Rem was still terrible at explaining things, but he had improved. Ayul and Juol listened in admiration.

“You learned to speak well somewhere. I hope you haven’t been using that gift to seduce other women.”

“Did you enroll in some academy of oratory on the continent?”

Encrid could understand their admiration, but he still balked at it. Rem was no great speaker by any measure. Listening to some of the things he said, Encrid thought the bastard would have made a great many people sick with frustration if he had become a bard.

“So, the Path of Grime. There was a man called Grime. It’s the path he walked. And what that path means is the story of Grime’s life. All right, you following so far?”

Of course, an excellent listener could make up for that. As always, Encrid was a good listener. He paid attention and responded, which encouraged Rem to try even harder.

Stripping out the repetition and pointless questions to extract the substance was Encrid’s specialty. And that was what he did.

One of the West’s ancient Heroes, a man called Grime, had apparently undertaken something like a pilgrimage. Though if a pilgrimage meant visiting a series of religiously significant sites, Grime’s journey ought to have been called a hunting trip. He had chosen to visit places full of things worth killing—things that needed killing.

And so he had walked his own path, traveling the West and killing every monster, demonic beast, and other monstrosity he saw. It was the life story of a hunting-mad Hero who manipulated shadows with spells, set in an age somewhere between myth and legend.

There was the time he had used a spell to set a man-eating tree monster ablaze and kill it. The time he had found the weak point of a lake monster with dozens of tentacles and stabbed it to death. The tale of his killing a thief with a hood of invisibility, and more. Some of it made little sense, but these were oral tales, embellished as old stories tended to be.

Those tales had once inspired a coming-of-age rite in the West called the Path of Grime. There was nothing more to it than retracing part of his journey.

“I’m saying we should walk the real Path of Grime.”

They called it a coming-of-age rite, but following the Hero’s exact route would have made it a suicide rite. Sending a child barely fifteen down a monster-infested road alone? Absurd. So the rite used a less demanding itinerary and route. What Rem was proposing now, however, was the real Path of Grime—the route the Hero had actually taken.

Not that he meant to retrace the entire journey. That would take years. Rem meant the final stretch of Grime’s path, and from the sound of it, this was no attempt to honor the Hero’s memory.

“There’s a nice cluster of things worth seeing.”

A simple enough motive. Encrid also had the impression that Rem wanted to show him something. A heavy pack sat on Rem’s back. Juol and Ayul were carrying heavy packs too.

“You should have told me to pack.”

“Pack what? We’ve prepared everything. We’re just going on a picnic,” Ayul said bluntly.

Could anyone call the Path of Grime a picnic? The westerners listening blinked. Ordinarily, that would have sounded half-mad, but for this group, it really was a picnic. It wasn’t as though the absurd monsters of the mythical age would be waiting for them.

And so their journey began.

“Let’s go.”

“Let’s.”

There was nothing to deliberate over. Encrid gathered a change of clothes and the gifts he had received, then set off.

“A month? Sounds good.”

The Beastman, who had resented having to wash every three days, welcomed the journey most of all. Surely they couldn’t insist she wash so often now. The Frog, who only ever had eyes for Encrid, fell in behind him.

Encrid, Rem, Dunbachel, Luagarne, Ayul, and Juol. The six of them were going together.

“I’d like to come, but I need to recover, and there’s the fortune-teller tribe and the remaining cannibals to deal with. Don’t be too disappointed that I can’t join you,” Geomnarae said as they left. A western joke.

“What a terrible disappointment.”

Encrid’s dry, expressionless reply drew a chuckle from Geomnarae. He was a rewarding fellow to joke with.

After finishing their conversation, Encrid gathered his weapons and came out.

“What about this eldest shaman?”

Encrid asked as they walked along, and Rem answered casually.

“Still feeling feeble. A month’s barely enough to recover and prepare everything. That’s quick, even. Oh, the eldest shaman asked me to thank you.”

“It was nothing.”

Encrid’s reply was as offhand as ever. Watching him, Rem couldn’t help thinking what a remarkable man he was. Both his skill and his determination lay far beyond the ordinary.

