In Fairhome, Galen and Brin and Danto stopped long enough to speak with the locals. Here, as in Bowtower, no one raised any concerns that the road wouldn’t be secure enough for the caravan Commander Farsafe was worried about to pass through.

Beyond Fairhome, traffic thinned out once more. Galen, caught up in a deep sense of peace and belonging as his horse plodded alongside Brin’s and Danto’s, thought little of that. In his mind, he weighed that ever-present burden of feeling he shouldn’t be here at all but instead should be at home and seeing to his family’s business against a burgeoning, aching wish that this time on the road should never end and he should never have to go back.

And why should I have to go back? Maybe Brin had it right, and there was nothing he truly had to do. Resentment colored his mood, and Galen tried to push it aside and simply be in the moment.

I have right now, at least. I won’t let that be ruined.

“It’s odd.” Brin’s voice matched her frown. “Utfast is far larger than Fairhome. I would think traffic would get heavier, not lighter, in between.”

“You think there’s trouble?” Galen sat up straighter and looked more closely around him, far more firmly rooted in the moment, suddenly. Ahead of him, Danto also peered around. The sense of watchfulness Galen felt from the distant trees seemed unconcerned, at least.

Does that really mean anything, do you think?

Brin shifted her spear so that it rested directly beneath her hand as she rode. Galen did the same.

Late afternoon approached, sun beating on Galen’s left side and air thick with humidity and swarming gnats. In the approaching distance, the squared-off shapes of buildings appeared on the horizon. As the three of them rode closer, the quiet of the road shifted to include a murmur of voices and activity subtly different from the utter solitude they’d been traveling in.

The town of Utfast proper was of middling size. Most of the population would live on farms and in smaller clusters of homes in the surrounding area. But from the town’s center rose a massive stone building, likely used as a combination of town hall, tavern, inn, and blockade house in times of trouble. No walls surrounded the town, but as Galen and Brin and Danto rode up, Galen spotted spearmen stationed around the perimeter. To the town’s west, deep forest stood sentinel beyond a buffer of cleared farmland and sparser thickets.

Six figures holding spears stood across the road entering Utfast.

“Archers on the roofs, too.”

Brin spoke quietly and merely nodded in the direction of the large central building. Galen tried to glance without gaping and spotted only one figure. But if Brin had seen more, then he trusted there were more.

“Take your hands off your spears and keep them away.” Brin again spoke quietly, and again Galen heard the wisdom of her words. He put both his hands on his reins and raised them above the saddle’s pommel.

They’d ridden close enough by now that Galen could more clearly see people moving through the streets beyond the patrol which blocked them. Many who were not manning the perimeter also wore armor and weapons. Some had stopped to watch the approach of the riders. Those who weren’t openly staring glanced frequently in that direction.

Brin nudged her horse slightly ahead of Danto’s and Galen’s.

“We’re from Chanford Falls.” Brin stopped her horse and dismounted. Galen didn’t fail to note how she moved carefully and kept her hands clear of her spear.

Five of the six spearmen blocking the road glanced toward the sixth.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Commander Farsafe sent us.” Brin stood directly in front of the patrol with the green and brown squared field of her militia tabard on clear display. “We’re to inquire about conditions along the road in this area. It appears you’ve perhaps had some trouble?”

“Aye.” The patrol’s lead man nodded, and the other five relaxed their postures. “Just a bit. Go see the burgomaster, then.”

Galen’s heart thudded, even as the patrol cleared the road and let them through. Following Brin’s lead, Danto and Galen also dismounted and led their horses the rest of the way into Utfast.

The gray river stone walls of the blockhouse wore soot-blackened smears. On the far side of town, charred ruins marked where a smaller building once stood. As they led their horses through, Galen noted other signs of recent damage—newer wood bright against older on patched walls, fresh thatch roofing above smoke-stained stone. And the entire walk, Galen’s sense of being watched increased a hundred-fold.

Because we really are being watched. This time it’s definitely not my imagination.

People in the streets made no attempt to hide their attention. Heads turned as Brin led Danto and Galen past.

We’re in no danger. The townspeople were wary but not hostile.

Commander Farsafe had made her orders perfectly clear. They were to avoid trouble, gather the information they were sent for, and return to Chanford Falls. Nothing that might or might not be happening here in Utfast had anything to do with them.

Except, of course, that this was still a game, however often Galen managed to forget. And that meant everything possibly had something to do with them.

#

The interior of the stone building which sat at Utfast’s center was as stark and imposing as its exterior, cold gray stone and unforgivingly hard lines that amplified the sense of impending threat which had wormed into Galen’s gut at first sight of the armed guards—and civilians—they’d already encountered. Upstairs, in a small room with simple wooden furniture, Galen and Brin and Danto met with Burgomaster Conona.

Instinctively, Galen fell a step back and waited by the door with Danto while Brin stepped forward to address the burgomaster directly.

Whatever is going on, Brin will handle it far better than either of us.

Beside Galen, Danto fidgeted as if in unspoken agreement with Galen’s thoughts. His blond head turned as he darted glances into every corner of the room.

The space held only three pieces of furniture—a cabinet, a large table, and a single chair. All were simple wood pieces but in good condition. A broad-shouldered woman with black hair and green eyes and a cool undertone to her skin sat in the one chair on the far side of the table and looked up at Brin as the two spoke.

Alongside the cabinet against the wall, the stone hearth was blackened but unlit in the heat and humidity of the day. A window behind Burgomaster Conona stood open, spilling sunlight over her shoulder and onto the parchment she held pinned with one large hand against the table. Ink and quill stood off to one side, and leather-bound ledger books held the corners of the makeshift desk. Everything was tidily arranged, and the handwriting Galen glimpsed was neat and square.

To either side of the open window, heavy shutters were latched against the wall. Their surfaces, which would be exposed to the outside when closed, sported deep scars and indentations. Many of the gashes were lighter than the older surface wood, revealing where the shutters had been recently wounded.

“Motley bunch of bandits and brigands post up at The Dread Watch now and then. Call themselves ‘The Scourge.’” Conona’s voice was low and steady. She paused for a derisive snort and then shrugged. “Sometimes they make a run at us. The last was a week past. Diairm’s outpost near the Watch came down to help out, and together we ran the bastards back to their hidey-holes—the ones that survived.”

The Dread Watch sounded so perfectly ominous that Galen had no problem remembering it from his map. It was a ruin near Utfast, further north along the River Way but off the road to the west. Barely more than ten years ago, according to his narrator, Diairm had spearheaded an effort to wipe out a nest of raiders which had taken control of the ruins and were using it as a base of operations.

Being in the wilds as it was, Galen supposed a place like that didn’t stay cleared out for long. The territory was dangerous, but it was a known danger. All things considered, Conona seemed quite matter of fact and not terribly perturbed.

It happens a lot, I imagine. It’s just a way of life.

“So, Utfast is in danger?” A slight tremble in Brin’s voice gave away her nervousness as she stood alone in front of the burgomaster’s desk. But her braid formed a single straight line down her back, and she looked Conona in the eye.

Conona lifted one hand in a dismissive waving motion. She moved with slow deliberation, but Galen had the sense that, like a stone rolled with great effort, Conona would be equally immovable once in place.

“We’ve had our share of trouble from the Watch for a while now. We do what we’ve always done—patch things up and stay ready for the next time.”

The two women looked at each other while Brin processed the information.