A note to our readers at the end of the chapter, please bear with us!

Arron carried the sack of goods in one hand and a list in the other, walking through the marketplace with a purposeful stride. Corana walked a few steps ahead of him, leading the way to the next stall. The streets were very busy this day, the sun shining out of a clear blue sky seeming to have brought out the whole city to shop.

Corana weaved through the throng as if dancing among nobles, but most people stepped aside to let Arron through too, seeing his guard tabard. Corana had helpfully removed all the bloodstains, but the tear in it and the hole punched through his breastplate remained. Still, no one seemed to notice.

“Cor... ummm...” Arron glanced around to be sure no one was listening to anything he might say, but the murmur of the crowd around them drowned out anything more than a few feet. “Corana, what do we need all this for? Several different metal rods from the smith? Some smelly charcoal and a bunch of herb packets from an herbalist? What in the gods’ names do you need pig bladders for?”

“Components. Hurry along, we’re almost finished. We just need to stop at the baker’s for some hard breads in case we need to stay a while, and then we’ll be ready, and can rest until tonight.” She led the way to the bakery, a small stone shop along the side of the market district. A mix of comforting aromas of different spiced breads filled the air, reminding Arron of Rall.

“Arron? Arron my dear!” shouted a gray haired woman leaving the shop . Arron immediately felt nauseated. He had hoped not to have to speak to her, at least not yet. His mind swam as he pictured and the things she might do to him once she learned he had sent her only son out on the road with strangers.

Arron ducked his head in something like a bow, “Illia, how fairs your day?”

“It is a good day” she said, “And may I ask who this fine woman is with you?” she asked with a smile across her lips.

Corana gave a curtsy, “I am Feyna Alstra, a humble apprentice of the Academy.” Arron clamped down on his surprise, of course she would use an alias in public.

“An apprentice!” Illia’s eyes lit up in delight. “My son is an apprentice as well, under the tutoring of Xabriar himself.” Arron watched as Illia’s expression fell, “But... I have not spoken to him in quite a while. Master Xabriar must be keeping him very busy.” It tore at Arron’s heart to see Rall’s mother so proud and yet so sad.

“Illia... I need to tell you something.” Corana nudged him not-so-very-gently in the ribs, but he continued on with only a slight wince, “I sent Rall away for his own safety. Master Xabriar is a terrible man, and was hurting him. He might come for you too, as Rall’s mother. I’m worried for you, and it might be best if you and Marl left too.”

“Oh Arron... My boy off who knows where all alone?” Arron winced as Illia started wringing her hands, “My poor baby, he must be terrified...”

“He left with a merchant caravan, ma’am, I’m sure he’ll send word once he arrives safely. I never meant to send him far away from you, you must know that. But Xabriar, he’s a devilish man who tortured him. I couldn’t stand by and watch, he’s my best friend. So when he asked for help...” Arron put up his hands helplessly, but Illia shushed him.

“Hush now, Arron, you’re a good boy, and if you say it was that bad, I believe you.” She sighed and wrung her hands again for good measure, then pressed them to her flour-dusted apron.

“But Marl and I, we’re old, not fit for the rigors of travel, nor do we have the coin to buy passage with a caravan.” Shifting uncomfortably foot to foot Arron listened intently, “No, if Master Xabriar decides our time has come, then it will come, hither or yon. Honestly, I can’t think we’d be worth his bother.” She looked back to Arron with pleading, desperate eyes.

“But you, you’ll protect my boy right? Keep him safe? You now how sensitive he can be. And make sure he sends word!”

“Rall is stronger then you think, but yes I will.” Arron nodded, determination filling him with his promise. He would protect Rall as he always had, because Rall more than almost anyone else deserved some good in his life.

Corana listened intently as they spoke, her eyes darting through the crowd, but no one on the streets seemed to be paying any attention. “Ma’am, can we step inside? We need to buy some bread for our own travels.”

“Oh, of course dear! Here I am keeping you out in the street... Come in, come in!” She led the pair into the shop, where the heat of the ovens filled the air with the scent of wood smoke and yeast. She found chairs for them and put them all a comfortable distance from the hot ovens.

“There we go, dear, my husband is out buying flour, so it’ll just be the three of us.”

“Illia, ma’am, I owe you a grave apology. It was I who assigned Rall to Xabriar’s tutelage, and I who did not see what Xabriar was doing to the boy. For that I am truly sorry.”

