Chapter 15

It was getting late in the day when the four of them reached the outskirts of another village, this one not nearly as beaten down as the last. It was larger than that village, with no boarded-up shops or empty taverns. They knew they were getting close over an hour before reaching it, thanks to the well-tended fields stretching out on either side of the main road. In the town itself, there were the normal signs of life. People milled around, going about their daily business, shops had signs out, advertising their wares, and the tavern seemed to be doing a brisk business.

It was a welcome sight, and one Osric hoped turned things around for them.

Since they’d left the lake and sacrificed the creature the day before, a somber mood had hung over the group, with very little conversation between them as they trudged west, each lost in their own thoughts. The events weighed on each of them, and while Osric felt he’d done the right thing, he was still struggling with what he’d done.

He’d gone his whole life without taking another life, until a few weeks ago. But that had been different, as he’d been defending himself and others. While he wouldn’t say he’d grown accustomed to the fights and the killing, it hadn’t pressed on him like this. But then, this had been different. This hadn’t been in the heat of battle, and he wasn’t defending anyone.

Rowan pointed to a small store near the center of town, its weathered sign proclaiming it to be “Bertram’s General Goods.”

“We need to resupply,” the ranger said, the first words he’d uttered in hours. “Our food stores are running low, and we’ve still got a long way to go.”

“Sure,” Osric said, trying to make it sound as normal as possible.

Rowan gave him a pat on the arm and led them into the store; the tinkling of the bell above the door was a cheerful counterpoint to their mood. The interior was dim and musty, the shelves crammed with an eclectic array of goods ranging from foodstuffs to farming tools to bolts of rough-spun cloth. An elderly man was leaning up against the counter, watching another man going through what looked like bags of seed.

“Welcome,” he said, turning his attention towards them. “What can I get for you?”

“We need supplies for the road. Dried meat, hardtack, root vegetables, whatever you’ve got that will keep.”

“I think I can scrounge up most of that for you,” he said, and then gestured to a shelf next to them where an assortment of dried fruits and nuts sat in baskets. “You might find those useful as well.”

Rowan, who had an eye for these things as well as being a bit picky, began to examine the offerings.

“We’re also looking for someone,” Osric said, while the old man waited for Rowan’s decision, trying to sound nonchalant. “A young woman named Grace Thornton. We heard she might be in this village.”

It was instantly clear the man had heard of her, as his expression soured, his lips pursing in distaste.

“That little thief? No, I don’t deal with her kind. She’s not welcome in my store.”

“Please, it’s important we find her. Do you know where she might be staying?”

“Sorry. I think she left town, but I don’t exactly follow her movements. Girl’s nothin’ but trouble.”

The man waiting, looking through the seeds, who’d been surreptitiously watching them the way people in a small village watch newcomers, cleared his throat to speak up.

“She left town a few days ago,” he offered.

“Do you know where she went?”

The man hesitated, glancing at the store owner before continuing, “There’s a group of ... umm, businessmen who tend to travel from village to village, never staying anywhere long. They were here for a few days, and spent a long night gambling at the tavern. The way I heard it, she was there and doing very well for herself, at least until one of the men accused her of cheating and scamming them. Don’t know if she was or not, but ... these are men who don’t like to lose.”

The store owner snorted, although if it was because he thought she did scam the men or because of the men’s dislike of losing, he didn’t say. The other man, the farmer, as Osric had started to think of him, gave a knowing nod in return.

“Anyway,” the farmer continued, “from what I heard, she packed up real quick and left before the sun came up. A few hours later, the band ... businessmen had sobered up or were at least less drunk, realized what happened. They found out she had skipped town and went after her. Last I heard, they were heading southeast.”

“Where do these businessmen tend to travel? Are there any known places Grace likes to hole up outside of town?” Rowan asked.

“The ones chasing her? They stay wherever they like; no one can tell them not to. But Grace ... there’s an old windmill on the edge of the old Whiston farm. Whole area got abandoned when the father died and the rest moved up to Farvale. Rumor has it she’s used it as a hideout before when she’s in trouble.”

“That’s where Toman found her, the time she tried to sell his goats when he’d gone to market, I think,” the shop owner said.

For someone who claimed not to pay attention to her, they both seemed to know a whole lot about her. That was the way of small towns though. Gossip was currency, so it paid to be up on all of it.

“And you think she would go back there again?” Rowan asked, a little skeptical.

“She’s nothing if not a creature of habit. Considering the number of times she’s been run out of town, she must be, otherwise she wouldn’t keep coming back.”

“Do you think you could mark the location down?” Rowan asked, pulling out a small, hand-drawn map of the barony.

“Sure,” the storekeeper said. “Maybe if enough of you chase her, she’ll run further away and stop bothering people here.”

