Thornwood was a place of ghosts.

Brynn tried to warn me, but I could scarcely imagine the toll that has been taken on this village. The farmlands surrounding Thornwood were in poor shape and seemingly forgotten, and the cattle that roamed the grazing fields sickly and malnourished. The sight within the town was one of an even greater bleakness. At least a dozen homes had been abandoned, some overtaken by nature or fallen into disrepair as the harsh passage of time rotted away the wooden walls and pillars. One hovel had even been burned, and all that remained was a single wall atop a foundation of stones that stood defiantly amongst a scene of destitution.

Brynn and Amana made their way down the empty dirt street, catching only the occasional glimpse of Thornwood's villagers. They peered out of windows and peeked out from behind doors but hid away from the world as though they feared the light of day. The rotting corpse of a dog sent a wave of nausea over Amana, and for a moment she thought she might vomit. Brynn gently placed his hand on her shoulder and offered a few words. "The village has worsened since the last time I was here. But the shadow that looms over Thornwood is more than just the scourge. Keep your wits sharp, princess, I suspect the conflict for the throne of Trilea has reached this village," he cautioned.

Amana turned away from the dead animal and placed her hands over her face in disbelief. "I have never seen such a sordid place. How can the nobles of Trilea allow their kingdom to fall to such depths? Have they forgotten even the most basic decencies?" She lamented with disparage.

"Amana, this is what war looks like. The suffering of the land is not limited to only the battlefields," Brynn explained. "Those that have no castle walls to hide behind, like the people of Thornwood, find themselves at the mercy of fate. Until peace is restored, the realm cannot be healed."

I have hidden behind walls for my entire life. When the Korvosal raiders pillaged the coasts of Kyderia, did the villages there suffer the same fate as Thornwood? While I wasted away the days fawning over boys, were people of my own kingdom suffering and dying? "So... What should we do?" She asked in an unsteady voice.

Brynn scratched his chin. "We should try the village's center first. There may still be a market there, and that's where information might be found. There's also a tavern nearby that hopefully will still have some food."

With their decision made, the two proceeded onwards into the heart of the village. Amana's face was a perpetual look of unease as she struggled to control her stirring emotions. As they passed a narrow side path, she came to a stop as she noticed a small boy playing with a stick near a half-toppled stone wall. He was young, only six or seven by her estimate, and the child swung the stick around as though it were a sword. His clothes were ragged and dirty, but despite that, a smile crept onto his face as he poked and smacked at the wall. When the boy finally noticed his audience, he gave Amana a look full of curiosity as though she was something completely unalike anything he had ever seen. After a moment of stillness, the boy regained his wits, and suddenly dropped the stick in his hand and darted off behind a nearby home. Children do not deserve to live in such dire times.

"Princess?" Brynn turned to see why she had stopped.

"I will never forget what I have seen here, for the rest of my days. When I return to Kyderia, I will ensure that my father sends help to these lands. Even if it costs all the gold in the kingdom, I will make him understand," Amana promised.

Brynn opened his mouth to speak but had a change of heart and held his tongue. Instead, he simply tilted his head to the left in a gesture to Amana that they should continue on. A short walk later and they arrived in the village's marketplace, which was little more than a yard of dirt surrounded by a stone fence. There were a few carts and a larger wagon that dotted the yard, but they were all worn or broken save for a single one. The only cart that Amana judged to be in working condition rested in the corner of the marketplace, behind a peddler of some sort who was conversing with two villagers. As they made their way toward the merchant, she listened intently to the discussion in front of her.

"I have little else, aside from the fabrics. Some candles, two storage chests and a casket," the merchant explained to the villagers as he showed the wares in his cart. "A few pots as well. Ah, and a strip of leather. But that isn't something I'll sell lightly."

One of the villagers, a man with a worn face and a bushy beard, shook his head. "Couldn't afford your leather anyway. You have any tools, or rope?" He asked. The villager's tunic and trousers were the colors of faded blue and brown. He wore a cloth cap over his head, though Amana could see the curls of his sandy hair.