“Dearie, I’m sure you meant well, and if you’re helping Arron then I trust your judgement. Now, you said you need some breads? If you’re going to be travelling I have some fresh loaves that will keep for several days.” Arron could tell from her expression Corana was stunned at Illia’s acceptance, but he expected it, it was the way she’d always been, and the reason he was so worried about letting her down.

“Yes Ma’am, we need several loaves if we may, and a few of your special sweet buns for the trip please.” Arron grinned, he and Rall used to sneak those very sweet buns as children. He knew Illia was very proud of them and rightly so. She quickly collected the breads, offering Arron the sack warmly.

“Alright then, here you go, now remember your promise!” He moved to collect the cost of the breads from his pouch, but she shooed them both out the door before he could actually open it. “You bring my boy back, we can settle your tab when you return!” Arron shook his head, smiled and waved to his best friend’s mother.

“Is she always that cheerful and pushy?” Corana quipped, taking a bite of a sweet roll.

“No,” Arron answered, tucking into one himself, “Usually she’s worse. She must be more worried than she’s letting on. I don’t blame her, I am too.”

“Yes, well, don’t worry. If our mission succeeds, I imagine it will take Xabriar’s eye away from your friend entirely, and place it squarely on ourselves.”

“Now why did you have to go and say that.” Arron said with a laugh. He was about to continue when he caught sight of a man he recognized.

“Co... um, Feyna, remember our friend Woric? How did you leave him?” Arron tried to gently guide her away from the man he’d seen leading a contingent of city guardsmen their direction.

“I left him bound and gag... Ashes of Martem, we have a problem.” She grabbed his arm and started pushing him the way he was already pushing her. “He’s on our trail, it’s no random chance he is searching here. We’ll have to be quick, if he sees you break for the docks. I’ll be right with you. Don’t let them split us up.”

Ducking into a small back Alley with Corana in tow Arron watched the procession pass. “How did he escape?” Arron whispered as the battered man leading the guard passed out of view. “By the first how is he even still walking?”

“Xabriar’s doing, he does not give up a powerful tool like Woric so easily.” Corana started running the moment the guards passed out of sight, as much as she could without drawing suspicion. Arron easily kept pace, though his side ached where he was wounded earlier. The docks were nearly a mile away through crowded streets, and guards seemed to appear around every corner.

“The guards are his now too... The city is lost for the moment.” Corana looked as if she might cry, but her expression firmed in moments.

“We’ll break his power, and then you can take it back and Rall can be safe.” He knew he was telling himself as much as her, but the moment he said it a guard appeared around a corner in front of them and sounded an alarm.

“Over here! The traitors are here!” Arron leaped at the man before he could draw blade, bowling him over. He didn’t even bother fighting, as Corana scrambled past he stood and followed after, leaping over the guard’s clumsy grasp at his ankles. The guard tried to follow, but they ducked around a building and changed direction.

“Quickly, this way!” Corana drew him into a small alley, barely wide enough for one person to pass. The guard ran past without seeing, but Arron knew that would buy seconds at most. The pair sprinted into the crowded street, ducking between hawkers and customers, as guards down the street in either direction spotted them and gave chase.

“They know where we go no matter the direction!” Arron huffed as he followed Corana’s zigzag pattern through the market. The bags of supplies he carried seemed determined to drag him down. “Woric or one of his underlings must be scying for us. If we don’t make some distance soon we will never be free of there sight!”

“Then we shall have to even the odds a bit! Lubricus!” Corana waved her hand at one of the groups of guards, and a spray of some clear liquid burst forth from her hand. It splashed all over the guards, who immediately started slipping and falling as if running on an icy lake.

Arron gaped at the scene for a brief moment, before Corana dragged him forward again.

“Another group! Don’t stop running! Imperium adhesior!” This time thick ropy strands of something green flew from her splayed fingers at the ground behind them as they ran. The group of guards ran heedlessly into it in chase, and almost as one fell on their faces as their feet stuck to the ground.

“That’s amazing!” Arron laughed as he ran.

“It’s... exhausting...” Corana huffed in return. She reached into her sleeve with her one good hand and pulled out a pair of clay figurines, like dolls without faces. Arron didn’t spare the time to look, so when one bounced off his cheek, he turned to stare at her in surprise. His surprise grew as the clay doll grew on touching the street, and in the space of a heartbeat another him was running away to the side. He noted another Corana running the other direction and smiled.

