For the next few days, their journey was as smooth as the rolling creak of Vartha's wheels. No sudden rustle of claws in the underbrush, no distant shouts of an ambush. Whether it was the lingering effect of Luke's aerdeich call trick or just a fortunate stretch of quiet, neither of them could say for certain. Luke wasn't about to claim credit, and Ilyrana wasn't about to call it luck—both knew the road had a way of changing moods without warning.
Morning bled into afternoon, and afternoon into dusk, the days sliding past without any trouble worth noting. It wasn't the kind of travel that made for good stories, but Luke found he didn't mind. Sometimes, safety was its reward.
And then, at last, the wild trail they had been following thinned into packed earth, and packed earth widened into something unmistakable—a proper road. Wider than three carts side by side, it stretched ahead like a tan ribbon under the pale light, its edges marked by the grooves of countless wheels.
