Far away, under the cold desert moon, the line of carriages bumped slowly over the sand. Inside one, Sir Karlos looked at the worried faces of the nobles traveling with him. Lord Tyrell and Lord Rowan still looked unsure, their eyes filled with the fear of leaving everything behind.
Karlos leaned forward, his voice low but strong, cutting through the creaking sounds of the carriage. "Stop worrying," he said, his eyes sharp. He looked from one nervous face to the other. "Yes, we left the kingdom. But that doesn't mean we've given up on it."
A surprised murmur went through the carriage. Lord Rowan frowned, shaking his head. "What are you talking about, Karlos? We ran away! The King still has his army. We don't have the power to fight him, especially not now."
Karlos allowed a small, cold smile to touch his lips. "Exactly. We don't have the power alone. That's why we are going to the Roland Kingdom." He tapped the map spread out before him.
