It was two days before they saw another soul, and to their relief, there was no swelling, no marks on their skin, and they were still alive. The countryside stretched before them, damp and silent, the coiling mist draped across the surface of the earth like heavy ghosts.


    Felix rode ahead, his horse’s hooves sinking in the mud, while Caesar sniffed at every root and puddle. Haddie rode beside them, her eyes scanning the path ahead, watchful for dangers that Felix could not yet see.


    They came upon a shape on the path in front of them, emerging from the mist. It was large, round, and dark, moving with a fluidity that was subtle, yet deliberate—a shadow taken form. Felix froze. He squinted, trying to make sense of the shape, but the fog seemed to conspire against him.


    “It’s a man,” Haddie whispered. Her voice was low but certain. “A man in a cloak of feathers.”


    The figure turned and stepped closer, and now Felix could see it too—a wiry man wrapped in a bulky cloak of glossy black feathers that shimmered in the faint light. His face was lean and sharp, his eyes glinting with a peculiar cunning.


    “Coo,” the man said.


    Felix blinked. “What?”


    The man spread his arms, his cloak billowing out like wings. “Coo!” he repeated, louder this time, as if it explained everything.


    Haddie raised an eyebrow. “Do you always greet people like pigeons?”


    The man tilted his head, studying her. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he spun on his heel and did a little jig, the bells at his ankles jingling in an erratic rhythm.


    Felix grimaced towards Haddie. “We’re definitely in France.”


    The man stopped mid-dance and thrust a finger toward Felix, his expression dramatic and wounded. “Ah, monsieur! Such prejudice against a fine country known for the arts!”


    “And what arts be this?” Felix muttered.


    “I am a jongleur!” the man declared, puffing out his chest. “A wandering minstrel! A purveyor of merriment and wonder! I am known as Curio the Crow.” He made a full sweeping bow, his feathered cloak collapsing across his shoulders.


    Haddie crossed her arms. “Why are you out here?”


    The jongleur sighed, clutching his chest as if struck by some invisible arrow. “Because I have lost my circus.”


    “Where did you last leave it?” said Haddie, sarcastically, her upturned lips betraying a hint of amusement.


    The man narrowed his eyes, clearly unamused by her tone. “It was stolen from me. My troupe, my animals, my livelihood—all gone, taken in the dead of night!” He cooed again, this time mournfully, and spun in another circle for good measure.


    Felix exchanged a glance with Haddie. “This is a waste of time.”


    “Wait,” Haddie said, directing her horse forward. “Who stole your circus?”


    The jongleur leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “A great grabbing beast with many feet.”


    Felix frowned. “A beast?”


    The jongleur nodded gravely. “Yes, monsieur. It came with thunder. And then—poof! Everything was gone.”


    “Most likely bandits,” Haddie said, though her tone was less dismissive now.


    “Bandits, beasts, what’s the difference?” the jongleur replied, throwing his hands up. “They are thieves all the same!”


    Felix sighed. “It is likely you were passed out drunk and they left without you. We need to keep moving—we have no time for crows.”


    Caesar snorted, pawing its cloven hoof at the ground.


    The jongleur’s eyes lit up. “What a fine goat! A German breed. And you, monsieur and mademoiselle, are you in need of entertainment?”


    “Assuredly, no,” said Haddie.


    The jongleur cooed one last time. “Everyone is in need of stories. If you be heading north, then as am I. Mayhaps I can regale you with my tales on your journey—until at least I am reunited with my circus.”


    Stories, thought Felix. The old man’s portent rattled in his mind. He had experienced his fill of ambushes, and this man was the wildest sort of unknown traveling companion. But there was a sincerity in him, Felix could tell. The strange bird-man did not raise alarms of danger.


    “I travel with purpose, not for company,” Felix said flatly. “And my road is no place for jesters.”


    The jongleur raised the back of his hand to his forehead in mock despair. “No place for jesters? What a bleak road indeed! And yet, it is often such paths that most require levity. A grim soul like yours could do with a laugh or two, I’d wager.”


    Haddie stifled a laugh of her own, earning a sharp glance from Felix. She turned to the jongleur, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What tales would you tell?”Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    “Oh, the grandest of tales!” The jongleur spread his arms wide, as though inviting the whole world to listen. “Of love and loss, of daring escapes and triumphant returns. I’ve danced in the courts of kings and sung for the lowliest of beggars. And should you tire of stories, I can play you a tune.” He reached into his patchwork bag and produced a small lute, its strings worn but seemingly well-tuned. He strummed a few cheerful notes, his fingers moving with practiced ease.


    And then he sang.


    Man, from mischief mend your ways,


    And give good heed to what I say.


    From seven sins keep far away;


    The least of these brings dread each day.


    For of the least, I''ll now explain,


    To guard your soul from hellish pain.


    Beware, for God will vengeance claim


    On those who scorn His holy name.


    The first sacrament God did decree


    Was wedlock, formed in purity.


