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The stitches across his stomach itched in the heat. There was a dull ache in his knee that no amount of healing seemed to touch, but it was nothing like he blasted itching. The pilgrims had not been stopped for long, and already the stale air was making sweat prick out across his skin in the midday heat. Idly, he ran his fingers down the line of the injury, willing the slight touch to give even a little relief. Instead, he just stewed in the back of the covered cart reserved for the sick, elderly, and at the moment, one person recovering from an ill-advised exercise of their own pride.
Pride had been involved, at least in the injury itself, and not even his own. He probably wasn't recommending himself very well to the Maker, but he had always been pretty bad at sitting still for Chantry services. The priests were always so dull.
"If you worry at your stitches, you'll have to get new ones, and they'll have to stay in even longer," a low voice rumbled from across the cart as a large man climbed in, covered head to toe in a billowing, dusty brown traveling cloak. The style was popular among the pilgrims walking the entire distance to Nessum, it kept the sun off of their skin, the sand out of their throat, and masked them all in the same class together.
Pilgrim.
Of course, there was one person on this pilgrimage who couldn't help but stand out. Gladius didn't know his name, but he remembered the voice from that night. The man who had saved him from his own stupidity. And who visited each day to make sure he was healing. He hadn't talked much before today.
"Did we stop for water?" Gladius asked to keep the conversation going, moving his fingers away from the healing scab as he scooted himself gingerly so that he was a bit more upright.
"And the recitation of the Canticle of Penance, of course, so the burden of our steps is as a song of praise to the Maker," the man crouched down nearby and leaned over to look at how the gash was healing.
"Of course," Gladius smiled, and while the man's face was hidden in his hood, the crinkle around his eyes gave his own away as well. "So, when can I ditch the cart?"
"That eager to walk the road? Or just to get away from the unlucky faithful who end up riding with you?" the man asked in amused tones. "Sadly, you may be stuck in here for a while, unless circumstances change."
"The pilgrims aren't so bad," Gladius shrugged, remembering the older women who occasionally took a break in the cart at the end of the day. They often shared their food with him while they sat and gossiped about the other people on the pilgrimage. "I know I'm probably stuck here for a bit. I know why."
"You don't have to be," clear blue eyes regarded his solemnly. "Someone with your skills could find that they are very valued by those who strive for a free Imperium."
"You're talking about the Shadow Dragons?"
"That is what they call themselves," a gentle glow illuminated the interior of the cart as the hum of magic warmed his knee from the inside. "There is a lot of work to be done by those willing—"
"Yes," Gladius interrupted. He didn't need a recruitment speech, even if it was likely a good one.
"You don't want more details?" the man laughed, removing his hand as the magic ceased. The ache was gone.
"I know what you do, and I want to help," Gladius shrugged and gave a smile, thinking about what his father would think, a soldier of the Imperium.. His sister, toiling away as a working mage for the Imperium. Both wanting the place they served to be worth that devotion.
"It's unfortunate you won't be able to complete the pilgrimage then," the man said, as he pulled back to the cart opening.
"It is?"
"Of course," Gladius could have sworn the man gave him a wink. "Your injuries are <i>far too severe to reach Nessum</i>. Some of the caravan will be leaving for Val Dorma, and your recovery will be greatly accelerated there."
"As the Maker wills it," Gladius gave a grin, and the man nodded his head and left the cart in a swirl of fabric that snapped as the canvas fell shut. Not for the first time, he wondered what sort of life that man must lead to effortlessly make that kind of exit each time he left, and decided it was probably better not to borrow that kind of trouble.
If half of what he heard about the Shadow Dragons turned out to be true, he would have have his hands full soon enough.