Despite the sign, the Hauler’s Rest’s stable was oddly small. It was well-enough appointed, though, and empty, so when a sullen-looking stable boy reluctantly left the shelter of the eaves to take our horses I was content to let them go.

The inn itself was crowded, despite the lack of horses. Kaczmarek looked around, confused. “Are they all local or something? Or did they all walk here, at this time of year?”

“They come in on the barges,” His Highness explained. “The draft horses are stabled at the docks.”

“Ohh, right. Makes sense. So this is for the upper class traders then? Sir,” she belatedly added.

Leaving them to their conversation, I navigated the maze of tables and chairs between us on the counter. The armful of saddlebags and the sword at my hip made it a little tricky to avoid clipping anyone on the way past, but I made it to the bar without troubling anyone overmuch.

The innkeeper was an affable fellow by the name of Braun. Despite the crowd in the common room, there were still rooms available and I paid him for an adjacent two, as well as a payment in advance for meals. The room was warm – stuffy, really – and the air was thick with the smell of meat and potatoes as well as woodsmoke and ale, and I was nearly as hungry as I was tired and cold. I hurried back to His Highness and Kaczmarek.

“Catch,” I said, throwing one of the room keys to the jäger. She yelped, but snatched it out of the air with the hand that wasn’t full of saddlebags.

“Why two rooms?”

“You might be more like a wild animal than a woman, but surely there are limits to even your impropriety, jäger?” I said, shaking my head.

“It was never a problem in the woods,” she objected as we wound our way across to the stairs at the back.

“That was the woods, this is civilised society,” I shot back. “Besides, we can afford it. Why are you complaining anyway? Are you afraid of the dark or something?”

“I thought you two might get lonely without me, that’s all,” she said. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on me as well?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Unless you try to harm Hi— my charge, you can go swimming nude in the Weitwasser for all I care,” I said, cutting myself off just before potentially outing the prince to anyone nearby with more greed than loyalty. It was unlikely, in an establishment frequented by the kind of people that owned barges rather than towed them, but you never knew.

“Sounds terrible,” Kaczmarek said, pulling a face. “Way too cold at this time of year. Why would you suggest that?”

“I wasn’t suggest— ah, never mind.” I took the stairs two at a time, boots thumping heavily. I didn’t have the energy for the inane banter.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re no fun?”

I didn’t dignify that with an answer, although my mind immediately went to Otto, with a slight flinch. I hoped they were alright. Off the busy roads there hadn’t been any news from the capital, nor had Kurnich been in a position to take many messengers.

“I believe you’re supposed to fill that role, jäger,” the prince said seriously. “Schreiner serves the useful purposes, and you provide colour and comic antics.” The laughter he was repressing leaked out towards the end.

“I’m hurt, your— sir, hurt.” If she had anything more to add, I didn’t catch it, as we had reached our rooms and I was busy with the heavy key. It ground in the lock slightly and the hinges creaked, drowning out her voice. The room itself was clean and tidy, though, just the metal fixtures suffering – I presumed from damp air rising from the river. The pair of beds had mattresses that were… probably still straw, but better filled than those of the inn in the logging hamlet, with blankets that looked and felt properly cleaned.

Most important to me were two things: the sturdy bolt on the inside of the door, sealing out any nosy staff with a key, and the warmth radiating off the wall where I assumed the chimney ran. I wasted no time hanging my saddlebags – and the prince’s, which I’d had as well – from one of the hooks on the wall and shedding my belts and coat. After a moment’s consideration of my sodden shirt, I sighed and changed that as well. My boots were still on the squishy side from days of water creeping in by drips and seeps through the hems of my breeches (themselves a lost cause as well, alas), but I had no others so those would have to stay. I felt far more human already just for a few minutes in a warm room and a dry upper body.

“I could eat a horse, sir,” I remarked. “Shall we take an early supper?”

His Highness wholeheartedly agreed.

The inn served a stew of mutton and potatoes that lacked for inspiration but not flavour or heat, and after downing a large bowl and a mug of small beer I felt less on edge than I had in some time. The worries that bore down on me retreated for a while to the back of my mind; still there, but I could leave them be if nothing roused them. The inn was warm and friendly and crowded, and it was hard to imagine any danger arising – at least not any danger that I could meaningfully avert.

We were sitting around the table taking our ease for a while – Kaczmarek on her second mug, with designs on a third that had me slightly concerned – and discussing the next and final major leg of our journey, through the mountains into Szekerya, when a stranger butted in.

“Excuse me, sirs,” he began, “But I could not help overhearing that you were headed to Szekerya. I am going that way myself, and some news have I which you may not have heard.”

I looked him up and down. He was dark-skinned with curly black hair trimmed close at the sides and patted down into a dense cap at the top – Afamacian, perhaps, or somewhere similar. One of the northern states, I was fairly sure. He was dressed finely as well, his waistcoat a deep wine-red and embroidered in a rich orange. His clothing was generally southern in character, but the cuts were a little unusual and it made me think he had had them made by an Afamacian tailor to suit the Immerlandish climate.

