All of the guards used crossbows and scimitars, and fancy little bucklers that didn't interfere with working a crossbow. They also told him that while this stretch of road was generally clear, the road closer to the mountain pass sometimes had bandits, hobgoblins, orcs, or worse. The hadn't had serious problems though in years. There were two dozen guards with the three wagon caravan, plus three teamsters, and the merchant and his assistant. At least, he assumed the girl he saw sitting in the last wagon was an assistant.

The caravan guards generally wore gaudy colors, though somewhat muted by the road dust. They also wore armor of brigantine or lamellar, generally well polished and buffed over their colorful clothing. They also wore steel skullcaps with nose guards. He definitely stood out from the guards, dressed as he was in a hooded cloak and woodland colored clothes, armed with a pair of swords and a bow.

Aiden couldn't imagine wearing a full suit of brigantine armor; he was already sweltering underneath his chain mail and loose linen shirt. He supposed it didn't help that he was wearing a cloak and carrying a pack as well. Eventually he asked if there was any room in one of the wagons to store his pack during the days they were on the road. The merchant frowned when he asked, but nodded.

§

Later that evening, after the wagons had been stopped, he asked the merchant if it was alright to go out hunting.

The merchant gave an irritated wave of his hand, saying "What you do is your own business. If you're not back by morning, I'm not sending anyone out to find you." The merchant went back to supervising the guards and teamsters that were setting up camp.

Aiden stepped out into the forest with Scruff at his heels. Surprisingly, he managed to find a deer track no more than a few minutes travel from the road. He was practically able to smell the faint musk of the deer on the trail, gradually growing stronger as he followed the trail. It was about a candlemark later that the scent of fresh musk hit his nose, and a few moments later that he saw the herd of deer, huddled in a small clearing. Some of them were laying down, but the buck was standing up, nibbling on red sumac.

The rest of the deer bolted for cover when he shot the buck. It leaped sideways when the arrow struck it, getting it's head stuck in a low overhanging branch. He winced when the animal went over sideways, it's head twisting around in an unnatural angle. At least he wouldn't have to chase the animal down.

The caravan members were more than appreciative when he brought the dressed carcass into camp for roasting. The merchant even grudgingly said he'd be willing to pay Aiden a wage of one gold piece per day if he'd be able to keep them supplied with fresh meat, since it meant less supplies that they would use during their travels.

§

Over the next few days as the caravan made its way south, eventually passing the fork that led north to Daggerdale, he gradually befriended some of the guards on the caravan. The tales told around the campfires at night grew taller as the nights grew darker. The most common topic most nights was speculation as to what was going on in Cormyr. Having come down from the city of Hillsfar, most of them had heard that something was going on down in Cormyr, but nobody knew exactly what. Only that it involved powerful magics. The one thing they all agreed on was that nobody would bother them, seeing as they had made the loop from Suzail to Selguant, then up to Hillsfar and back many times. They did it twice a year, and it paid very well, and wasn't very risky at all. Most bands of bandits avoided a caravan as heavily guarded as this one was, especially as it was only three wagons long.

Aiden's luck at hunting was haphazard at best. Some nights he'd be lucky to bring in a few hares, other nights he'd come back with a deer or boar slung over his shoulders. Even when he wasn't successful, the guards at least appreciated his efforts. The wagon brought several types of grains with them as supplies, but one could only make so many types of pasta, rice, and bread before getting bored of it.

It took him over a week to get used to sleeping with the caravan. He'd awaken several times a night, usually from the snoring of the other caravan guards, or strange noises from the forest outside the campsites that they used just off the road.

The guards would have weapons practice before and after dinner. After a few days, he was invited to join them. He picked up a whole new set of cuts, aches, and bruises as he learned how to counter the curved swords that the caravan guards used, and several times wound up spitting out dirt when they used unarmed combat tricks that he had never seen before. Travel was slow as the headed south, going uphill into the Thunder Peak mountains. The caravan was only a days travel from from the mountain pass when he was forced to put those newly learned skills to the test.