“And why is that?”
Son knew about Faymia’s past. He seethed at the thought of Tcharron using her to make money pleasing other men. He could feel sweat forming under his arms, and it was becoming an effort to keep a solid demeanor. “You behave as if you own everyplace, and everyone,” he answered.
The slaver smirked and breathed out a chuckle. “I suppose I do,” he said. “But if the alternative is to walk around with my head down, depending on others to defend me, then I’ll take your accusation as a compliment.”
The man’s words hit Son in the chest. There was truth to them, but he didn’t want to believe it. Digging for a retort, he said, “Well, you put far too much faith in your oily charisma.”
“And you put too much in your war-happy friend,” the man snapped back.
Son’s face turned red and he could no longer keep his eyes from frowning or his teeth from clenching. “How do I know you’re not going to betray us?” he asked sternly.
The smirk returned to Tcharron’s face as he answered, “I’m still here, aren’t I?” he began. “I could have run when you got ahead of me in the square.”
The boy swallowed. He knew it was true.
“What’s keeping me from beating you now and taking off?”
“My sword,” Son answered.
“I could take it from you.”
“I doubt that,” he said as he reached one hand under his coat.
Tcharron took a deep breath. His face relaxed, and he continued. “Look, why don’t we just buy this rope and meet back up with Dulnear and Faymia?”
Son’s shoulders relaxed at the thought of being with his friends again. “All right,” he said, and he let the slaver lead the way to the counter.
“All I’m saying is that your friend from the north may not be the best wagon you could have hitched yourself to,” the slaver said as he paid for their rope. “You think I’m a bad person, but he probably has a kill list the length of Aun.”
The boy was only half-listening. Instead, his focus was on the shopkeeper as they made their exchange. He was a lanky, balding man who eyed Tcharron in a disquieting manner. Trying not to be caught staring, he answered, “You’re just lucky that you’re not on that list.” He then grabbed some rope and made for the door.
Tcharron took the other coil and followed him, replying, “Touché. And what happens when you rouse his anger? Will you be safe?”
“He’s not like that,” Son countered.
“As far as you know. Northerners are born and bred for only one thing. Sooner or later, you’re going to see that sword of his turn on you.”
The boy pursed his lips and stared straight forward as they walked across the square. He could see Dulnear and Faymia waiting for them. He tried not to think about what the man had just said, but a small seed of doubt was attempting to embed itself in his mind.
“Well then,” the man from the north said. “I see you were successful, as were we.” He then held up the two hooks he purchased from the blacksmith.
“Are you hungry?” Faymia asked.
“Indeed, we are,” Dulnear answered for the group. “I suggest we return to the inn, have our fill, then turn in for the night. Tomorrow, we will execute our plan and move to retrieve Maren with expediency.”
Happy to no longer be alone with the slaver, Son chimed in, “I second that.”
“Fine,” the northerner said. “After dinner, we will hire two rooms. Faymia and I will stay together, and Son, you will stay with Tcharron. I trust that the two of you will do your best to get along.”
“I’ll do my best,” the boy said dutifully. He eyed the slaver, hoping that the man was trustworthy enough to sleep in the same room with.
As Maren stood outside the city gates, she could see a great distance to both the north and south. The northern road stretched out until it became hidden by jagged hills and forest. The southern road seemed to snake around rolling farmland, punctuated by villages and ruins left behind by once-prominent monasteries and castles. She could feel an excitement growing in her chest as she envisioned herself far away from Ahmcathare and closer to her friend Micah.
A hunger nagged at the girl’s stomach, so she fetched some bread out of the supplies she had grabbed from Kugun’s apartment. She nibbled on it and walked toward the southern road with her eyes down, intending to avoid eye contact with any of the other travelers. “Don’t look at me,” she whispered quietly to herself. “I’m on a mission and can’t be troubled by your bothersome questions.”
As she walked further away from the city, her shoulders relaxed and her only concern became getting back to the slaver camp. She walked slowly but consistently along the winding road, spinning stories to herself about the great adventurer who freed the enslaved prince. Eventually, she stopped and reached into her bindle for another bite to eat. When she did, she noticed that it was getting more difficult to see. She looked up and saw the gray blanket of sky dimming and the surrounding landscape fading to darker greens and deep blacks.
She walked until the darkness kept her from seeing the road very well and a mist settled in her hair. She began to grope around for a shelter that she could spend the night in and came across a cluster of trees that sat less than a stone’s throw from the road.
Maren huddled under the branches of a hawthorn tree, pulling her knees up close and wrapping her arms around them. The night was dark and cool. Even though the ground was hard and it was difficult to discern her surroundings, it was far better than sleeping in a cage behind Kugun’s shop. The air was damp and fresh, and she noticed the sweet smell of the branches above
