The River Drell
On the boarder of Scanra and Galla
Fall, 458 H.E.
Jasson woke up with a start. Darkness was heavy around him as the last feelings of the dream drifted away. He stared up at the cloudy sky until his eyes adjusted to the starless, moonless night. No breezes stirred, making the cold even deeper. Jasson huddled further down into his bedroll. Around him he heard snoring and the whimpers of sleeping dogs, the sounds of night that he'd come to associate with the trade caravan they'd joined up with four days before. He felt safer and warmer surround by the merchants and their Doi companions. He was full and warm like he hadn't been in a long time but that didn't stop the nightmares that woke him up every night. He went to sleep alone each night and woke up long before the sun from dreams he couldn't say anything about, except that they made him feel the loss of Lianne and then Liam like a knife against his throat, and they made his hand sting.
Jasson ran his left thumb over the black 'T' on his right hand. As the dream continued to fade so did the pain. "Lad?" Jasson jumped then turned so he could see George's outline in the dark. He was propped up on an elbow, watching Jasson. "Does it hurt?"
Jasson tucked his hand back under the blanket. "Only for a bit when I wake up."
"Which you've taken to doing at odd hours of the pre-dawn lately."
Jasson frowned. "Do you ever miss anything?" He was no longer mad at George—for Lianne or whatever had happened with Liam—but he didn't like the feeling that George knew and saw everything he did.
"Not much." George answered. "How long?"
"Since," Jasson answered. He didn't need to add 'Adder Creek,'—everything that was 'since' was 'since Adder Creek' and George knew that.
George leaned over and gently drew Jasson's hand out. He ran his own thumb over the mark. "I don't know, Jay." He said after a moment. "What do you think?"
"I want to get out of Scanra." Jasson answered.
"We're almost there."
"And I don't want to go back to Tortall." He added. George shook his head and started to say something. "I know why you think I need to." Jasson said quickly, keeping George from speaking. "I know who my parents were. I don't want to go back." He spread his fingers. The 'T' caught a light that wasn't there and stood out starkly against Jasson's dirty hand. "I'm no prince." He added in a whisper.
George was silent for a long time. Finally he reached over again and folded Jasson's fingers against his palm, covering the half of the 'T' that still showed with his own hand. His other hand he placed against Jasson's chest. "There is more to being a prince than all that, Jasson." He voice was so quiet Jasson had to lean forward to understand. "And you've got plenty of that. You've the heart and the courage you need, more than enough. And Tortall's my home—you're country. We'll take a round-a-bout way, but we'll always be headed back there." George leaned back.
"What happened with Liam?" Jasson asked.
George didn't look at him when he answered. "I'm afraid I lost my temper with him. I crossed a line I shouldn't have, and he'd had enough of our life and our luck."
Jasson smiled. "Our luck's been better since." He said. He thought maybe he should be angrier with George for his part and Liam's flight, but when he really thought about it, he'd rather have George around.
"You gonna sleep anymore, lad?"
Jasson shook his head. "Never do."
"Then let's get a fire going. Out of the way of the others."
Jasson nodded, gathering his blanket around him for warmth as he followed George away from the main part of the camp. "Now that I know and such, could you tell me more? About my parents, or Roald perhaps. Anything."
"Where do you want me to start?"
"You were a thief before. How'd you meet my father?"
They built up a pile of small logs and twigs, and George carefully coaxed a flame out of them. Only after they were burning well did he settle back and start. "Through my wife, and how I met her isn't something you need to know. She and John were friends, and she started bringing him around the Dancing Dove. We learned a lot from each other. We understood each other." George smiled and lay down, pillowing his head on his hands. "You're father…" Jasson leaned forward, the flames from the fire hot on his face and his blanket keeping the cold off his back. He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. Letting the stories wrap around him, he drifted off into half sleep.
When Jasson woke again it was long past sunrise and the camp was alive around him. The fire had burned down to embers. The clouds had drawn over to the west, piled against the mountains, and though the sun gave off little warmth, its rays made the morning more cheerful. The merchants whistled or hummed as they packed up the camp. At noon they reached the river ford. The merchants were to continue north and the Doi planned to accompany George and Jasson across the boarder into Galla. They ate lunch together then the Doi loaded their people and ponies onto the flat bottomed rafts that would take them both across and several miles up the river to one of many unguarded places the Doi used to cross boarders. It took them the rest of the day to travel up the river, but they slept that night inside at one of the few outposts the Doi kept occupied year around. Though Jasson couldn't even guess at the cause, he slept soundly that night.