“That should... help a... bit...” Corana gasped back with a smile of her own.

“Are you going to make it?” Arron moved to pick her up and carry her, but she swatted his arm away.

“Save... your strength... in case... fight...” She pumped her legs harder, and Arron nodded. He kept pace as more guards noticed them, but none were close enough to cause a problem yet.

“Arron... your turn!” Corana pointed at a lone guard, Arron’s own head guardsman Kreg, barring an alleyway. Arron could see the docks growing closer, past a few lines of buildings, but the chase necessitated the narrower, more direct route.

The head guard draw his shortsword and Arron slowed, dropping the bags next to Corana and drawing his own weapon. Corana paused to catch her breath, as the first clash of metal rang out. Kreg struck high, going for a quick kill, but Arron ducked under it and lashed out at the man’s midsection. The guard hopped back at the last moment.

“I hear your little girlfriend skipped town with some of his master’s things. Bet he’s already ash in the wind.” Kreg’s voice was nasty, full of disgust for Arron, or Rall, or both. He knew what to say to get Arron to lose his temper, but Arron knew it would be the end for him if he did, the man was skilled.

“Maybe you just wish he was a girl, Kreg, even now he’s a damn sight prettier than your wife!” Arron offered back, as he lashed out with a swift upward slash. His blade was parried away, and followed up by a boot to his side.

“Boy, I trained you better than this. Get up!” Arron pulled himself back up, noting the other guards drawing closer quickly but cautiously as Corana was facing them and had her wand in hand. She made a show of it, but Arron knew with her missing arm and exhaustion from casting on the run she could do little. He threw a handful of dirt at Kreg, who ducked it but not fast enough to avoid a nick to the arm from Arron’s sword.

“So you can draw first blood, boy? But this is no gentleman’s duel!” The bigger man lunged at Arron, but Arron stepped to the side and let him overextend. Noting a mess on the ground, he stuck his toe under it and brought his sword to bear as Kreg regained his footing.

“You talk too much, old man!” He kicked the glob of horse manure straight at Kreg’s face. It splashed with a sickeningly gooey sound right in his eyes, and Arron batted his sword away and kicked him square between the legs with his heavy boot. Kreg folded in half, groaning, and Arron grabbed Corana’s hand and the bags of supplies.

“Time to go!” As they dashed into the alleyway the hesitant guards gave chase, but with wand in hand and a few moments’ breather, Corana’s spells carried a bit more punch. The guards collided with an invisible wall a few feet into the alley, as Arron and Corana rushed out onto the dock.

---

Cale kicked a rock in frustration as he paced at the edge of the forest. Fate was a cruel mistress, that he was certain of. Only a woman would bring a person from the heights of near accomplishment to scurrying around in some forsaken forest so easily. They were found according to Valan, in the care of two trusted friends. But not a half a night before the caravan’s arrival they had up and run away in the middle of the night.

Even now Valan was comforting the old woman while Cale attempt to find their trail, an effort that was quickly frustrating him. He had manged to find the broken path of tall grass where the two girls had passed through the field all the way up to the edge of the forest. But from there the trail just vanished. Not even a broken twig or bent stem remained to mark their passage.

Cale didn’t know either girl very well, but he knew that the two girls he met in the wilds were about as adept at covering their trail as a large, heavily laden wagon leaking grain in its wake. So someone or something else had to have taken over covering the tracks. And such a repellent forest he had never seen! Brambles and gorse grew under every tree, their thick, long thorns finding their way in between the crevices of armor and clothing with apparent ease. Every third plant was itchweed, and the trees themselves grew twisted and threatening in shape.

Which a light shake of his head he turned his horse back towards the farm house. The whole situation unnerved him. If the stakes weren’t so high he might have simple called off the job. One thing was certain though, every instinct in his body told him to not enter that forest, and he didn’t survive as an assassin by ignoring those instincts. The girls had a destination, likely Lussax, and his best chance would be to find them there.

Valan waved Cale over as he approached the farm at a light trot, “Jord, it’s better news than we could have hoped for. That forest is fairly easy to navigate, and if I know my daughter, she’s headed straight for the river.” Cale nodded, but wondered about the ease of navigation; something was strange about those woods.

