Chapter Eight:The road to peril.

Drinian had been walking for hours, the scorching sun beating down on his weary body. He had fled Langford in a hurry, leaving behind the only home he had ever known. The weight of his family's fate hung heavy on his heart, and he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt and responsibility.

As he trudged along the dusty road, he noticed a group of four rough-looking men eyeing him from a distance. They were armed to the teeth, and their intentions were clear. Drinian quickened his pace, but the men gave chase, their laughter echoing through the air.

"Hey, look what we got here!" one of them jeered. "A little rich boy all alone and vulnerable!"

Drinian stood his ground, his fists clenched and his eyes flashing with determination. "I'm not afraid of you," he declared, his voice steady.

The men sneered, but Drinian could see a flicker of surprise in their eyes. They hadn't expected him to be so bold.

The leader of the group, a burly man with a cruel grin, took a step forward. "We'll see about that," he snarled, drawing his sword.

Drinian dodged the sword's deadly arc, but the other men closed in, their blows raining down on him. He fought back with all his might, his fists flying and his feet kicking out. But he was outnumbered, and soon he found himself stumbling backward, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Just when it seemed like all was lost, a strange man appeared out of nowhere, his sword flashing in the sunlight. The robbers turned to face him, but they were no match for his skill and speed. In a matter of moments, they were fleeing for their lives, leaving Drinian shaken but alive.

The strange man turned to Drinian, his eyes narrowing as he took in the younger man's battered appearance. "You're a lucky one," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Most people wouldn't have lasted that long against those four."

Drinian nodded, still trying to catch his breath. "Thanks to you, I'm alive," he said, his gratitude sincere.

The strange man smiled, a hint of warmth in his eyes. "My name is Thorne," he said. "And you are...?"

Drinian told Thorne his name, and the older man nodded thoughtfully. "Follow me, Drinian," he said, turning to lead the way.

Drinian trailed behind Thorne as they walked down the road to a small, rustic restaurant. The sign above the door read "The Hungry Traveler," and the aroma of cooking food wafted out into the street, making Drinian's stomach growl with hunger.

Inside, the restaurant was cozy and warm, with a fire crackling in the hearth. Thorne led Drinian to a wooden table, and they sat down on benches. A friendly serving woman took their order, and soon they were enjoying a hearty breakfast of porridge, bread, and cheese.

Thorne paid for their meal, and as they finished up, he asked Drinian, "So, where are you headed?"

Drinian shrugged, feeling a pang of uncertainty. "Nowhere, really," he admitted.

Thorne's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Nowhere?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"

Drinian sighed, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "I just left my home in Langford," he explained. "I don't have any family left, and I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing."

Thorne's expression softened, and he nodded thoughtfully. "I see," he said. "Well, in that case, follow me."

Drinian trailed behind Thorne as they walked out of the restaurant and down the street. They stopped at a nearby stable, where Thorne hired a horse-drawn cart. He helped Drinian climb aboard, and then they set off through the bustling streets, the cart's wheels rattling over the cobblestones.

As they rode, Drinian turned to Thorne with a question. "Where are we going?" he asked.

Thorne smiled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You'll see," he said. "Just be patient."

As they rode through the streets, Thorne turned to Drinian with a curious expression. "Tell me, Drinian," he said, "what's your story? What drove you to leave Langford?"

Drinian hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to share. But there was something about Thorne's kind eyes and gentle demeanor that put him at ease. He took a deep breath and began to tell his story.

He told Thorne about his father's death, and how his family had struggled to make ends meet. He told him about King Alexander Ephiphanes' cruelty and how he had been forced to flee Langford to avoid the king's wrath.

Thorne listened intently, his expression growing more somber with each passing moment. When Drinian finished speaking, Thorne placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be sad, Drinian," he said, his voice filled with compassion. "You're safe now. From this day forward, I'll take care of you. You're not alone anymore."

Drinian felt a lump form in his throat as he looked at Thorne. No one had shown him such kindness and concern in a long time. He felt a sense of gratitude and relief wash over him, and he knew that he could trust this stranger.

"Thank you, Thorne," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Thorne smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "You're welcome, Drinian. We'll face whatever comes next together, as friends."

Drinian's curiosity got the better of him, and he turned to Thorne. "Where are we headed?" he asked.

Thorne smiled, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We're going into the eastern hemisphere, to my home place, the kingdom of Emberfell."

Drinian's eyes widened in awe. He had never heard of Emberfell before, but it sounded like a place of wonder.

Thorne's expression turned serious, and he asked Drinian, "Have you ever boarded a ship before?"

Drinian shook his head, feeling a thrill of nervousness. "No," he admitted.

Thorne nodded, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Well, you should brace yourself, because you're about to board one in a few minutes."

Almost immediately, the cart stopped at a bustling sea port. Drinian's eyes widened as he took in the sight of the ships docked in the harbor. Thorne paid for their ship fees, and they boarded a sturdy-looking vessel.