What did extraordinary mean? Better than the ordinary, surely. If someone asked Rem to name the most extraordinary, outstanding person he had ever met, there was only one answer.

“Let’s go.”

Rem slung an arm around Encrid’s shoulders.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“Think you’ve outgrown me now?”

Encrid had always been taller. He had only asked because the shorter man looked uncomfortable reaching up while wearing a pack. Encrid looked down, and Rem looked up.

“Let’s have a spar later.”

Now that was welcome news.

As they traveled, Juol explained that for various reasons, the tribes would be living nomadically together this year. Sending the smaller tribes that had lost their warriors off to fend for themselves would mean sending them to their deaths. So they intended to take responsibility for those people.

They were accustomed to living without plenty, but this year they might go hungrier still, thanks to that bastard apostle of the Cult of the Sacred Demonic Realm who had come from the continent and wreaked havoc. That seemed like it could be a problem.

So, before leaving, Encrid had asked a few swift-footed westerners to pass letters along through merchants coming this way. It was still nothing much. One letter to the king, one to Border Guard.

He had written that various circumstances had brought him to the West, and that they should send any spare bread they had. Actual bread would arrive rotten, of course, but Krang and Krais were both clever men. They would work it out.

The continent’s rainy season was approaching. In another fifteen days or so, the rains would reach Border Guard. A cool breeze stirred his hair and brushed his cheek.

Ayul fell into step beside him, and Encrid asked casually, “Rem says he’s coming back with me.”

“I know.”

“Are you coming too?”

“Why would I?”

He had wondered whether she would accompany Rem, but her reaction was much the same as her husband’s—as though he were asking something with an obvious answer.

“You’re staying here?”

“I am.”

Ayul tapped the ground with her long walking stick as she continued. “I’m pregnant.”

She said it as though it were nothing. Even Encrid was briefly lost for words before asking, “What?”

A number of questions soon followed, but amusingly, his first thought was this: Pregnancy was one thing, but how did she know already?

“People who wield spells are sensitive to new life forming within them.”

Apparently, that was how it worked in the West, among shamans. In that short time, Rem had managed yet another accomplishment.

In the West, pregnancy was no reason to take things easy. Women simply went about their work and took more time to rest once their bodies grew heavy. Ayul would do the same.

She smiled broadly as she spoke, with the open warmth of a westerner.

“I’ll work for the tribe, protect its people, and raise my child. I love this land. I don’t want to leave it.”

Ayul rested a hand on her belly. Whatever happened, she would protect her child. She was strong enough for that. Her face seemed to glow softly. She looked especially beautiful now. It was not attraction; Encrid simply thought she was a beautiful person.

“Will you be all right without Rem?”

“I’ll miss him, but I’ll be fine. He’s not leaving forever. That bastard needs to do what he wants too. I don’t need some empty husk of a man whining at my side.”

That certainly seemed true. Few men would have arms thicker than Ayul’s. In sheer robust beauty, she left Teresa and Dunbachel in the dust. She was generous-hearted and understanding too. No wonder Rem had fallen for her.

Rem, who had been listening all along, cut in. “So that’s how it is. But why did you think I’d stay here?”

Encrid thought the bastard was as clueless as Dunbachel about this sort of thing.

“A child, a wife, the West. Aren’t those reasons enough to stay?”

Encrid gently explained in a quiet voice, but Ayul heard every word.

“My mad husband, you think leaving is the normal thing to do?”

She was happy to let him go, but not without some affectionate cursing. Their journey was noisy from the start. That wasn’t a bad thing.

Juol chuckled at them and beckoned the Velopters over. Six people and six Velopters would be companions on this journey. Encrid’s mount was mostly brown, with flame-shaped red scales atop its head.

For some reason, the sight reminded him of Odd-Eyes. Riding that horse at a gallop always gave him a certain thrill. Would he ever charge into battle on its back?

With such thoughts in his head, he rode on. Nothing about setting out or traveling proved particularly difficult.

“Help me.”

When a copycat appeared along the way, Juol said, “I’ll deal with it,” and drove it off with a few stones.

“Kill it here and the smell of blood will draw others.”