Valan continued, “I imagine they’ll walk the bank back to Lussax. I can’t imagine what prompted her to leave Mistress Marta’s farm, but with luck we can catch them along the river or worst case in Lussax. The river is fairly well travelled, so they should be safe from bandits.”

“It’s a good plan Valan, But I think it would be safer for me to ride hard for Lussax tonight. An extra man searching the banks will do little good but if they make the city, having a friendly face waiting for them might.”

Valan nodded thoughtfully, “Very well. We’ll meet at the docks in two days, if you find no sign of them we’ll hire a boat and search along the river that way.”

---

Rall plodded alongside the bank of the river behind Greta. His mind whirled with thoughts of his situation. The travel outdoors wasn’t so bad, and he was learning so much woodcraft from Greta! They’d spent yesterday walking and slept in the shelter under a thickly-leaved maple tree. As he walked he noted little shiny stones, worn smooth by the water and cast up on the sandy beach. Every little while he stopped to pick a particularly sparkly one up, tucking it into his skirt.

“Rana, we’ve arrived!” Greta called out, pointing to the tops of towers just poking out over the treetops, and a sliver of wooden docks out in the water. Rall looked up from the handful of stones he kept finding his eyes drawn to and grinned.

In Rall’s opinion Lussax was a rather busy city, with towers that rivalled Gaerbron’s. And at least twice the size of Gaerbron, to boot! Because the city was situated on the great river Tessarill and had the largest trading port south of the Imperium, likely much of the trade goods in the region flowed through Lussax at least once. But what truly struck Rall was how relaxed and free the city was. The gates were wide open to the public, with little demand for paper work as they crossed through with only a small tale of their escape from the tent city by Greta to ease over any questions.

“You seem a little impressed. Rana. You should close your mouth before flies get in.” Greta jibed with a smile

Nodding in agreement, Rall closed his mouth with an audible click. “I didn’t think entry would be so easy, if this was Gaerbron we be in a cell right now waiting on a magistrate.”

Greta simply snorted. “You have no idea how many times I’ve heard my father ranting about Gaebron’s foolishness, it’s the only city in these parts that’s so paranoid about travelers.”

Grabbing Rall shoulder playfully “Father has more then once expressed his desire to refuse trade to your whole city because it’s so much trouble to bother with.” she said with a laugh.

“Well, I’m glad you came to Gaerbron, I can’t think any other caravan would have been so kind, or anyone in them as forgiving about my... disguise.”

“Rana, I’m not sure if i should say this or not... But you hardly need a disguise to pass for a girl. If it wasn’t for me stumbling upon you bathing I would never have guessed. And it’s honestly still hard for me to believe. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Rana, but I don’t want to lie to you. Even bathing with you I couldn’t really tell.”

Rall blushed at this new revelation. He was truly unsure how to respond. He knew logically that he should be insulted, but it didn’t really bother him all that much, more confused him. Shoving the uncomfortable thoughts aside for the moment, he changed the subject. “Do you know where we should go? “

Greta nodded, letting the subject drop as she wandered ahead. “The merchant quarter at the east end of the city. We should be able to find one of my father’s associates at the market sector.”

Rall kept pace with Greta as they navigated through Lussax’ haphazard cobblestone streets. Nothing seemed straightforward like in Gaerbron. Roads twisted and turned and then would stop at dead ends with no discernible logic. Worse yet, many areas of the city where barred from normal entry by guards or guildsmen, sectioning of the city into makeshift fiefdoms based on class and craft. Rall couldn’t understand how anyone found anything in this city.

But even more importantly, Rall’s growling stomach demanded food. What frustrated him to no end was that on every street corner mouth-watering smells of smoked, salted and stewed chicken, beef, pork, and warm breads with gravy called out to him. But for Rall it all might as well have been a cruel joke, no coin in his skirts meant no food in his stomach.

After an eternity of wandering, with no specific direction Rall could track, the pair reached a two-story building attached to a large warehouse. Workers moved in and out of the building with barrels and crates through a large door in the side, but Greta led him to the front door, where a sign proclaimed this the “Fion and Sons Trading Company” in bold, stylized script. As she entered the door a rosy-cheeked man with rings on almost every finger and boldly colored clothes looked up from a sheet of paper filled end to end with tidy script.

“My word, is that Greta? I hear you and this little lady have been on quite an adventure! Is your papa back in town then? I’m surprised he’s not watching over you pair like a mother bear after all the fuss about you! Where is dear old Valan, anyway?”

