Chapter 27: To Tidehaven We Go!

Returning from a hasty visit to see Bracken, Giroud shoves supplies into his pack with practiced efficiency, each movement precise despite his urgency. Every minute counts now. The rhythmic thud of Aya’s footsteps matches his racing thoughts as she prepares her own gear, her movements mirroring his intensity.

Bracken’s offer of a guard squadron still rings in his ears, but speed matters more than numbers. They’ll reach Tidehaven in half the time traveling light and fast, with little rest.

“Travel bag ready?” Giroud asks, checking his sword’s draw - the familiar rasp of steel on leather telling him all he needs to know. “We’ll buy anything else we need when we arrive.”

Their horse stamps impatiently in the courtyard, already saddled and loaded with basic provisions. Giroud helps Aya mount before swinging up behind her, the worn leather of the saddle protesting as he settles into position. Time to ride.

“We’ll ride hard until sunset,” he says, gathering the reins. “Then you’ll take over while I rest. We’ll go as far as we can until the horse needs rest.”

Aya nods, leaning back slightly against his chest. “I remember the way. Can we actually make it in three days?”

“We’re going to try,” Giroud answers uneasily.

The gates of Whitespire loom ahead as they trot through the crowded streets.

Once past the city walls, Giroud spurs their mount into a gallop. Hoofbeats thunder beneath them, swallowing all other sounds as the landscape begins to blur. Whitespire’s towers shrink behind them until they’re lost in the morning haze, replaced by the endless expanse of open country. Their urgent pace leaves no time for looking back.

Giroud feels Aya’s body tense, then relax as she adjusts to the pace. By midday, his thighs burn from gripping the saddle, and Aya’s shoulders slump with fatigue. Still, neither complains as leagues disappear beneath their horse’s thundering hooves. The mount’s neck glistens with sweat, its breathing becoming labored as they push onward.

“We’ll need to walk him soon,” Giroud says, noting how the horse’s stride has shortened. “Just a short rest to keep him fresh.”

Three days to reach Tidehaven. Three days to stop El-Raffar’s shipment of soul essence. Giroud tightens his grip on the reins, eyes fixed on the horizon.

The horse’s steady gait lulls Giroud into contemplation until he breaks their comfortable silence. A tactical discussion might distract him from both their grueling pace and the warmth of Aya pressed against him. “Let’s talk about those fights.”

Aya shifts, her shoulderblades brushing his chest as she settles back. Despite her evident fatigue, her voice remains clear. “Which part?”

“Your approach changed between them,” he says, focusing on strategy rather than the distracting pressure of her body against his. “First fight - magic to start, then your blade. Second one, you stayed back and used only magic while I drew their attention.”

“The first group was spread out and didn’t know I was coming. It was easy to cast the spell and reduce their numbers quickly before they could swarm.” Aya’s hand drops to her dagger. “Once they got closer, the blade made more sense. Faster. More familiar.”

Giroud nods, though she can’t see it. “And the second fight?”

“They were bunched together by the narrow laneway. You were between us, so I had clear shots without risking getting hit.” She pauses. “And ... it’s easier to cast spells when they’re swinging at you and not me.”

“You’re learning to read the battlefield. Good.” He adjusts his grip on the reins. “How would you handle it if we faced similar situations again?”

“I think...” Aya straightens, her tone shifting to match his tactical focus. “I’d keep both options ready. Magic if I have the opportunity from range or cover. Blade for close work or if I need to be evasive.”

“The magic drains you though.”

“Yeah. But so does fighting without magic. And magic tires me less each time I use it.” She turns her head slightly. “I could practice switching between them more smoothly. Right now, I don’t think it’s perfect when I change from fighting with a dagger to casting spells.”

Giroud considers this. Her insight impresses him - she’s thinking beyond just the immediate application of her skills. “We’ll work on those transitions when we get a chance.”

After a short contemplative silence, Aya muses, “if they hadn’t been watching the shop doors with bows, I think I could’ve handled both fights without you.”

Giroud raises an eyebrow she can’t see.

“Think about it. You didn’t help at all in the tannery. Maybe I could beat you now?” her voice laced with playfulness.

“Sure,” starts Giroud. “If we start fifty yards apart, in an open clearing, there’s no external interference and we count down to the start of the fight, maybe your magic would give you the upper hand. Do you think you will have many fights like this?”

Aya laughs deeply, her body shaking in hysterics at the circumstances of the duel described by Giroud.

The sun climbs higher as marshlands start to give way to pastures. Giroud spots the bridge long before they reach it. It’s weathered wooden structure spanning a murky river in the far north of the Drowning Plains. Giroud pulls their horse to a halt, his jaw tightening at the sight before them. At least a dozen alligators bask on the worn planks, their scaled bodies blocking the only crossing for miles.

“We don’t have time to find another way around,” he mutters, calculating their options. The massive reptiles shift lazily in the afternoon sun, jaws powerful enough to snap a man in half.

Aya slides down from the saddle, her eyes bright with interest rather than fear. “What are alligators scared of?”

Giroud dismounts beside her, keeping one hand on his sword hilt. “Not us. Something bigger than them and tough enough to resist a bite. Maybe a hippo?”

Giroud watches as Aya begins to chant quietly before the biggest hippo he’s ever seen materializes in front of them. Twice the size of a normal hippo, it’s leathery skin black as night and a lingering purple glow to its presence, as is the signature of all Aya’s summons.

The enormous hippo looses a bellowing roar, catching the attention of all the alligators before it begins to charge across. The wooden bridge bows and creaks with each thundering stride of the hippo as alligators flee off the side back into the river. When the hippo reaches the other side of the now cleared path it snorts and paws at the dirt before Aya makes it dissipate as though it had never existed.

“Well done,” Giroud says, unable to hide both pride and unease in his voice. “Your command of these summons grows stronger. Does it come easier now?”

Aya’s brow furrows as she searches for the right words. “It used to feel like pushing against a wall, forcing it to happen,” she murmurs. “Now it’s more like ... like opening a door that’s always been there.”

A chill runs down Giroud’s spine at how casually she describes wielding such dark power. They lead their horse across the now-cleared bridge in silence, the only sound the hollow thud of hooves on weathered planks.