The merchant shook his head. "Nothing I'd sell. Need my own tools to keep the wheels on the cart."

"Fine, we'll take the sheets then. The wool one, and the linen," The village man replied.

The merchant pulled two square-shaped sheets of fabric from his cart and presented them to the villagers. Aside from the man with the bushy beard, the other villager was a teenage girl who looked only a few years younger than Amana herself. Despite her youth, the girls face was thin, and her fingers worn and boney. Her golden hair was tied tightly in a bun atop her head, and she wore a dress covered in patchwork cloth. I can't even imagine what her life has been like. As Amana watched on, the girl noticed her and offered a friendly smile.

"Ten for each fabric, so it'll be twenty copper coins," the merchant said, naming his price.

The village man was taken aback. "Twenty? You ask too steep a price. Fifteen is all I have."

"I'm not haggling," proclaimed the merchant firmly. "If I'm to stay in business, I need steady payment. The roads are dangerous these days, especially for someone like me."

A look of guilt crossed the man's face. "There is truth to that," he said before turning to the teenage girl. "Marion, I cannot afford both. Which do you prefer?"

The girl, Marion, took only a second to decide. "The wool. I can find more use for it," she answered assuredly.

With that, the villager removed the small coin purse from his rope belt and handed the ten cooper pieces to the merchant. The merchant examined each coin closely, and once he was satisfied that they were of an acceptable quality he handed over the sheet of wool. With their business done, the villagers moved to leave the yard. As Marion passed Amana, she paused for a moment, and spoke gently to the princess. "You're very pretty. I have never seen such beautiful hair," she complimented.

"Thank you," Amana replied with a smile of her own. "I like your hair as well."

Marion laughed and tentatively reached for her hair. "That is kind of you to say. Have you come to live here? There aren't many girls in Thornwood around my age."

Amana shook her head. "Ah, no. I live far from here. I am visiting the village with... With my husband," she lied, as she pointed her thumb toward Brynn. He had struck up a conversation with the traveling merchant and seemed unconcerned with Amana.

Marion's expression was one of dismay. "That man is your husband? He is so much older than you! Did he offer your father coins of silver for your hand?" As she spoke, Marion gave Brynn a disgusted look.

"Not exactly. It's a long story," Amana said as she raised her brows at the perplexity of the situation. "But do not think ill of Brynn. He has taken good care of me."

"Hmm, if you say so," Marion allowed with reluctance. "I would love to talk, and to hear of your home. I-"

"Marion, let's be off," the man with the bushy beard said, calling out to her. He stood near the edge of the yard with an agitated look on his face.

"One moment, father," She replied with her hand held out to calm him. "If you plan on staying for a while and would like some company, take the road heading east. My father and I live in a home near the edge of town," Marion explained to Amana. "Thornwood is a sad place these days, and none of the other girls want to talk anymore."

"Thank you for the offer, but I do not believe we'll be staying here long," Amana replied. Marion gave a look of disappointment but nodded and turned away. All she wants is a friend. Amana awkwardly cleared her throat, and spoke, "Marion, I will return here someday. And when I do, we can share stories and I'll tell you all about my home. I promise."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Marion gave a wide grin, and after an exaggerated wave departed. Amana watched her go with a heart full of sadness. Returning to Brynn's side, she caught the end of his conversation with the merchant.

"Heard neither hide nor hair of the northern lands in over a month," the merchant told. "But I'd assume the fighting has come to a halt there as the lords tend to their harvest before the cold of winter."

"And what of the east? Does Viscount Searl still hold power?" Brynn questioned; his arms folded.

The merchant waved away that suggestion. "Searl has been dead for months. His daughter, Roesia, has proclaimed herself the new viscountess of Wolfhall," he noted, before adding with a twisted grin, "They say her beauty is matched only by her cruelty. After she's taken a man to bed, she cuts off his manhood and adds it to her collection."

"How interesting," Brynn said in a tone that lacked any interest. He glanced over at Amana. "My wife may have some questions for you as well."

