Kartania stopped in Norgath for the night. Armor stowed in saddlebags and wearing plain clothes, she’d be tougher to recognize even if she wasn’t ahead of any news. The inn she’d chosen was on the far edge of the city—and she’d ridden around to get to it.
Once before she’d been by the place on a mission, and now she’d stay the night.
Why the city? People in small towns talked to the Church and kept abreast of unusual goings-on; she’d interviewed plenty. In cities like Norgath, there was a sweet spot of apathy between the gossip of the wealthy and the watchful eyes of the downtrodden.
She’d aimed squarely for anonymity by choosing a moderately-priced in just off the main road. A suitable stop for a traveler with a horse and well-made clothing. Even better, the rooms had wide windows, and the stables had multiple exits to multiple streets. Just in case.
Kartania tied her horse outside; she’d need one room and a stable stall. Doing all this from the side of the pursued instead of the pursuer really drove home how dire things were.
She shook off the feelings of regret and resentment and headed inside. The bottom floor served meals as well—not quite a tavern, but close. It was a rustic, but well-appointed place with a few tables, a small counter that served as concierge rather than bar, and a smattering of old tools up on the walls for decoration.
And sitting alone at the only occupied table was a man in a familiar red tabard, armor dull from a lack of polish. Kartania jerked her head away—his face was familiar in a dim sense, and she had to hope she wouldn’t be recognized.
From the brief look she got of him, he looked despondent. Not deep in the cups, but deep in thought with a half-finished plate of food that looked like it’d been there a while.
Unfortunately, he looked up just as she looked away and her eyes met his. He furrowed his brow, and Kartania walked quickly past, heart thumping so loud it had to have been obvious.
She didn’t even try to put her emotions into the box. That box was long gone, smashed apart for good and ill both. To turn around and walk out now, would be to invite a scene, and let slip she wasn’t headed north, but west.
So she strode to the counter and got herself a room. Unfortunately, to leave the inn, and retrieve her horse, she’d either have to walk out back toward the stables and double back or pass by the man. And leaving her exhausted horse to wait outside wasn’t an option.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Steeling herself, she walked back toward the door.
“Excuse me, miss?”
“Yes?” She came off colder than she’d meant to, and turned to look at the man behind the armor and tabard.
He was handsome in a conventional way, even disheveled and unshaven, with a square jaw and genial features. Of Edathan descent, his black hair and blue eyes matched Kartania’s own.
When he spoke, his voice had a sort of wary hopefulness to it. “This might sound crazy, but is your surname Miller? I feel like I’ve met you before.”
“You must be mistaken,” Kartania replied. Shit, he knows me.
“Ah, my apologies. I was just…” He exhaled through his nose, slowly. “Never mind. That’d be far too great a serendipity.”
Kartania stopped at the door, hand outstretched. He couldn’t be here to capture her—they wouldn’t hesitate or come alone. At the same time, if she spoke up, she wouldn’t be safe until she reached the border. Something tugged at her, though. When she’d met his gaze the first time, there was a kind of familiar weariness there.
“If you’ll forgive me, sir, why would a paladin such as yourself have need of an inn like this?” Her question clearly caught him off guard, even as she avoided looking his way.
“Well,” he started, “I guess I’m just feeling disillusioned is all. Unpleasant revelations and… well I shouldn’t say more.”
That could mean anything! “What’s this about serendipity then?”
The paladin chuckled darkly. “Well, someone I met recently with the surname Miller has a sister I’d met years ago briefly. I couldn’t quite put a face to the name, but, well, I suppose that’s all really.”
“Who was this person?”
A genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “A good, honest soul despite all they’ve been burdened with.”
Kartania was struck by a sudden thought. “Where are you going?”
The paladin frowned and stared down at his cold food, turning over a piece of potato with a fork. “South. I…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but that’s really all I should say.”
“To Astrye?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Their eyes met again when his head snapped up. Something in his posture shifted, as though he’d made a decision. “Yes.”
“Why?” Her question was simple, and the pained look she got from the paladin in response told her more than his words ever could.
“I think… they need people to help them heal and rebuild.” The paladin stared at Kartania, a fire seeming to build behind his tired eyes. “And to fight an awful foe.”
Kartania took a deep breath, glancing at the back where the proprietor had disappeared to. “Do you have a horse?”
“No, but I intend to get one. Miss, are you—”
The former paladin set her jaw, mind made up. She hadn’t wanted to learn Dwarven anyway. “I am. If you wish to join me, we’re leaving now.”
“What about your room—do you need the rest?”
Kartania shrugged. “The horse should live, and I think we have much to discuss that’s best heard only by the wind.”
The paladin stood and straightened his tabard reflexively; both of them stared at the symbol of Dhias, a new gravy stain just to its side. With a single step forward, he proffered his hand. “Gareth Warren,” he said with a hard-edged smile.
Kartania took his hand in a firm grip. “Kartania Miller.”