The druid followed a path closer to the riverbank now, where the trees thinned and the land could be navigated more easily. For the next four hours, the councilwoman kept up surprisingly well, negotiating through tall weeds, wrestling with bushes that seemed to clutch at her dress, and slogging her way through wide patches of mud where the river had overflowed its bank and then receded. However, about midafternoon, when she was concentrating on the tricky footing in some muddy ground, she neglected to see a low-hanging branch. Wynter and Galvin had sidestepped it, but she walked right into it blindly, giving her head a good banging and somehow managing to fasten her braids securely to the thick foliage.
"Damn!" she cursed, dropping her satchel in a puddle and pulling with both hands to try to free her hair. "I hate this horrible, gods-forsaken place!" The Harpers turned to see one of her braids uncoil from around her head. It was still obstinately attached to the branch, and it looked like she was playing tug-o-war with the tree, using her hair for the rope. Galvin watched with amusement. She would eventually succeed, but the tree was putting up a good fight.
Wynter trotted to Brenna's side, holding the branch steady so she could tug the braid loose. Her fingers worked furiously, pulling and fraying the braid and angering her even more. Finally it came loose, and she stood red-faced next to her muddy bag, eyeing her mud-soaked hem.
"Damn!" she swore again, forgetting her cultivated manners and firmly swatting the tree branch.
"That's enough," the druid stated, walking toward Brenna and Wynter. "No need to take out your frustration on the tree."
"Oh, no?" she said sarcastically, batting at the branch again. "I'm tired, I'm wet, I'm dirty, and I look horrible." She struggled with the braid, trying to twine it back about her head, but the gold clasp used to fasten it was missing. "Damn!"
She moved to strike the branch a third time, but the druid's arm shot out and his hand closed firmly about her wrist.
"I said that's enough."
Brenna fumed and glared at Galvin. Wrenching her arm free, she fell to her knees and began feeling about among the ferns for the clasp.
"Let's move on," Galvin urged as he scanned the ground and spotted the glint of something metal-her hair clasp-in a puddle. "There it is. Grab it and let's get going."
The sorceress, still on her hands and knees, looked up at him haughtily, then glanced back down at the puddle. "You're so kind to help me find it," she said sarcastically.
"So uncommonly kind." She stretched forward and plunged her fingers into the puddle, retrieving the clasp, which was partly covered with mud. She tried to clean the clasp in the murky water, but the mud was lodged in the intricate filigree work and wouldn't wash out.
Wynter bent forward and offered her a hand to help her up. Ignoring it, she rose, then looked about for her satchel, which was sitting in another puddle. Picking up the bag, she swung it clumsily over her shoulder, causing mud to drip down her back and spray over Wynter's chest. Angry and puffing, she started to follow the bank to catch up to the druid.
Quickly reaching his side, she thrust out an arm and grabbed his shoulder. "We're stopping right here until I clean up," she said firmly. When he shook his head from side to side, she added, "You'll just have to wait for me. That's that."
Her ultimatum delivered, the councilwoman dropped her bag, stuffed her hair clasp in a pocket, and started toward the river.
The druid turned toward the centaur and grimaced. Galvin noticed that Wynter was keeping his distance from the woman. Safe, the druid observed, but the safe approach wasn't always the best-especially when he was in a hurry.
"We're not waiting," the druid said simply, expecting Brenna to accede to his decision. Instead, she ignored him and bent to unlace her boots. Determined, the druid strode purposely toward her.
"Galvin, don't…" the centaur began.
But the druid was not about to be slowed down by a pacifist centaur and a politician who was overly concerned about her appearance. In a handful of steps, Galvin reached Brenna before she could step out of her boots, grabbed her about the waist, and threw her over his good shoulder. She kicked and struggled, her fists beating futilely against his chest and her knees bludgeoning his back. She reminded the druid of a deer he had pulled out of a mud bog last month.
Galvin held her fast and resumed his trek along the bank of the river, wishing he would have grabbed her the other way so her face was behind him.
Wynter, slack-jawed at the performance, fell in behind them.
The sorceress continued to kick and squirm, even though she realized his strength would prevail. Furious, she tried another tactic. "Wynter, help me!" she gasped as she continued to pummel the druid's chest.
"Galvin," the centaur admonished. "Put her down."
The druid tarried only long enough to scowl at the centaur. Then he lengthened his stride. Wynter came alongside them on the side toward the stream, watching the river and avoiding Brenna's angry gaze.
"She's out of her element, Galvin," Wynter said softly, watching a large leaf swirl in the current, "but at least she's trying." He brushed the mud specks off his chest, then finally turned to glance at the sorceress. She groaned as one of her boots fell free and hit the ground behind her.
"I hate you!" she sputtered at Galvin.
Galvin ignored her and looked up at the centaur. "She's very trying. But at least this way we'll make better time."
An hour later they stopped to rest. Galvin dumped Brenna unceremoniously amidst a patch of tall grass. Wynter watched the sorceress right herself and sit cross-legged on the ground, fuming. She tried to pick the caked mud from her skirt hem. Her face was red from anger. She was exhausted from struggling with the pigheaded druid.
Brenna's limbs ached. Most of her exercise back in Aglarond had consisted of strolling from her home through the city streets to the council chambers or the wizards guild's library. She took a rented carriage to market and to various civic functions, and she was silently cursing herself now for being so out of shape physically. Being one of the youngest members of a council dominated by elves and half-elves, she had argued that she was the natural choice to travel cross-country with the Harper duo. She hadn't thought it would be so physically demanding. From her perspective, Galvin and Wynter looked the same as they had before the trip started, and that frustrated her all the more. No, Galvin looked even better, as his shoulder was healing.
The sorceress said nothing to them for quite a while, and although the druid usually enjoyed the quiet, he found this silence uncomfortable. He determined he had made a mistake in letting her come along in the first place and would rectify the situation now.
Trying to act civilized, he broke the silence. "Brenna," he began, "we can't turn back now, but if you don't think you can make it, I can leave you along the bank a few miles up the river." The druid knew where a stream branched off from the river there; merchants regularly traveled downstream to reach the villages to the south. He was certain the enchantress could arrange transportation with a passing merchant. The area was relatively free of large predators and should be safe. He guessed she wouldn't be on her own for more than a few hours.
"You're not leaving me behind!" she snapped. "I have to go to Thay. Thay is a threat to Aglarond. Not that you'd really care about that."