He had a clear reason for driving it off instead of killing it. In short, they had an experienced hunter with them.

“A pack of Ratmen. I’ll be right back.”

Whenever a group they couldn’t avoid approached, Rem or one of the others went out and made short work of it. Watching him charge in, split one monster’s skull with an axe, then crush the head of the one behind it with a powerful kick almost made Encrid pity the monsters.

“We should head for water today.”

Most of the terrain was barren, but there were small lakes here and there, and patches of grassland appeared as they approached the water. Much of their route through the West crossed land that was neither plain nor wasteland.

The Velopters ate grass, drank at the lakeshore, and ate dried fish as well. They would eat almost anything, but they particularly liked fish.

GRRRR.

The way his mount adorably nuzzled him when he fed it could kindle affection where there had been none. Perhaps because it was cold-blooded, its scales were pleasantly cool, though not startlingly cold.

Night fell, and they lit a campfire. Using her Beastman hunting instincts, Dunbachel caught a rabbit and a mole.

“Excellent.”

Impressed, Juol volunteered to cook. Hunting in the West was no easy task, but Dunbachel had made that look effortless too. When he began cooking, Ayul took a step back.

“She’s my wife, but don’t forget to stop her if she offers to cook.”

Rem spoke in the lowest voice he could manage. Ayul evidently had little confidence in her own culinary skills, since she made no attempt to help.

Juol was an even better cook than Rem. He went down to the water, drained and gutted the rabbit and mole, dressed them, then put them straight into a stew. The aroma rising from the bubbling pot reminded them of their forgotten hunger.

The taste? Rich yet clean. The savory flavor he achieved with salt and powdered herbs earned an involuntary thumbs-up.

“I’m not the best in the West, but I’m fairly confident in my cooking.”

It turned out that Juol was responsible for cooking when they lived together in a settlement. But he was a capable fighter and hunter too, so he often went on outings like this. He said he would happily spend his whole life making food and watching people eat it.

“Then why did you come along this time?”

“A chance to cook for the Hero who saved our tribe? I couldn’t pass that up.”

That was his answer. A thoroughly delightful one. After supper, he took the lead in washing the dishes as well.

“You’re all our benefactors. I wouldn’t want to saddle you with chores.”

Hadn’t they said the journey would take a month? He seemed intent on handling every chore until then.

After that satisfying meal, Encrid stood with his sword to work off dinner. Rem took his place opposite him.

WHOOO.

The wind blew, carrying dust from crumbled sandstone into their eyes. Encrid and Rem both squinted, instinctively protecting their eyes.

“Let’s have a round.”

“You don’t mind getting beaten in front of your wife?”

Rem snickered. Always a ready tongue on him.

“Well, I prepared something to make this more fun.”

This was the West, and Rem was a westerner. He would have to enter the sacred grounds to reclaim his ancestral weapon and spells, but there were ways around that. Besides, he had gained new insights while fighting the Ageless Madman on the continent.

“Ayul.”

He had spent several days practicing in preparation. Ayul had hesitated at first, but trying it revealed no particular problems or side effects. She was even considering studying it further.

In the meantime, Rem had also taught the tribespeople a new way to use the Heart of the Superhuman. An improved version, perhaps? He had combined what he saw in Encrid’s use of it with his own insights. Now it would become a technique most westerners could use.

At any rate, it was time to take Ayul’s spell into his body.

“O strength of the bear.”

As Ayul spoke, something formless settled within Rem. Facing him, Encrid saw something shimmering above his shoulders. What was that now? It resembled the thing he had seen superimposed over Ayul’s body when she fought.

A gleam shone in Rem’s gray eyes. Encrid adjusted his grip on Aker.

Then the axe came at him—a slash approaching the power of a knight’s strike. Encrid instantly raised Aker parallel to the ground. The axe blade fell onto it, and the two weapons met.

CLANG!

A tremendous crash erupted. The recoil drove Encrid backward. He yielded to the force and slid back, his soles scraping long tracks across the ground.

Still holding the finishing position of his swing, Rem curled his lips into a smile. “How’s that?”

What was there to say? Encrid smiled too.