It had taken them only an hour to reach the area the shopkeeper had marked on the map, which was good since the area was only a rough approximation and Rowan needed at least a little light to find their trail.

They’d stopped for the dozenth time since reaching the area, standing back and watching Rowan move slowly, inching along the ground in a half squat. To Osric, it looked like he was just staring at clumps of dirt and tufts of grass, but he’d heard about the ranger’s uncanny ability to track people through the lightest scrub or thickest forest. So far, it seemed the legends were true.

He’d actually managed to put them on the trail of a large number of men on horseback very shortly after passing the abandoned windmill. Osric just hoped they’d find them soon because if the light fell completely, they’d have to use Talia’s magical light or lanterns to keep the chase going, and either would easily alert the enemy to their presence when they finally got close.

The alternative was to camp and start again at daybreak, but according to Rowan, the men were riding hard, and if he guessed correctly, they had the scent of the girl. If they caught her during the night, there was a good chance she wouldn’t survive until morning, and so far, she was their only lead to the cleric from Osric’s vision.

The other problem was the number of men, which Rowan estimated to be between fifteen and twenty, all on horseback. Talia and Osric had faced off against only one or two opponents by themselves, and while they had Cinder and Rowan, the odds were still heavily stacked against them.

Not that they had any choice. They had to find her and the cleric. The small vision Osric had been given at Godfrey’s house while healing Talia had convinced him of the absolute urgency of accomplishing their mission. The very world was in danger, and if he had to fight fifteen men to do it, then that’s what he was going to do.

Rowan started off again, and they began to move, picking up the pace but not quite running, with the ranger looking to the ground most of the time.

Just as the last of the blueish light of dusk began to fade, they heard it. Laughter. Lots of it, followed by shouts and whistles. There were a lot of voices, and it seemed likely they’d found the men they’d been tracking, but they didn’t immediately see any sign of them. It wasn’t until they crested a small rise that they saw them, nestled in a kind of dell with a thicket of trees blocking the flickering firelight of their camp from being visible farther away.

It was actually a good camping spot for people who didn’t want to be easily seen, Osric thought. Or would have been, had they been quieter.

The group dropped to a crawl, letting the darkness hide them as they closed in on the edge of the outcropping of trees that the bandits were using to block their firelight.

Another mistake. Even if they’d had sentries, which they didn’t, there would have been enough firelight at their back to make seeing anyone sneaking up on them difficult. The fact that they didn’t even post sentries spoke to how freely this group had been operating in the area.

They had no fear of being tracked down as revenge for their extortion.

In the center of the clearing was a campfire, around which sat a rough-looking group of men. They were heavily armed, with swords and daggers on their belts, and several had bows leaning against nearby trees. Tied to a post at the edge of the camp, was a young woman with short, messy blonde hair who Osric assumed to be the thief they were searching for.

“Come on boys, let’s not be hasty. I’m sure we can work something out. After all, it was just a bit of fun, playing cards to pass the time. No harm done, right?” she said.

The largest of the men, a burly brute with a thick beard, stood up and walked over to her, crouching down, bringing his face level with hers.

“A bit of fun? You cheated us out of our money and ran. I’d hardly call that a good time.”

The girl batted her eyelashes, making herself look small, tilting her head provocatively. “Oh, come now. It was just a little misunderstanding. I’m sure a bunch of big, strong, handsome men like you can afford to let a little thing like that slide. I mean, I thought you lost on purpose, to be sweet. You’re all so smart, I was sure you saw right through me. How could I cheat brave, experienced men like you?”

For a moment, the man seemed to hesitate, until one of his companions called out from the fireside.

“Don’t fall for it, Garn! She’s just trying to trick you again!”

Garn’s face hardened as he wheeled back and backhanded her across the face, snapping her head to the side, making a sickening wet sound when it impacted.

“You think you can bat your eyes and wag your tongue, and I’ll just melt like butter? I’m not falling for your tricks again, wench.”

The girl’s demeanor changed in an instant. Her eyes narrowed, the smile still there, but no longer coy. Now it was cocky and arrogant.

“Fine. You want to play rough? Untie me, and let’s see which of us is still standing at the end.”

“I’m done with your games. You’re going to tell us where our money is, or things are going to get very unpleasant for you.”

The girl spat blood onto the ground. “Do your worst. I’m not afraid of you.”

Garn turned to his men. “You heard her, boys. Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

The men jeered and shouted their approval, some of them rising to their feet. Osric looked at Talia and Rowan, seeing his own tension mirrored in their faces.

“We have to do something,” Talia whispered.

Rowan nodded grimly. “There’s too many for a direct fight. We need a distraction.”