Given the option, it would be better to lay no path at all into Orlais.
The trouble of course is that he is well familiar with the road as it lies between where they come from and where her assignment must take her. If they mean to make their way subtly through those old battlegrounds to gather intelligence from the shards of shattered lordlings forces, then better that it be just two and best of all that it be a woman with one arm and a fellow who knows the way to so many secret places hidden away. That he only knows the direction and not the requirements of the road - the rough living they will need doing - is nonessential. That is, Marcoulf assumes, her job to tend to. He is here to act as their compass and to say the right words (about battles or men he knew or heard the names of) when they come to pass rough soldiers gone feral on the road.
Though so far they have been lucky and have found no trouble at all except that the horses don't get along and must be tied at opposite ends of the string at night to save the heartache of so much squealing and stamping. And also that the weather is grim - rain drizzles even here in the highlands, slate dark sky over dry golden hills - and all day they walk or ride with their oil cloth hoods drawn up over their heads. But there are worse things and so far they have seen not even a trace of the Empress's forces on the road, so he can only be relieved by each day that passes so gray and unremarkable.
This morning too dawns steely, the cold penetrating the decrepit tower where they'd made their camp the night prior. Marcoulf is up early, fretting now over stoking the fire up from its embers so some breakfast might be made.
"There's a storm at our heels," he says when he realizes she's awake. "Coming up out from the sea no doubt. It may catch us on the road yet."
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counterpoint: let me know if this is nothing like what you wanted
The trouble of course is that he is well familiar with the road as it lies between where they come from and where her assignment must take her. If they mean to make their way subtly through those old battlegrounds to gather intelligence from the shards of shattered lordlings forces, then better that it be just two and best of all that it be a woman with one arm and a fellow who knows the way to so many secret places hidden away. That he only knows the direction and not the requirements of the road - the rough living they will need doing - is nonessential. That is, Marcoulf assumes, her job to tend to. He is here to act as their compass and to say the right words (about battles or men he knew or heard the names of) when they come to pass rough soldiers gone feral on the road.
Though so far they have been lucky and have found no trouble at all except that the horses don't get along and must be tied at opposite ends of the string at night to save the heartache of so much squealing and stamping. And also that the weather is grim - rain drizzles even here in the highlands, slate dark sky over dry golden hills - and all day they walk or ride with their oil cloth hoods drawn up over their heads. But there are worse things and so far they have seen not even a trace of the Empress's forces on the road, so he can only be relieved by each day that passes so gray and unremarkable.
This morning too dawns steely, the cold penetrating the decrepit tower where they'd made their camp the night prior. Marcoulf is up early, fretting now over stoking the fire up from its embers so some breakfast might be made.
"There's a storm at our heels," he says when he realizes she's awake. "Coming up out from the sea no doubt. It may catch us on the road yet."
Or drive Maker what knows to them.