They took turns watching the stables through the only window in the small room, since there would be no certain way to know when the “merchant caravan” would be leaving. Falan paid the innkeeper privately so that he might warn them of the caravan’s departure. It was best to be safe and keep a lookout as well.

The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon when Serin nudged Falan with his boot. “Get up—they’re leaving.”

There was no need to explain who “they” were. Falan got out of bed, splashed his face with cold water and put on his shirt and cloak, then buckled on his sword belt.

A knock came at the door. Serin answered, whispering a word of thanks to the innkeeper. By the time the two men were in the common room, the caravan had already moved out onto the road. Instead of wasting time, they paid the innkeeper for a small bag of apples.

The two men made certain not to be seen, and kept a distance of several hills just in case the caravan had outriders, not that Falan was expecting them. “If they catch us following, we can forget about making any coin off them. We need to make another meeting seem happenstance, as if it were purely coincidence.”

It should not be hard, he thought. They were on the main road.

Serin made a noise of agreement as he took a bite from one of the crisp red apples fished from the bag hanging from the pommel of his saddle. “Perhaps at whatever inn they decide to stop at tonight,” he said, chewing further.

But will they see through our ruse? Falan wondered. They would surely be on their guard, suspicious. “And if they see us for what we are?”

“We are concerned travelers,” Serin said with a wide grin.

Falan smiled wryly. “Concerned for the gold in their purses.” Both men laughed.

Near mid-day, they rounded a small cops of thick trees where smoke had been billowing. Falan could not make out how many men were behind the rocks obscuring his view, but the voices echoing from the camp sounded harsh. His hand instinctively moved toward the hilt of his sword, though he did not bare any steel. Serin did the same.

They could be bandits, or just travelers, though they seemed to be in a rather large group of about fifteen men. All had weapons of various kinds; axes, swords and bows. There were no wagons, or women, and no children either. They did not seem to care they could be overheard, and that eased Falan’s nerves a little. They were obviously not going to ambush them. Unless they have already chosen a target, like a gold laden caravan, he thought. “What do you think?” he asked, glancing toward the other man.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Could be bandits.”

Men were mounting their horses as others sheathed weapons or put out fires. “They might have an idea about attacking Leisa’s caravan.”

Serin nodded. “I thought you said the other woman was in charge?”

“She seemed in charge to me,” Falan said.

Serin shrugged. “Do you think we should warn them?”

It would certainly make for a good excuse to speak with Leisa’s mistress. “Come on,” Falan finally said, booting his horse to a canter and then to a gallop as soon as they were out of sight.

It was not difficult to catch up, being only two hills behind. The captain and some of his men met them at the rear of the procession, steel bared, bows knocked. One of them was a young red-cheeked lad who looked as though he had never held a weapon in his life. If the captain’s men fought as green as this boy looked, they were doing themselves a disservice by not hiring them.

“Are you following us, stranger?” The grizzled man asked, his voice somewhat irritated.

“Captain,” Falan said, “This is a main highway. Is it so hard to think we may be traveling in the same direction as yourselves?”

The older man cocked his head. “Then we will escort you past the caravan so you can be on your way.”

The woman in the purple cloak—she was not wearing the cloak now—rode up abreast the captain, the younger woman at her side. “Thank you, Captain,” Falan said, “But I wish to speak to your mistress.”

“You, again,” she said. “What do you want?” Her tone was a no nonsense one, though the air of unwelcome faded slightly with Leisa’s presence. She never seemed to be very far behind the other woman who was surely a noble—she carried herself that way. At least they were not completely unwanted.

“My Lady,” Falan said. “My friend and I only happen to be traveling on the same road as yourselves, and we only wish to warn you of a possible threat.”

“And what threat is that?” she asked coolly.

“Behind,” he said, gesturing, “there seems to be a small band of what look like bandits. They travel with no wagons or women, and are heavily armed.”

Leisa’s eyes went from her mistress, back to Falan. “We saw them...” the noblewoman said. “How do you know they are not the guard of some lord?”

“My Lady,” Falan said, “Their armor is old and mismatched, and they camp alongside the road during the night. They do not seem to be the guard of any lord I would know.”

“And how many lords would a tavern brawler know?” The woman’s tone was flat, but Falan was sure she was mocking him. When he said nothing she continued. “Thank you for the warning. We will be extra vigilant from this point on.” She turned to the man with greying hair. “Thalus, escort these men to the front of the caravan so they can be on their way.”

The captain bowed his head. “Yes, my Lady.”