“No, sir, we haven’t actually caught up with Father yet. I was hoping you could send word to him that we made it safely here, and possibly advance Rana and I enough coin to spend a few nights waiting for his return. You know my father will repay it, of course.”

Rall watched in fascination as Greta leaned forward giving the man a big, bright smile. “Aye he will, no doubt to my mind! Well, there’s no harm to it, and I imagine you girls mayhap could use a bit of luxury. I’ll draw out a loan and you, Miss Greta, can put your mark to it, so your father has fair record of it.”

“Thank you, Master Fion, I really appreciate it! And you’ll send word then too?”

“Of course, dear, of course! My fastest runner will be out before the hour is up. You and your friend just go relax until your father arrives, I’ll send one of the lads to make sure you’re not accosted in the streets. It just wouldn’t do to survive bandits and the forest both only to get a cracked head or worse in the safety of the city!” Greta smiled warmly and thanked the man, accepting a bulging purse of coins after marking a sheet Fion offered.

As they left the building a beefy man with even more muscles than Arron and a rather imposing looking heavy stick joined the pair, walking a few feet behind and eyeing passersby warily. Rall looked to Greta, trying not to concentrate on the dangerous-looking man following them.

“Greta, how much did that man loan you? That looks like a lot! Surely a few nights at an inn can’t cost all that!” Greta shook her head, tsk-ing at him.

“Rana, Rana, Rana... Of course not, this money is for spending! We’ve been through a lot, and I intend to show you one way to relax from such terrible ordeals. I’m thinking perhaps a bathhouse first, and then food.” At the word food Rall’s stomach growled fiercely, even over the din of the streets.

“Okay then, food first. But only because making those kinds of sounds in the bath will draw some very odd looks. Now come on, I know a street vendor who makes the very best sweet smoked pork you will ever eat!”

Rall nodded in agreement, swallowing, his mouth suddenly watering desperately at the thought of candied pork. Any private concerns he had about the burrowed money, or the ethics of sticking Greta’s father with the bill vanished almost without protest.

Greta led Rall and their watchful guard several streets down, across two and then back a ways, leaving Rall again confused, to a stall where hung large portions of meat, dripping with some dark honey-smelling sauce. The aroma nearly drove Rall to his knees, and his stomach protested this new mistreatment vigorously.

“Hi, sir, we’d like two portions, I think my friend here needs the larger before she faints.” She offered the man the appropriate coin, far more than Rall would have imagined paying for a single meal in Gaerbron, and the vendor offered them two chunks wrapped in butcher paper, each with a large bone hanging out the end dripping. Rall followed Greta’s example hurriedly, tucking the paper into the neck opening of his dress greasy side out, before biting into the meat wolfishly.

Greta blushed beside him at the sounds he made eating, and a few passersby whistled or glared at him. None of which mattered compared to the flavor of the treat quickly warming his stomach.

“Rana, slow down! You’ll make yourself sick! And do try not to moan, you’re going to draw the wrong kind of attention and our poor warder might have to fight off an army of lechers.”

Rall did in fact slow down as his stomach settled, taking his time to savor small bites as Greta led him through more of the maze that was Lussax to a large opulent building with smoke rising out of chimneys above and steam drifting lazily out the doors.

“Now it’s time to wash off the filth of the road before we go find ourselves some clothes that don’t reek of days spent in the wilds. Oh, don’t fuss, we’ll get a private bathing room!”

---

Cale met the message runner at the gates. He had been waiting for one flying colors to match Valan’s caravan for perhaps an hour, in the hopes of getting a lead on the search.

“Ho there, are you bound for Valan’s caravan? News of Greta and Rana?” he called out to the rider when he paused at the gates.

“And who are you to ask?” The messenger clearly had some wits to him, some wouldn’t even question him after dropping the names.

“Jord, Rana’s uncle. Would you tell me where they’re staying before you head on? Valan took his men straight into the forest toward the slaver camps, and I hope to find my niece before the week is out.”

“Oh, of course! Master Fion has their care for the moment, I imagine they’ll be staying at one of the inns near the trading company.”

“Thank you, good man, and in return, you’ll find Master Valan fastest if you head straight northwest through the forest, I left them more than a day ago. They might be two days in before you catch up, unless you travel fast.” Cale smiled darkly as the man turned to the northwest, away from the river where Valan was searching. That bought him at least an extra day, possibly two. Easily more than enough time to finish his business and disappear.

