Captain Caldren was now calling himself Thalus to maintain his disguise. He road at the front of the caravan with Sorela. You are the owner of this caravan, and I am your patron, she had told him—see to it that your men play their parts. The Captain—Thalus—had assured her that soldiers playing the part of body guards would not be difficult.

It was midday. The horses clopped along the cobbled roads amidst the squeaks of wagon wheels, the slight chill of late autumn in the air. Passers buy eyed the caravan up and down, but none stopped to buy anything. Just as well they did not. Rumors of a caravan traveling north uninterested in selling their wares would surely bode ill. Oh, “Thalus” would sell whatever anyone wanted, but it would not be long before rumors abounded.

A small roadside village appeared and Sorela spotted an inn almost immediately. The Roadside Mule, a shabby little place.

“Why are we stopping?” the captain asked.

“You are not,” she told him, dismounting. “Take some of your men and head west. Find as many inns as you can.”

“Mistress?”

“I told you, Thalus,” she said, trying not to sound flustered. “We need swords with more skill and experience than the common soldier.”

“My men are veterans.”

“Some of them—yes. Most are barely trained boys.”

Caldren actually looked abashed for just a moment before scowling. “Do you mean to tell me, lady mage, that I am to go in search of hirelings—mercenaries?” His scowl deepened at the last word.

Leisa’s eyes darted between them.

“I will not,” he said,” his voice starting to rise.

Sorela looked around, making sure they would not be overheard. “You will do as I command, Captain, or I will see you punished for your insolence.”

Nearly bearing his teeth, he said, “Lord Warfink will not—“

She cut him off. “I have been charged to find and bring back young lord Jalen using any means I find fit.” She realized her voice was beginning to carry and looked around a second time. “Unless you wish his lordship to recall his Serafes, I suggest you obey me.”

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The captain growled, barked to three of his men, instructing them to follow and wheeled his horse west.

“Remember, Captain,” Sorela said in a near whisper. “We need swords with skill and experience.”

“Yes, mistress,” he said grudgingly. “When shall I return?”

“On the morning,” Sorela said, then turned to Leisa. “Come, child.”

The inn did not have very many patrons this hour of the day, though Sorela suspected that, being on the main road, there would be an increase during the later hours of the night. Some of the disguised soldiers entered the inn with them, along with the stable boy. They looked toward the bar uncertainly as Sorela made her way to the innkeeper.

“Good day, mistress,” the innkeeper said, drying a pewter mug and nodding. “Can I get you anything?”

“Information,” Sorela said, holding up a silver coin.

The fat man eyed the large coin. “What can I help you with?”

“I am journeying up north and am in need of protection.”

The innkeeper’s lips moved, but he said nothing, his beady eyes falling on the coin in her hand a second time.

She gestured for him to take the coin and it promptly disappeared inside his stained apron. “Protection... So you are in search of hirelings then?”

“So long as they have swift swords and plenty of experience.”

“Plenty of experience... Plan on fightin’ in the war?” He chuckled, though when Sorela gave him a hard look all mirth vanished from his face. She did not have time for this... “Stay a while,” he said quietly. “They’ve been coming in from up north for some time now. Many flock to areas of conflict and war, but the smart ones avoid it. They know, no matter how skilled with a sword, a battle is a battle, and the best warriors still fall durin’ a fray.”

“Thank you,” Sorela said. “In that case, I will need a room, and the hay lofts in your stables.” For all she knew, the innkeeper was simply lying to get them to purchase rooms.

“Why the stables?” Jasen asked. “We have tents...”

The boy’s eyes dropped to his boots when Sorela rounded on him. “I would prefer that we only use the tents when we are off the roads. No sense in making ourselves look like a money-laden caravan ripe for robbery. Now what are you doing in here? Go take care of the horses—that is what you do, is it not?”

The stable boy scurried off before she could think to say anything else. The men would be fine in the hay loft, even if they did not like it. She paid the innkeeper for the room and told Leisa to stay with the soldiers as she headed for the door.

Leisa frowned. “Where are you going, my lady?”

Sorela half turned, said, “We cannot afford to lose time. I will travel to the next few inns in search of hirelings. I will be back before the night is out.” Assuming the stable boy had not started with her horse, she would be away quickly.

Had she really argued with the captain, knowing how reckless this was? Hirelings indeed. But with Lord Warfink’s Serafes gone, there were no other skilled swords in the region, and the common soldier could hardly compare.

“Let me come with you!”

“No,” Sorela said firmly. “Stay with the soldiers.” Leisa seemed crestfallen. The girl would soon get her chance. She opened the door. “Be patient, child. You’re worse than the stable hand.”