As they set sail, Drinian felt a rush of excitement mixed with fear. He had never been on a ship before, and the rolling motion of the waves made him stumble. Thorne caught his arm, steadying him.

"Easy, Drinian," he said with a reassuring smile. "You'll get your sea legs soon enough."

As the sun rose on the third day at sea, Drinian turned to Thorne with a question. "How long until we reach Emberfell?" he asked.

Thorne smiled, his eyes squinting against the morning light. "About forty minutes," he replied.

Drinian's eyes widened in surprise. "So soon?" he exclaimed.

Thorne nodded, pointing towards a distant watch tower that rose from the shore. "That's our destination," he said. "The port of Emberfell."

As Drinian gazed at the watch tower, he felt a sense of excitement and wonder. He had learned a lot about Thorne and his family over the past three days. He knew that Thorne had a wife, a kind and gentle woman named Helen, and a sister named Lyra, who was a skilled healer. But despite Thorne's openness about his family, Drinian had noticed that he never mentioned anything about children.

Drinian's curiosity was piqued, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he turned his attention to the approaching shore, his heart racing with anticipation. What would Emberfell be like? Would he find a new home there, or would he be forced to move on once again? Only time would tell.

As they disembarked from the ship, Thorne hailed a rustic wooden cart, pulled by a sturdy-looking mule. The cart driver, a grizzled old man with a bushy beard, eyed Thorne and Drinian with a calculating gaze.

"Where can I take ye?" he asked, his voice like a rusty gate.

Thorne gave him a downtown address in the village of Brindlemark, in the kingdom of Emberfell: "Number 12, Tanner's Alley, off Candlemaker's Street."

The cart driver's eyes widened, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That's a long way," he said. "I'll need to charge ye a pretty penny."

Thorne smiled wryly and pulled out a pouch of silver pennies. "I'm willing to pay a fair price," he said. "But let's not get carried away."

The two men haggled back and forth, finally settling on a price of six silver pennies. Thorne helped Drinian into the cart, and they set off on their journey.

As they rattled through the streets, Drinian's eyes grew wide with wonder. The village of Brindlemark was bustling with activity: merchants hawked their wares from colorful stalls, while artisans worked at their crafts in open-fronted shops. The air was thick with the smells of baking bread, roasting meats, and fresh-cut wood.

They passed by the village square, where a group of traveling performers were entertaining a crowd with music, juggling, and acrobatics. Drinian laughed with delight as a juggler expertly kept a trio of clubs flying through the air.

As they left the village center behind, the streets grew narrower and the houses more modest. After about an hour of traveling, the cart finally came to a stop in front of a small, half-timbered house on Tanner's Alley.

Thorne's wife, Helen, and his sister, Lyra, were waiting in the doorway, their faces lit up with warm smiles. But as they caught sight of Drinian standing beside Thorne, their expressions changed to ones of surprise and curiosity.

Thorne opened his mouth to explain, but Helen calmly raised a hand, silencing him. "Welcome, welcome!" she said, beckoning them inside. "Come in, come in! We'll hear all about it later."

Drinian felt a warmth in his chest as he followed Thorne into the cozy, candle-lit interior of the house. He sensed that he was among friends, and that he had finally found a place to call home.

Helen ushered them into the cozy parlor, gesturing for them to take seats on the worn but comfortable armchairs. "Make yourselves at home," she said, smiling warmly. "I'll get us something to eat."

Before she bustled off to the kitchen, she turned to Lyra. "Dear, would you take Thorne's bag to their room, and Drinian's belongings to the small room beside yours?"

Lyra nodded, taking the bags from Thorne and Drinian. As she left the room, Drinian took a good look around the parlor. The room was modestly furnished, with a few pieces of hand-carved wooden furniture and colorful tapestries on the walls. A small fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room. On the mantlepiece, a collection of seashells, pebbles, and other treasures gathered from the coast sparkled in the firelight.

Helen returned with a tray laden with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate and two plates of freshly baked biscuits, fragrant with the scent of warm bread and melted butter. Lyra joined them, taking a seat beside Drinian on the armchair.

As they ate and drank, Thorne turned to Drinian. "Tell Helen and Lyra your story, Drinian," he said, his eyes encouraging. "They should know what you've been through."

Drinian took a deep breath, launching into the tale of his family's struggles, his father's death, and his own flight from Langford. As he spoke, Helen and Lyra listened with rapt attention, their faces growing more and more somber.

When Drinian finished speaking, Helen and Lyra were both moved to tears. Helen rose from her seat, opening her arms to Drinian. "Oh, dear boy," she whispered, embracing him warmly. "You're safe now. You're part of our family, and we'll take care of you."

Drinian felt a lump form in his throat as he hugged Helen back, feeling a sense of belonging he hadn't known in a long time. Lyra joined in, hugging him tightly. "You're one of us now, Drinian," she said, smiling through her tears. "Make yourself at home."