The streets of Lussax did not confuse Cale as they were meant to do to an invading army. He moved easily through several guarded areas, and even stopped to pay a toll to the local thieves’ guild. It was always best to pay one’s dues to that bunch, especially plying the murder trade in their demesne. Even considering the brief visit he quickly reached Fion and Sons, where the garishly dressed and beringed man pointed him to a few of Miss Greta’s favorite vendors. A man selling overly-sweetened pork pointed him toward a local bathhouse, where he was further guided to the market district.

In a few short hours he had the girls in his sights, and followed them cautiously. True these simple girls could not possibly overcome one of his skills, but something about them set his teeth on edge. Perhaps it was the near-frantic demand that he deal with the girls personally, or the certainty in his ghostly image’s visage as he claimed sending a demon would fail, but mostly it was the memory of the girl with the short sword swinging at him wildly. He was no expert, but he knew enough to know that a sword that could draw magic out of a person by touch could be far more dangerous than its rusty appearance might suggest. Plus, the girl waving it around had not appeared weakened in the slightest at the draining, suggesting she had greater than normal reserves.

So he shadowed the pair as they sifted through clothing and jewelry stalls. The red-haired one, Greta, seemed far more excited than the blond Rana, but she seemed to be coming around quickly enough as Greta held up one brass or pewter bauble after another. He watched carefully and saw the telltale bump that told him that damnable short sword was still hanging under her skirt, where it would more likely trip her than come to hand in a fight. Nothing about the girl made sense! But then, it didn’t matter so long as she died at his hand, along with her friend.

His decision made, Cale drew forth a small reed tube already set with a needle coated in the sap of the Ferelis plant. The thin clear liquid would, on injection, quickly paralyze the lungs and heart of its victim. She would die quietly but painlessly. He slipped it up to his mouth just as the shadow of a passing cart hid him from casual eyes, and blew. His aim was perfect as always, the dart would strike home in her neck...

But even as he watched he knew it would miss. Rana had indeed tripped over the sword in her skirts! Greta helped her to catch her balance as he watched, the dart lost in the filth of the alley behind them.

Cale cursed and placed another needle in the reed tube, slipping it into his sleeve. She would not be so lucky again! He waited for a break in the crowd as the girls talked about some dress or cloak Greta was trying to get Rana to try, before again placing the reed to his lips.

Just then the crowd surged behind him, knocking him stumbling forward. Someone managed to get a hard elbow into his ribs, and it was sheer luck he didn’t inhale the needle! He slid the reed back into the thin leather tube that held it safely under his cloak, clearly poison was not the correct method of dealing with these two! He slipped his slender dagger out of its sheath and into his sleeve, he could still kill them quietly even among the crowd, just as he had the rich man among the slavers.

He crossed the street and slipped up behind the pair, casually bumping into the girl with the sword. As he did he slipped his thin, delicate blade into her back, right between the ribs below her shoulder blade... and the shiv broke off right at the handle.

“Ow! Watch where you’re going, old man, you jabbed me!” Cale stared in astonishment at the girl, though she clearly did not recognize him through his disguise. He ducked aside as the brute who’d been guarding them tried to clap a hand on his shoulder.

“You’d better check your things, there are a lot of thieves who still try the bumping into you trick.” Cale hurried away as Rana rubbed her back. He watched as she desperately dug into a fold in her skirts where sat what looked like a pile of polished river stones, of all things, as if it were the greatest treasure in the realm!

Cale could see the tiny rip in her dress where the knife penetrated, he must have miscalculated and hit her shoulder blade! But he never missed, he took pride in knowing the shape and vital points of every size body very intimately! Perhaps she somehow rolled her shoulder... But he was certain she hadn’t moved at all! He growled under his breath in frustration.

The pair approached a large, three-storied inn with a sign featuring a large draft horse next to a flagon and a sheet of clerk’s paper. Cale took note of the inn they clearly planned on staying at, and went on his way. This job would have to wait until night, the little brat’s luck couldn’t be strong enough to save her in her sleep! As he walked away from The Frothy Draft, he made note of window locations and empty rooms. He’d already left too much trace of his presence. The innkeeper would surely remember if he were to ask their room number hours before they died in his inn, so he would have to conduct a search that night.

The number of empty rooms to choose from was not large, it would be a short search with a tragic end for them that night.