I wasn’t sure what he was doing here, but he did seem like he might be in a position to be well-informed, assuming his wealth was practically spent and not just on clothing.

“Go on, sir,” I said warily.

“The pass has been taken by a Torrean garrison,” he began. I winced, cursing under my breath. Kaczmarek was not quite as discreet. “There is talk of dislodging them, with house guards if the Imperial Army cannot be brought to bear, but yet little action and some time it may still be.” He spoke with a noticeable accent, and had an odd habit of pausing every now and then as though constructing the sentence ahead of time. Business at hand, Friedrich, I reminded myself.

The gates of the pass were heavily fortified. The Talben mountains – as the furthest north easterly wing of the range was called – drew the line between Immerland and Szekerya, and to a great extent Zdorland, and while there had notionally been peace between Immerland and both others for a long time now (insofar as Immerland could have been considered at peace with anyone during the war – I felt like half the continent had made it their business) the fortifications had been built up over centuries of tension. While normally that fortification offered peace of mind that no surprises could come out of the east, not easily anyway, it would be extremely hard to retake them. Even from the inside. And there was little prospect of aid from Szekerya while they were in enemy hands, too.

The Afamacian was apparently not done, as he stepped in closer and continued in a low voice. “And I’m afraid that you, your Highness, are being hunted.”

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

I was almost on my feet with my scimitar halfway clear of the scabbard before Kaczmarek caught my arm and pulled it down.

“Not here, man,” she hissed. “Sorry!” She said to the air around us in general. “Since the war he gets jumpy in his cups.” The nearest patrons shifted their chairs away from us, and though I shot Kaczmarek a baleful look most of my focus was still on the stranger.

“Why don’t you have a seat,” I demanded, “And explain yourself.” My hand was still on my sword, but I’d slid it back home.

He had his hands raised. Slowly, he pulled out the last chair at our table and seated himself, raising his hand again. “First, you should know I am Afamacian,” he confirmed my thoughts, “And you ought to know Afamacia and Torrea are not allies. The Tarimate Emperor will not look lightly on this… atrocity.” He made a face of disgust so intense that for a moment I thought he was about to spit on the floor.

I rapped the fingers of my left hand on the table, not breaking eye contact for a moment. “Then how do you know?” My right hand had still not left my sword.

“‘He who has ears to hear, let him hear’,” he quoted enigmatically. One of the knuckles on my right hand cracked from the tightness of my grip. “Auguries,” he quickly elaborated. “Auguries told me where to look and listen, and who to have questioned. Not everyone is as distant from the enemy as they should be, and not all the enemies are as distant from the people of the Immer as they should be.”

“Thrown bones and rumours.” I struggled to keep my voice low. “You expect me to believe this.”

The Afamacian opened his mouth to speak again, but to my surprise the prince touched my arm first.

“He’s a tarisule magus, Schreiner,” he said quietly. “He’s most likely telling the truth.”

“Can he prove it, sir?” I asked. Caution and etiquette warred briefly and caution won, my eyes not leaving the stranger’s face.

If His Highness made any move to answer, I missed it as the stranger picked up one of Kaczmarek’s emptied mugs and poured the last dregs out onto his palm. He dipped the fingers of his other hand in the cloudy liquid and then flicked them, spattering the table with droplets.

“I swear on all the stars I have spoken only the truth to you, with no intent to mislead,” he said. In a flash, the drops all puffed up in steam. The words carried a heavy weight with them somehow, but I was not in a trusting mood. I shot a glance across at His Highness.

He nodded. “That’s a tarisule oath, unless he’s an incredibly gifted fraud.”

The magus bowed his head, but I wasn’t satisfied. “Then swear you mean no harm to my charge,” I demanded. “Nor to myself or the jäger.”

He looked incredibly put out, but after a long moment he dipped his fingers in the last of the beer and scattered more droplets. “I swear on all the stars I mean no harm to you, the prince, or the jäger,” he said. The words still bore an intangible weight, but somehow lesser. The droplets boiled off, but more slowly. I eyed him sceptically.

“And that?”

“Shall I take an oath every minute of the day? Should the stars be troubled with my every breath? Of course the weight is lesser if I make the same offering for the second time after only a moment.” He was clearly irate. His voice was still low, but intense.

“The gefreiter meant no harm, magus,” His Highness said, raising a hand placatingly. “It’s been a very difficult few weeks. He is oathbound to protect me; it’s his duty to be suspicious.” He turned to me. “He’s no more a danger to us than you are, Schreiner.”

