As the sun crested the horizon, Amana’s weary walk came to a halt. She had persisted without stop through the night, wary of being caught by her pursuers. Her body ached, and the lack of sleep made her laggardly and sluggish. She laid down under the shade of a tall tree and quickly fell asleep on her bed of dirt and grass. She expected terrible nightmares, but by the time she awoke again she could recall none. Judging by the sun, it was past noon and as she sat leaned against the tree that had stood over her, Amana felt a surprising calmness.

There was a moment, while I was in the hands of that monster, that I was broken. I had relinquished all my hope. The memory of Traegar’s rough hands on her skin and his coarse lips against her own sent a shiver down Amana’s spine. A vile man who tasted of death and malice. She spat and made a sound of disgust. Thankfully that was not my first kiss, else I would feel even more sickened than I already am. However, had it gone any further…

Amana shook those terrible thoughts away quickly. Two squirrels climbed and scurried in circles around a nearby tree in an almost comedic performance. It was only luck that I escaped. Luck, and a clever deceit. She held up her hand and observed the specks of dried blood on her fingers. It seems I have discovered what my own hands are capable of. A blue bird landed on a nearby branch and chirped loudly, as though it were trying to tell her something she could not understand. It was a warm day in the light of the sun, but the wind had a mild chill to it. I should have never talked Brynn into taking me to Thornwood. But what's done is done.

Finishing her silent reflection, Amana rose to her feet and dusted her dress off. Before going to sleep, she had pointed a nearby stick in the direction she was heading, to prevent her losing the way. She reached down and picked up the stick, her sight following its point southward. If that bandit boy spoke the truth, the town of Baelcroft should be close by. A place where I will find safety. Amana looked down at the ground, and then back in the direction she had come from. If I continue south, will I be abandoning Marion? Should I instead return to Thornwood?

”What could I possibly hope to accomplish there?” Amana asked herself in frustration. That gang of outlaws will still be nearby, and to them I am nothing more than easy prey. With her mind made up, she ran a hand through her messy hair and took a step forward. Continue south for now, and after I have improved my chances for survival I will return to Thornwood.

✸✸✸

Eventually, the woods grew thin and gave way to fields and prairies filled with tall grass. With neither trees nor hills to hinder her view, Amana could see the distant mountains to the northeast that she had spotted from Brynn’s hovel. She stopped for a moment to admire the view, before continuing onward. At the end of the prairie, she wandered through, a dirt road awaited. Uncertain of which direction to go, she took a guess and turned to her left. Amana arrived at a crossroads shortly thereafter but found good fortune awaiting her.

At the crossroads, a group of twenty or so people rested idly. Amana could tell from their worn garments and weary faces that they had traveled a long way to arrive here. They wore simple dresses and tunics, which told her that they were merely commoners and not nobles or soldiers. The peasants were almost all women or children, with only a handful of adult men were among them. The signpost in the road pointed the way further on to Baelcroft. It seems I am on the right path.

One of the men in a dirty brown tunic noticed Amana as she drew near the group and stood up intently. "You traveling alone, girl?" He questioned, a gray beard covering his face.

"I am," she replied. "I travel to Baelcroft."

The bearded man narrowed his eyes, seemingly unconvinced, but another among the group came to Amana's defense. "Calm yourself, Chet, she isn't a bandit." The voice came from a woman with a narrow face and strawberry colored hair. "She's trying to get away from the war, same as us."

"Is that true, girl?" Chet asked.

Amana gave a slight nod. "I was in Thornwood, when it was attacked by a group of outlaws. They took me as a prisoner, but I managed to escape in the night."

Chet's face softened. "I see. I am sorry to hear of your troubles," he said with remorse. "Forgive my hostility. The road has worn us down."

The woman who had spoken before stood and made her way over to Amana. "Are you well? These men, did they hurt you?" She asked with genuine concern. Amana believed the woman to be in her thirties, though years of hard labor had likely aged her face.

"I am well enough, thank you." Amana answered, averting her gaze. "I... Am fortunate that I escaped when I did."

The woman reached out and gently squeezed Amana's arm. "My name is Liza. Would you like to join us?" She offered with a warm smile. "We're taking a short break while some of the boys scout the road ahead, but our destination is also Baelcroft."

After a moment's hesitation, Amana accepted the offer. Liza cheerfully escorted her over to the others and made introductions. It was a pleasant and much needed moment of kindness for Amana. They gave her food and water, for which she was so grateful for that she nearly broke into tears. I had thought kindness to be forgotten in these lands. While Amana ate, Liza told the story of how the group of peasants had fled their village.

"It all started when the viscount died," Liza began. "He was a cold man, but not without reason. His daughter, on the other hand, is a monster," Liza continued, her expression turning dark. "After Searl's death, Roesia declared herself his successor, despite her brother being the preferred heir. The tale is that she had her younger brother blinded and gelded and keeps him locked away in a tower at Wolfhall Castle."

