Brugo left the path, aiming to make a wide arc around Torg Uyen proper. Unfortunately, he had barely rounded the first growth of trees when he heard shouting behind him.
With a sigh, he froze, certain he already knew what the trouble was. If only that girl had listened to him! A smoldering mage’s tower was no place for a young lady to be snooping around.
But it was the soldiers that really bothered him. The battalion he’d seen marching out there was far too large for a town of this size. Wherever those soldiers had come from, he was sure they didn’t belong. Could they have known that the tower would fall? Had they arranged for it to happen? No, of course not. No king nor duke anywhere in Andrysfal would dare send his soldiers against one of the mage’s order.
If Brugo had to guess, the presence of the soldiers was a mere coincidence. And since they were here, they had opted to take charge of the situation at the tower. After all, what good Captain wouldn’t want the glory of being the first to see the mage dead?
Brugo waited a little while longer, waiting for the soldiers to appear on the path. He watched them pass, his eyes moving along the line in search of the girl.
At last, the two carts came along, led by their mules and the last of the soldiers. The girl was nowhere to be seen. That, at least, felt like a blessing. Whoever she was, she hadn’t been taken prisoner.
Although… No, Brugo was certain that she hadn’t been killed. Andrysfal wasn’t so barbaric as that. Still, Brugo worried that the girl was injured and had been left alone on the side of the road. Soldiers’ sense of honor could be such a fickle thing when nobody was looking.
The gates of Torg Uyen opened wide, admitting the procession, and then slowly closed. Moving swiftly, he emerged from the clump of trees and trotted back to the path, retracing his steps with some urgency.
He came to a place in the middle of the road where the carts had obviously been turned around, one wheel having gotten stuck in some mud. There, on the ground, lay a single sheet of paper. He looked around once more, and then knelt to pick it up.
As soon as he turned it over, he gave a start. On the other side, drawn in thick, dark lines, was an image of his face.
WANTED: BRUGO BLOODMANE
The heading stood out against the cream colored paper. At the bottom, there was even a reward posted for information about his whereabouts.
Now he knew exactly why the soldiers had come to Torg Uyen. They were searching for him. Apparently word travelled fast these days. He’d expected to have at least a few days of lead time before the search began in earnest. But these men were traveling with horses and carts. They’d probably spread out all over the southwest of Andrysfal, plastering these damn posters in every damn town.
“Ghiborh above,” he whispered, touching the haft of his axe in honor of his god.
He stared at the picture for another moment, and then looked in the direction of Torg Uyen, thinking hard about his next move.
The guard at the gate had not yet recognized him, but it was only a matter of time until those soldiers spread the word. And then what? There weren’t many Sarizians around these parts, and the picture was a striking likeness. The guard would give him away in no time, and then the whole countryside would be crawling with soldiers.
A sniffling sound caught Brugo’s attention and he looked up in surprise. The young woman with wild curls of hair stood before him, her face grim and cheeks streaked with tears. He gave a start and then glanced back down at the sheet of paper in his hand before hurriedly folding it and tucking it into his apron.
“You were right,” she said quietly, wiping a tear from her chin with the back of her hand.
“Aye, and I’m sorry for that. No good ever comes of crossing paths with the king’s men.”
“What’s your name, traveller?”
Brugo eyed her for a long second, weighing the threat. Then he gave a half-smile and said, “I think it best not to say at the moment.”
She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “You got something to hide then? Well, you’re not the only one. I’m Anaya, Anaya Wildseer, and I’m not from this place either. As a matter of fact, I was just getting ready to leave this awful little town and go in search of my people.”
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“Your people?” Brugo asked, raising an eyebrow.
Anaya narrowed her eyes at him, pressing her lips into a thin line also before giving a little of huff. “You really aren’t from around here, are you? Look at me. I’m Makara.”
He shrugged. “And I’m Sarizian. What difference does that make?”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t know anything about Sarizians, but I do know that the people of Andrysfal are not very friendly folk, and they take a particularly negative view of the Makara. It’s downright unfair, I’ll tell you. We bring them trade. We supply them with medicines. We help them raise their crops. And what do we get in return? Nothing! Worse than nothing! They spit on us, call us names. That’s why we don’t stick around. We follow the trail, moving from place to place.”
“So how did you lose your people then?”