    Believe in this, and let it be,


    For it shall last eternally.


    His word remains, both firm and clear,


    Until death comes, its truth we bear.


    And folds us all in earthly clay,


    On judgment''s dawn, at break of day.


    Felix sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you ever stop talking?”


    The crow’s palm slapped on the lute and the music stopped. “Rarely,” the jongleur admitted with a grin. “But I assure you, my company is worth the chatter.”


    Haddie tilted her head, studying Felix. “He could be useful,” she said softly. “Another pair of eyes, and he may know the roads and towns.”


    Felix’s gaze flicked between Haddie and the jongleur.


    “Fine,” Felix said at last, begrudgingly. “But if you become a nuisance, you’ll find yourself on a much lonelier road.”


    The jongleur’s grin widened, revealing a crooked set of buck teeth. “Splendid! You won’t regret this, I promise.” He slung his lute over his shoulder and gave a theatrical bow. “You’ll find me a companion of the highest order. And, I have little need for food, I run solely on wine.”


    “France…” Felix muttered.


    Caesar bleated in agreement.


    They continued for hours along the Roman road, Curio on foot beside Caesar. He, thankfully, did not produce his lute as they travelled.


    “I tell you, there was no finer spectacle than ours in all of France!” said Curio. "Kings and bishops, beggars and barons—all would come to see us. In Italy, the Medici themselves clapped for my tumbling and showered me with gold florins at my feet. But here in France?” He turned, a hand dramatically to his chest. “Turnips. Always turnips.”


    Felix, riding ahead, sighed. “Perhaps they were trying to tell you something.”


    Haddie smirked but kept her eyes on the road. “What’s wrong with turnips? Better than rocks.”


    Curio ignored them, hurrying his pace to keep up with the horses. “Ah, but the life of a performer! One day you’re showered with gold, the next, you’re a lone jester on a muddy road. Such is the fickleness of fate.”


    Before Felix could tell the feathered man to cease, the air shifted. A low, rhythmic rumble vibrated through the ground, faint but distinct. He slowed his horse, raising a hand.


    The noise grew louder—a steady beat, accompanied by the metallic clink of armor and the murmur of distant voices. Men and horses.


    “What is that?” said Haddie.


    Felix’s eyes narrowed as a ripple of movement broke through the mist ahead. Then they saw it—a column of soldiers marching in perfect formation, their spears gleaming faintly in the dim light, their colorful banners fluttering above them.


    “An army,” said Felix grimly.


    “They look to be French,” said Haddie. “I can make out the fleur-de-lis on their banners.”


    The army stretched in both directions as far as he could see, disappearing into the grey horizons. They moved perpendicular to their path, and would force them to wait—a day or more.


    Felix grunted. “It is not safe to approach an army on the march, even if they would let us cross.”


    Curio, for once, was silent, his gaze fixed on the marching soldiers. A realization seemed to wash over him.


    Felix noted their precision—shoulder to shoulder, four abreast, moving as one. A professional army. They were likely moving from one fortified position to another. To move quickly armies relied on the ancient roads, but it limited their width. They would send out the first men in the morning, four at a time in close order, and march all day, unwinding like a snake and then coiling in the new location. This allowed them to move efficiently by day to avoid attack. By the time the last soldiers reached the new position it would be nightfall and the first men would already be down for the night. They would not halt for Felix to pass, or anyone—they would not risk losing the time and being left exposed.


    “They’ll be marching all day,” Haddie said. “What do we do?”


    Before they could decide whether to move or wait, a group of riders broke from the column and galloped toward them. At their head was a man in resplendent armor, black and gold, his tabard emblazoned with the fleur-de-lis. His retainers carried high banners above them fixed to their lances that whipped violently in the wind.


    “Do not move,” said Felix. “Do not speak.”


    The knights halted in front of them and the man at the front removed his helm, revealing a sharp, hawkish face framed by dark, curling hair. A faint smile played on his lips, one that never quite reached his eyes. It wasn’t a friendly smile—it was the smile of a man who enjoyed watching others squirm, a man who held power and knew exactly how to wield it.


    “I am Gilles de Rais, Marshal of France,” he said, his voice smooth. “And you are?”


    Felix straightened in his saddle, “Travelers from Rome, on a pilgrimage.”


    Gilles raised an eyebrow. “Travelers? On this road, at this time? A curious choice. There is a war about.”


    “We seek only to pass through,” said Haddie as diplomatically as she could muster.


    Curio, unable to remain silent any longer, pushed forward, his feathered cloak rustling as he did. “Monsieur! Your army is the beast that took my circus!”


    Gilles began laughing, motioning to the other knights in his contingent. “We seem to have missed one.” The other mounted knights joined in on the laughter.


    “Le ravisseur! Kidnappeur! You stole my troupe!” cried Curio.


    Felix spurred his horse forward to block the minstrel, but it was too late.


    Gilles grinned wide. “Clowns, be you? Take them. Take them all.”


    And then they did.