The Exiles who agreed to depart the relative comfort of the King and Queen's holdings have endured a several days-long hard ride with a contingent of the royal guard. The journey has been punctuated by bad weather, the hardships of sleeping under the open skies, and the ever-present stink of horse, man, earth, and pack mule. The Royal Guard have
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He whistles, and calls out, "Laaaaassieeee!"
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"Just getting an accurate count."
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"Christ's teeth," he mutters, not bothering to hide his surprise.
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"Location's about three miles east of here. Let's get movin'."
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