The merchant looked down at Amana and chuckled. He was missing a tooth, and his pox-scared face was covered with a patchy beard. He wore a brimmed hat on his head, and a grimy doublet over his tunic. "What can I do for you, fair lady? I have fine fabrics for sale, perhaps you might sew something for your husband."

"I do not sew," Amana declared bluntly. "Where might I find a ship?"

The merchant snorted in surprise. "A ship? Unless a new strangeness has fallen over the land, I believe they still float in water."

Brynn was unamused. "You know what she means. Answer her."

The merchant held up his hands in exasperation. "Whatever remains of Trilea's warships are likely in service of either the first minster or Commander Gavril. You might find a merchant ship in one of the port cities, but they'd ask a steep price for passage if that is your desire."

Amana frowned. There must be a way. "What of Trilea's border? Could it be crossed?"

"Perhaps, but not with ease. The kingdoms that neighbor our realm have closed their borders to those attempting to flee the war. You would have to sneak across, and if caught you would be executed," the merchant explained with a shrug. As he spoke, Amana's hopes of returning home crumbled. She could feel the tears in the corner of her eyes.

"Thank you for your time," Brynn said as he beckoned to Amana.

"Aren't you forgetting to pay?" The merchant was incredulous. "I just sold you valuable information!"

Brynn grunted and reached into his coin pouch. He tossed a copper coin to the merchant and led Amana away as despair engulfed her.

✸✸✸

The Thornwood tavern was a dimly lit structure, the windows were of tinted glass that served to darken the interior. Amana imagined that the scattered candles and fireplace had once given the tavern a cozy warmth, but now only cold emptiness remained. She timidly nibbled at the bread on her plate; it was stale, but it was something different. Though she was grateful for Brynn's ability to hunt, she had tired of the daily rabbit and deer stews. Brynn set across from her at the table, likewise enjoying the bread on his own plate. He also ate a strip of dried deer meat that he had wrapped in a cloth and brought with him in his knapsack. Brynn could eat only meat for the rest of his life and be perfectly happy.

It had been some time after noon when they had arrived at the tavern, and Brynn had advised a quick meal so that they might begin their journey back to his hovel with ample sunlight remaining. Aside from the two of them, the tavern was almost completely empty. A brown-hooded man sat alone in the corner near the fireplace, watching the room like a hawk. At first the man had given Amana a feeling of unease, but after a cup of ale she had relaxed her wariness. The tavern had little in the way of food, but plenty of ale. The tavern keeper had boasted that his wife was skilled at brewing ale, and that her talent had kept the tavern open all these years. Amana had no idea how to discern the quality of the ale in her cup, but she did not dislike it and took that as confirmation of the tavern keeper's claim.

Finishing his meal, Brynn placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. "Princess, there are things we must discuss. The peddler in the village center was... Well, he spoke the things that I lacked the heart to tell you."

Amana stared into her cup. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that escaping Trilea is no simple task. I see how it pains you to be trapped here with me. But you must understand that until the war ends, there is no safe passage away from these lands," Brynn said gently.

"I thought you had a friend who could help us," she mentioned half-heartedly.

"An acquaintance, and yes, he may be able to help us. But he will be difficult to find," Brynn explained.

"Did you not send him a letter?" Amana asked in confusion.

Brynn leaned back and looked up toward the ceiling. "The letter I sent was to the brother of the man I seek. Aratil is a healer in service of Ryseos, the Sun God. I believe he still resides in the city of Everlok. Aratil will be able to tell us where his brother Owyn is."

Amana slowly raised her gaze to Brynn's face. "And this Owyn, he can help me?"

"Maybe. He was my captain when I was in Idyros. He was to be granted lordship for his service to the realm, but the king's demise denied him his reward." Brynn reached for his cup. "I was hopeful that he might have friends in high enough places to aid us, but even that is something I cannot assure." He grasped the handle and swallowed down the ale within.

"Your words leave me uninspired," she declared with a frown.

