Annabeth Chase
Four days, it took two long days longer than she had planned to need to set up her caravan. When they finally did leave Anthia through the north gates Annabeth was painfully aware of the calendar nipping at her heels. The sound of hooves string cobblestone filled the northern gatehouse as twenty wagons they departed just after dawn and headed out onto the cold morning
At first, Annabeth had been dead set on riding herself, but her life ward hard argued she should ride in one of the wagons. She had conceded reluctantly, feeling it would needlessly undermine her authority. She should ride with Vanire, the head of her mercenaries.
Though she would never admit it, Annabeth was secretly grateful that her life ward insisted she traveled in the back of a carriage rather than on horseback. Will had pointed out that sitting in a saddle for hours on end took getting some used to and arguably she wasn't a very experienced rider.
What Annabeth truly hadn't anticipated how keen the cold's bite was. Even in her thick coat, scuffed boots, and wrapped in a blanket, she shivered as she huddled around a tin stove, trying to catch some warmth without outstretched hands.
Despite her initial excitement, boredom soon settled in. Additionally, Annabeth had never been particularly good at sitting still or waiting. Unfortunately, she was stuck in the back of a carriage, there was little more for her to do than sit and wait as slowly they left the farms and fields that surrounded Anthia behind, and entered a more forestry area.
As the caravan wound its way through the increasingly dense forest, the tall trees cast long shadows across the snow, giving the landscape an eerie beauty. Annabeth peered out from the small window of the carriage, her breath fogging up the glass as she watched the scenery change.
Only when dusk began to fall, the sky turning pale and then ever deepening through different shades of blue, and finally purple before fading to black. It was the first time Annabeth was forced to understand what being cold really was like. As she lay in her tent, buried under a pile of furs and blankets, the cool slowly slipped deeper and deeper into her bones.
Annabeth shivered, her teeth chattering despite the pile of furs and blankets that enveloped her. The cold seemed to seep through every layer, prying into her bones with icy fingers. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself into a deeper sleep where the cold couldn't reach, but sleep was elusive.
A crackling sound broke the silence—a guard was feeding the nearby campfire, the orange light flickering and casting dancing shadows on the canvas of her tent. Annabeth listened to the rhythmic, soothing sound of wood popping under the flame. It was a small comfort but a welcome one. Despite the chill, the scent of burning pine was grounding, reminding her of winter nights spent by the fireplaces of her father's home.
"My father," she muttered grimly. It was the counterfeit coins that concerned her most. It wasn't like her father to stoop into such dangerous territory. Yes, the iron mines were a compelling endeavor, but the coins were a sign of sheer stupidity. She perfectly understood why her father would wish to get rid of them, and now that had time to ponder it more, she was not sure she appreciated being the facilitator. She would not be the first woman to dance from the executioner's rope. Sleep came very hard to her. As the night deepened, the temperature dropped further, and the fire outside crackled with renewed life as more wood was added. It was wett wood now, she could hear that. Finally, though Annabeth finally drifted into a fitful sleep, her dreams a tangled mess of forest paths and a tightening of a nose around her throat.
It felt like only a few moments had passed when Annabeth jerked awake again. Pail light was flooding in through the tent's opening. Finally, Will poked his head in. "Wake up!" he called. "You are running late."
Annabeth scrambled out of her makeshift bed, still fully dressed. Her limbs were stiff and leaden, and she almost grimaced as her stretching muscles protested.
As they broke camp, the forest seemed to watch them with its ancient, judging eyes. And before she knew it they were off. Hours melted into days, and the forest gave way to patches of wild unkempt fields, resting under a growing blanket of powdery white. Every now and then settlement. Sometimes no more than a few houses, sometimes larger with over a hundred inhabitants. She was truly tempted to rest at one of the taverns, but every time she considered it, she felt the risk of her coins being discovered to grate to linger.
Slowly monotonous hour melded into days that were barely distinguishable from the one that came before.
One late afternoon, as the sun was beginning to set and the sky turned a muted shade of pink, Annabeth's caravan approached a larger settlement. The village of Whitestone was nestled in a valley, surrounded by rolling hills and dense woods. It was a welcome sight after the frozen desolation of the past few days.
"Let's rest here for the night," Annabeth decided, and got no arguments from the rest of her caravan.
Will, her life-ward, nodded in agreement. "I'll see to the arrangements." He then continued towards the back of their caravan. "Vanire!" he hailed the old wardog. "Ms Chase wants us to stop in Whitestone! Make sure the wagons are ready for inspection."
"Will do, Lad!"
The caravan slowly rolled into the village, drawing curious glances from the villagers. Annabeth noticed the signs of poverty and hard times in their worn clothing and weary faces. She felt a pang of empathy but quickly pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand.
The village inn was a modest establishment, but it was warm and welcoming. The innkeeper, a stout woman with graying hair and a kind smile, greeted them and showed them to their rooms. Annabeth's spirits lifted at the prospect of a warm fire and the promise of a hot meal.
As they settled in for the evening, Annabeth gathered her key personnel around a table in the inn's common room. The atmosphere was cozy, with the crackling fire and the scent of stew filling the air.
"We need to make good time tomorrow," Annabeth began, her tone quite and serious. "The sooner we reach Lowestoft, the better."
Michael Yew, her mercenary captain, leaned forward. "We're making good progress, but the weather could turn any day now."
Annabeth nodded. "That's why we can't afford to linger. I want to send a scout ahead to assess the road conditions and any potential dangers."
"I'll go," Michael volunteered. "I'm familiar with these parts."
"Take two men with you," Annabeth instructed. "We can't take any chances."
As the meeting continued, Annabeth outlined her plans. She liked plans, they made her feel secure. That was despite her knowing how fast plans could go down the gutter. But even with that in mind logistics needed to be planned. That and the fewer inspections that might get her in hot water with her coins, the better.
"Remember, we can't afford any mistakes," she reminded them
Her team nodded in agreement, their expressions somber. They all understood the risks involved. Them the weather, and other hazards, and her the prospect of a interrogators attentive ministrations and the hangman's tight nose.
Later that night, Annabeth found herself unable to sleep. She lay on her narrow bed, staring at the ceiling as her mind raced. Annabeth was absolutely was determined to prove herself, to show her father that she was capable of handling the family's business. But the fear of failure was always lurking in the back of her mind.
Finally, she rose from her bed and wrapped herself in her cloak. The inn was quiet, with only the faint sounds of snoring and the occasional creak of the building settling. Annabeth made her way to the common room, where the fire had died down to glowing embers.
She stood by the hearth, staring into the dying fire, lost in thought. As much as she missed her home in Anthia, but she knew there was
As the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, Annabeth squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. It was time to face another day, to push forward through the cold and the uncertainty.
The caravan departed Whitestone at first light, the villagers waving them off with a mixture of curiosity and hope. Annabeth rode in one of the lead wagons, her eyes scanning the horizon. The road ahead was long and fraught with challenges, but she was ready to face whatever came her way. At least that was what she told herself.