Roland stuffs her mouth with a rag lying on a nearby table and then proceeds to tie her hands behind her back. “Sorry ma’am,” he tells her, feeling bad about doing this to an old woman.
Hearing a creak, James turns to see a younger woman standing on the stairs to the second floor. She has a crossbow armed and aimed directly at him. “Release my mother,” she commands.
James concentrates on the crossbow and the wire snaps, rendering it useless. “Come here,” he says to her, motioning for her to come down into the room.
“How did you do that?” she asks, fear in her eyes.
“A little trick I picked up,” he tells her. “Now, come here!” he says sternly.
When she hesitates, he says, “We have your mother, don’t make this difficult. I only want my friends back.”
As she comes into the room, fear in her eyes, she asks, “What are you going to do with us?”
“That depends on how helpful you are,” he tells her. Seeing that Roland has the mother secured, he indicates the daughter and says, “Sit her down by her mother.”
Nodding his head, Roland comes over to where she’s standing and takes hold of her arm and brings her over, sitting her down on the floor near her mother.
“Now, where are my friends?” James asks her.
Defeated, she says, “Downstairs in the basement.” She indicates a door under the stairs she had been standing on earlier.
He crosses the room and opens the door. He’s greeted by the smell of alcohol coming from below. Glancing over to Roland he says, “Keep an eye on them.” When he sees Roland’s nod, his glowing orb appears in his hand and he descends the stairs.
Upon reaching the bottom, he finds them lying there in the middle of the basement floor, tied up and helpless. “Well, well, what have we here?” he asks as he makes his way over to them.
“Glad to see you,” Jiron says.
Scar asks, “Man, how did you find us?”
James takes out his knife and cuts through the rope as he frees Jiron. “Take care of the others, I’ll be upstairs,” he tells him and moves to return up the stairs.
Over on a side table are their weapons, Jiron goes over and retrieves his knives before beginning to cut through Scar’s bonds.
When he leaves the stairwell and rejoins Roland with the ladies he asks, “Now, just what were you going to do with them?”
“Sell their weapons and them to slavers,” she admits.
“Done this before?” he asks.
“Couple of times,” she admits, ashamed. “You don’t know what it’s like to be a woman alone here, without a man,” she cries. “If we didn’t, my mother and I would lose everything and have to live on the streets.”
“No excuse,” he says to her. He turns as he hears footsteps coming up from the basement. Still inebriated, the guys are quite a sight as they stagger along. He smiles and shakes his head.
“What to do with you two,” he muses as he turns back to the women.
“Are you going to kill us?” the younger woman asks, fear in her voice.
“Should I?” he asks. “Or can we leave without anyone but us knowing what transpired here?”
“We won’t tell anyone!” she cries out. “We swear!” Her mother nods her head in agreement.
“Alright,” he tells her. “But if we hear about this from anyone else, I’ll be back. Understood?”
“Yes!” she cries, relief evident upon her face.
Turning to Roland, he says, “Let’s go.” He unties the younger woman and then helps the stumbling drunks out of the house. Being the last to leave, he gives the daughter one final, meaningful look and then closes the door.
With Roland’s help, he gets them moving in the right direction as they work their way through town. They finally meander their way back to camp where the drunks collapse and pass out.
“Everything go okay?” Delia asks when they arrive.
“We’re here aren’t we?” he asks her.
“What happened?” she asks.
Too tired to want to talk, he just says, “Tell you in the morning.” Lying down, he’s soon fast asleep.
The boozehounds all have incredible hangovers from the night before and not too surprisingly, most don’t remember being tied up in the basement. Jiron and Scar remember it somewhat, but mainly it’s all just a blur.
Smelling far worse than normal, James has them all go to the river, clothes and all and at least make an attempt to get the stink out.
While they’re gone to the river, he and the others work to get the caravan ready for travel before they return.
“You going to tell them what happened last night?” Roland asks James as they secure a team of horses in their traces.
Grinning, he says, “If I do, I’ll probably make up a bunch of stuff.”
Roland breaks out laughing and then they finish securing the horses to the wagon. Everything is set to go by the time they see them coming back toward the wagons, drenched and cold. With the heat of the day already beginning to rise, it won’t take long before it dries them out.
Sitting atop his horse, James watches and waits while they return and mount their horses. This day, Jiron is to drive the wagon while James gets to ride point. James is wearing his floppy hat that he bought back at Korazan to keep the sun off.
When everyone is ready, he takes the lead and soon they’re back on the road following the river south. After riding for several hours, an odd fog bank appears off to the east, several miles away. “Do you see that?” he asks Jiron when he pauses to allow the wagon to catch up with him.
Shielding his eyes against the glare, he replies, “Yeah, so?”
“I’ve never heard of there being fog in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the day,” he says. “Certainly not during summer, the heat should’ve burnt it off long ago.”
When Roland catches up to them, James asks him about it.
“I think it’s called the ‘Mists of Sorrow’,” he explains.
“Why do they call it that?” Jiron asks.
“Don’t know,” he replies. “I just heard someone passing through mention it once.”
By this time the whole caravan has stopped to see what’s going on. They all stare at the fog in the distance.
“What is it?” asks Shorty.
“We’re not sure,” Roland explains. “It might be the ‘Mists of Sorrow’.”
“Oh,” he says.
“We’re not getting anywhere by standing here gawking,” James says to everyone who’s gathered around him. They get back on their horses and wagons as he resumes riding to the south.
Throughout the rest of the day, the fog bank remains a permanent fixture on the horizon, they all can’t help but keep glancing at it from time to time. James notices how the traffic is all but nonexistent on this road. The few travelers they do encounter tend to be nonsocial, giving only short responses to greetings if they give any at all.
When the sun rides low in the sky, they stop for the night next to the river. Before the sun goes down, James looks to the east and can still see the fog bank sitting there, miles away.
The next morning, he’s shocked to discover the wall of fog had moved during the night. Now it’s no more than a half mile from the road. It easily extends fifty feet high and is so dense, you can’t see anything within it.
“Wow,” says Delia when she wakes up and joins him where he’s gazing at it. “Creepy.”
“You said it,” he agrees.
“Should we go check it out?” she asks.
Shaking his head, he says, “No, it makes me feel uneasy. Might be a good idea if we stayed away from it.”
Then suddenly, they see a shadow pass through it along the fringe, the density of the fog keeping them from getting a clear view of it. It was half the size of a horse and was running like a dog.