Brynn returned his empty cup to the table and wiped off his mouth with his sleeve. His face turned serious as he looked forward intently. "The point that I am attempting to make, is that our best course of action is to wait until the fighting ends. Patience, Amana. And we'll need a hefty sum of coin as well, to pay for our eventual travels. I can find work easily enough, but you? You'll need to learn to sew, or cook, or perhaps even brew."

"But the fighting has gone on for years!" Amana exclaimed in a raised voice. "It could continue for years more. I cannot simply remain idle for that long."

"I understand your frustration, princess," Brynn whispered as he tried to calm her. "But there is-"

The sound of a bell tolling cut short Brynn's words. He cocked his head alertly, realizing at once what was happening. As he rose to his feet, the bell came again.

"What is it?" Amana asked, and as the bell continued its tolling her breathing froze.

"Danger," Brynn proclaimed. "An attack, or a fire."

"It's those bandits, they've come again!" The tavern keeper shouted as he rushed away from the bar and toward the back door. "Flee! They burnt down a home last week, and it's only a matter of time before they come here," he warned with a fearful look, before quickly slipping through the doorway.

"Collect your knapsack, we must leave at once," Brynn ordered as he gathered his own.

Amana jumped out of her chair and bent down to grab her knapsack. She glanced up toward the fireplace and noticed that something was different. Where did the hooded man go? Suddenly, she noticed a blur moving towards her out of the corner of her eye. She turned to look but something else forcefully knocked her aside. She flew sideways like a children's doll that had been tossed away and crashed into a nearby table. As she slid off the table, her head collided with something, and her vision turned dark for a moment. Her head throbbed as she struggled to regain her senses, and she could feel a warm liquid tricking down her face and into her eyes.

Amana rolled over onto her arms and legs and was trying to stand when she caught sight of the chaos in front of her. Brynn was bleeding from his stomach, his left hand clutching it tightly. Streams of crimson ran down between his fingers and fell like rain drops onto the floor. His right hand held his dagger, which was also colored red. Brynn's attacker was the other man in the tavern, his brown hood had fallen down and left his face visible. He had the look of a killer, cold-hearted and without remorse. The man had suffered a wound of his own, a slash across his left arm. Like Brynn, he also held in his hand a small blood-stained blade.

Amana watched with horror as the man rushed forward, his knife lurching out toward Brynn. Brynn coiled his arm until the man drew near and just as she feared he would be stabbed; he swung his dagger down at the man's arm and delivered a precise slice across his attacker's wrist. The man lost his hold on the knife, and it tumbled hard to his feet. A look of panic crossed his face, and he stood dumbfounded trying to decide his next move. The hesitation proved fatal, as Brynn took two steps forward and drove his dagger into the man's throat. Amana gasped. The man sputtered and choked as blood poured from the gaping wound. Brynn withdrew his dagger and the assailant collapsed in a pool of his own blood. He writhed and gurgled before eventually falling silent and still.

Brynn dropped his dagger and moved shakily to a nearby chair and fell into it. "Fuck, he got me," he muttered as he doubled over with both hands at his stomach.

Amana crawled over to him and placed a hand on his leg to steady herself. "You're hurt, how bad is it?" Her voice was shrill and frightened.

Brynn chuckled and spit aside a mouthful of blood. "Haah, I will need a healer, or else... I will not survive," he said in a strained voice. "Sorry I knocked you over so hard. I was, uugh... Trying to save you. It seems I'm not as good at it as I used to be."

"It's okay, Brynn, don't worry about me. I'll find you a healer," Amana reassured as she wiped at the blood that ran down her face. "We must go at once, can you stand?"

"Off so soon, girl?" A terrible and cruel voice asked. Amana turned her head to the door and saw a group of men, six at the least, stepping into the tavern. They carried weapons and wore hoods and masks, save for one. "The fun's just getting started, after all." The words of the man whose face was uncovered dripped with malice and shattered what little resolve Amana had left. He smiled, and it was the evilest thing she had ever seen.

There was only one thought on her mind. This is where I die.