With an effort, I loosed my hand from my sword and placed my hands on the table. I had only a vague idea of what a tarisule magus was – some kind of Afamacian court scholar, I thought – and I still did not particularly trust this stranger, but I would take the prince at his word. It was easier than it sounded, relying on the insight of a boy half my age. As long as he had his odd air of assurance about him it was like he was a much older man, and right now he could have been holding court in Nachberg. His back was straight and head high, looking the magus right in the eye.

“...as you say, sir. I apologise, magus.” I tried to set aside my anger, running a hand over my hair. It wasn’t the Afamacian’s fault he had bad news, and he had made a show of good faith. I fell back on politeness to take a breath. “You seem to have us at a disadvantage, Magus… ?” I trailed off, inviting him to offer his name.

“Alemayehu,” he said. “I apologise for mine own rudeness. This has been a taxing time for me also.” He began wiping the beer from his hands with a handkerchief he’d produced from one pocket or another, frowning at the slightly sticky residue.

“When did you hear about this, Magus Alemayehu?” I asked. I almost stumbled on the name, the syllables unfamiliar to me. It would be too easy to switch some sounds. “The last we stopped in a city was Kurnich, just over a week ago, and we had no trouble there.”

“Hmmm. I fear that is ill timing. It was then that the auguries turned poor, you see.” Alemayehu frowned. “Were you sighted on by the Torreans in Kurnich?”

My mind flashed back to surging out of the shadows at two defenceless backs and— I shook my head. “No, I don’t believe so. Only one patrol, but— no living witnesses, as it were. They could not have known who it was.”

The Afamacian’s frown deepened. “Is it then not treachery? Has the city any enemies of yours?”

I thought back to our trip in. There had only been a few people that knew our exact identities, only a handful of guards and the watch captain, and…

“Erewald?” Kaczmarek said, brows furrowed. I bit my lip, thinking about it. The history of the Count’s family was not illustrious, but there were a few others in a position to give it away.

“Not Oberst von Siebert?” I questioned, wanting to clear the options. “Nor the watch captain? I don’t know his name.”

The jäger shook her head. “The oberst would probably rather shoot himself. The captains are all pretty close to as good. I doubt it.”

I let out a ragged sigh through gritted teeth, squeezing the bridge of my nose. “If that rat bastard von Etwas – or whatever – has sold us out, I’ll see him chained to the Rock of Atonement for a week.”

“Schreiner!” His Highness, shocked.

I shrugged, unrepentant. “It’s high treason, sir, and heresy with it.”

Alemayehu cleared his throat. “It matters little whose hand opened the gate while the sheep are still loose. We must think of your safety.”

“We?” I cut in again. I was not enthused by the idea of bringing along another noble. Tarisule or no, he had the soft build and smooth hands of someone not used to hard labour. In other words, a dead weight. I knew I was being discourteous, but safety was my priority.

“I am making also for Szekerya,” the magus explained. “And neither can I take the pass while it is held by Torrea. Rather I would join with you.” He looked quite earnest.

I decided to leave that be for the moment. There were other, more pressing concerns. “We’ll come back to that,” I warned. “How widespread is the… news, magus?”

“Like fire, stories spread to anyone who listens.” He spread his hands helplessly. “I cannot know for certain, but it is a strange story and those spread most widely. Of course people of honour will look harshly on it, but troubling me is what those without it may do. Those of ill repute, or enemies of the ruler.”

His Highness seemed to wilt as the Afamacian spoke. “Y— sir?” I asked. “Are you alright?”

“We had just put the war behind us, Schreiner,” he all but whispered. “Enemies of the ruler…”

“Well, that’s only half the bleeding Empire, ain’t it.” Kaczmarek dispensed with treading around the topic.

“Not quite so bad as all that,” I muttered. “The folk are good people, for the most part. Aagh…” I trailed off into a wordless complaint, leaning back in my chair and closing my eyes. I shoved aside the looming dread of the war to focus on the present. The magus wasn’t wrong; there was no point casting blame or worrying about the future before we reached our destination.

I drew up a mental map of where we were and the passes, trying to figure out how we were to proceed from here. It was clear that remaining in the city for any longer than we had to would be a mistake. If a foreigner – even a wealthy and well-connected one, whatever his purpose here – knew about the… pursuit, or bounty, or whatever Torrea was up to, it was certain that many others knew. And while I didn’t have quite so negative an outlook as Kaczmarek on the state of the Empire, she wasn’t wholly wrong, either. The highwaymen we encountered on the way here were proof enough.

“Is it only Torreans, then, magus?” I asked, cracking one eye open again.

He shrugged. “I cannot know. Most likely it is, but stories grow. It is without doubt that someone hungry for gold or power will think to earn favour by treachery.”

“Wonderful,” Kaczmarek muttered. His Highness was silent, biting at his thumbnail.

I thought for a moment longer, but there was only one real option remaining. I leaned forward again, dropping my elbows on the table with a thump.

“You intend to go through the ravines.”