Huge Ajax's Arc

Chapter 33 of 619

At first light the men saddled up. Ajax pulled his shirt off and tied it to his pack. The sun was already warm on the shelf, and the ride east ran two days through open country. Marco laughed and did the same. Then Asher. Then Tucker. Grayson shrugged and stripped down last. Only Chalam kept his robe, and Elara rolled her eyes at all of them from her saddle. "Two days on a horse with no shirt," Elara said. "You'll all burn." "Worth it," Marco said. Before Ajax could swing up, a small figure stepped out from the brush at the edge of the shelf. The gnome who had brought the blades. Round glasses. Green vest. He carried a bundle wrapped in cloth. Behind him came the dryad who had spoken to Ajax at the seal, bark skin under a dress of broad leaves, an armful of flowers and pressed cakes in her hands. The men went quiet. Grayson's hand moved to his hilt and stopped there. "You killed the thing under the stone," the dryad said. "The grove owes you a road." She walked to each rider and gave what she had brought. Flat cakes bound in leaves. A stoppered flask for Chalam. A sprig of something pale for Elara, pressed into her palm. "For the wrist," the dryad said. "It will hold longer this way." Elara closed her hand around it. "Thank you." The gnome unwrapped his bundle at Ajax's boot. Six small pouches, sewn tight. "Salt for the cuts," he said. "Dried meat. A tin of grease for the saddles. The road east is harder than it looks." "We can pay," Ajax said. "You already did." The gnome pushed the pouches into Marco's arms. "Bring back tools. Come back to the coast. That's the payment." The dryad looked once at the resealed pit, then at Ajax's chest, at his father's chain. She said nothing about it. She stepped back into the brush and was gone. The gnome tipped his glasses and followed. The men stood a moment with their gifts. "That happened," Asher said. They mounted. Ajax led them up the cliff path and onto the coast road. By midmorning the shelf was behind them and the sun was high. Marco rode up alongside and flexed his arm without a word. Tucker whistled. Asher leaned across his saddle and squeezed Marco's bicep, then his own, and grinned. Grayson watched, unimpressed. "Mine," Ajax said, and raised his arm. The men laughed. Even Grayson snorted. Chalam kept his eyes on the road. By dusk they made camp under a stand of pines, saddles stacked, gnome-cakes broken between them. The port was one day out. They rode toward it as a company now, shirtless and burnt and fed, with the grove's blessing at their backs and the walls waiting behind them.