“I didn’t lose them, exactly. I chose to stay behind. To investigate. But I’ve finished my investigating, and my people should’ve been back already. They haven’t come into town for their usual stop, so I’ve decided to go find them. See? Now it’s your turn. Where are you headed?”
Brugo shrugged again, turning back to Torg Uyen and staring at its dark outline against the horizon. “To meet some friends in Yaal.”
“Oh! That’s great news! We can go together!” she said, nearly bouncing on her toes with excitement. “I was worried about traveling alone, but with a big guy like you, I wouldn’t have to worry about robbers or bandits or anything.”
He turned back to her, his brows forming a pronounced ridge over his dark eyes as he examined her. “Together? I… don’t think that’s such a good idea, young lady. Trouble seems to follow me, and I wouldn’t want to put you in danger.”
This time, it was Anaya who shrugged indifferently. “Can’t be any worse than traveling alone, can it? Besides, whatever you’re running from is going to make things hard for you. At least I can go into towns to trade for food and things. The people don’t like me, but they won’t think anything of seeing a Makara in their marketplace once in a while. What do you say?”
She stuck her hand out bravely at him, her eyes twinkling with the last of her tears and a fresh excitement.
“I say you’re making a lot of assumptions. What makes you think I’m on the run?”
She actually laughed this time, dropping her hand back to her side and starting up the path toward Torg Uyen before hopping down on the other side and turning back. “I may be naive, but I’m not blind. Now, come on! We can still make it to the high road before dark if we hurry.”
Grunting, Brugo followed, wondering what it was that had given him away. He may have underestimated the girl after all. All the same, he was worried about what lay ahead, and he hoped he could find a way to part ways with her before too long. If those soldiers did come looking for him, he didn’t want her giving him away.
When he caught up to Anaya, she gave him a satisfied smirk before turning back to the pathway. With Torg Uyen off to their right, they cut through the open fields, following the same path he had before. Anaya seemed to know the way, leading him across a small creek that ran southwest into the farmlands and then taking him through a narrow band of forested hills until they stood looking down upon the high road. From here, it wound north and east toward Yaal, a smattering of carts and horses plodding along toward the sinking sun.
As they looked on, Anaya sighed, long and heavy.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. I just thought they might be there this time. I’ve checked every day for weeks.”
Brugo gave a soft grunt of understanding, but his eyes remained on the rear gate of Torg Uyen. It was closed, opening only once to admit a wagon and team. There was no sign of the soldiers, and the guards at the gate looked minuscule at this distance.
“Is it always this quiet out here?” Brugo asked, allowing himself to enjoy the peace for once.
“Usually. At least until the Makara arrive. They’re not allowed to camp inside the town walls, so the caravan sets up out here. For one long week, the high road is full of color and noise, lively dancing and great food. And then we move on.”
When Brugo looked at her, he noticed something strange about her that he hadn’t seen before. She was smiling, her pink lips curled up at the edges, and her cheeks flushed to match. But there was something else. When she spoke of her people, she seemed to glow with pride. That was something he understood.
Once, before he’d been exiled, Brugo had taken great pride in his craft and the craftsmen who toiled under his leadership. They’d been a great union, setting the standards in Sariza. When they gathered, he looked out over his men and knew that they were honoring the mighty Ghiborh, god of butchers. Now, though, his axe had been bloodied in battle against men, an affront to his beloved god, and Brugo felt a deep sense of shame. He’d led his union to disaster, and this was what had come of it.
He shook away the memories and took a deep breath. A squeak from his apron pocket caught his attention, and then Mabel scurried up his arm and sat on his shoulder.
“Well, good morning, you lazy lump. It’s nearly time for bed.”
Anaya turned to him in confusion. “Who are you- Oh!”
She jumped back half a step, staring at the mouse.
“Sorry,” Brugo said. “I should’ve introduced you earlier. This is Mabel. She’s my traveling partner.”
“I see…” Anaya said slowly, backing up another step.
Mabel raised her nose to the air and twitched it several times before running in a tight circle and squealing in Brugo’s ear.
He gave the mouse a sharp look and said, “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to her. But I’m afraid she’s going to need some time to warm up to you. Mabel here doesn’t take to strangers too well.”
Anaya gaped at him incredulously, whispering, “Ancients save me, what have I gotten myself into?”