Amana gave a shocked look. "She does sound rather unpleasant, to treat her own brother in such a manner."

One of the nearby peasant girls, Laurel, nodded emphatically. "I heard she was the one who killed her own father as well. Poisoned his cup," she added.

"Yes, that's likely true as well," Liza said in agreement. "Once Roesia became viscountess, she spread her wickedness across the Wolflands. She is paranoid of betrayal, and trusts no one. She believes that common folk like us are conspiring with the Knight of Belrose. Her soldiers came to our village, and they ransacked our homes. We had little choice but to flee."

The Knight of Belrose. He seems quite famous in these parts. "Who is the Knight of Belrose?" Amana asked.

"He's the bravest and most handsome knight in all the world," Laurel swooned. "If we would have gone to Belrose, I would have become his wife." She placed her hands over her chest in a gesture of affection.

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"You've no idea what he even looks like," Liza observed dryly.

Laurel gave a shrug. "I would recognize him by the golden sunflower across his armor. Everyone knows of the symbol he wears."

Liza waved her hand annoyedly. "All the soldiers who follow him also wear that sunflower on their armor as well," she mentioned before turning back to Amana. "We don't know his true name, few in the Wolflands do. He fought against Searl for over a year, and now he continues to oppose Roesia. He fights not for the throne, but for the people. He is a true knight."

A true knight. Amana finished her bread and wiped the crumbs away from her mouth. "There are so few men among your group," she noted, peering around the area.

"Most were levied to fight for the viscountess, and they're probably dead. Both my husband and my brother departed and never returned," Liza said with sadness. "We chose Baelcroft because it is as far south as we can get from the war."

Amana nodded with an understanding of the grief the woman felt. Not long after, the young boys who had been sent ahead returned. They came running and laughing into camp, and they grinned widely as they told of what awaited further on. One of the boys was Liza's son, a scrawny child of ten with shaggy hair and a missing front tooth. He stared with mouth agape at Amana and told her she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Amana couldn't help but laugh at the boy's infatuation, and she welcomed even the tiniest amount of happiness after the previous day's hardships. Inspired by the good news, Chet roused the group of travelers to their feet, and they gathered their packs and belongings. One man even pulled a small cart behind him as they set off on the final stretch of their journey.

✸✸✸

It was evening as they neared Baelcroft, and Amana was relieved to see the walls of the town. They were wooden logs that had been driven into the grown, their tips sharpened to a point. It was much less than the high walls of her home, but it was a place of safety, nonetheless. The fields outside the town were lined with rows of wheat and barley, and several windmills were scattered throughout. Several men armed with bows and crossbows stood on platforms at the top of the wall that circled Baelcroft and peered down at the approaching travelers. The gates opened ever so slightly, and five men stepped out to greet the coming congregation. They wore pot helms and blue surcoats over chainmail armor. The pattern across their coats was that of a horned kestrel, and Amana noticed that the flag waving above the wall was the same creature.

"In the name of Baron Hyward Loyse, halt," one of the guardsmen ordered. The group slowed and stopped. The guardsmen looked over the peasants before them, eyeing them suspiciously. "State your business here or be turned away."

Chet took a step forward. "We've come in search of safety. We were driven from our village in the Wolflands." His hand shook nervously as he spoke. "We want to live here. We will pledge ourselves to your lord, and to the Knight of Belrose."

The guardsman stroked his bushy mustache. "I see. And are any among you armed, or afflicted with the scourge? Declare yourselves now if so."

No worries there. Amana had lost her dagger after stabbing Traegar, and her crossbow and quiver had never made it out of the tavern in Thornwood. As she shifted awkwardly in the crowd of people, she hoped that Baelcroft would be a place of relative safety.

Chet waved at one of the children behind him, a boy of around twelve. "Ben has his father's axe, and a few of the women carry knifes," he informed the guard. The boy, Ben, held the rusty axe out in front of him. "Ronald has a pitchfork, as well. And none among us has the scourge, I swear it."

The guardsmen exchanged glances and the one with the mustache nodded to the guard beside him and gestured over his shoulder. "Very well. I am Sergeant Roden, and on the orders of Baron Hyward you will be granted entrance. You may keep your tools and knifes." As the large wooden gates slowly opened, Sergeant Roden held out his arm to encourage the crowd forward. "There are workhouses in the northern part of town. Thacker will lead you there. We are in need of smiths and carpenters, but any laborer will find work here. Those that work will be given room and board. Welcome to Baelcroft."

The peasants shuffled forward into the town and the guardsman named Thacker directed them towards the workhouses. Amana followed anxiously, contemplating her future course of action. I have nothing save for the clothes I wear. If I am to accomplish anything, I need coin. But the truth is that I have never worked a day in my life. Perhaps they are in need of a guard who knows how to use a crossbow? But even so, they would laugh at the notion of a girl like me manning the walls. The streets of Baelcroft were small and cramped, but Amana found the liveliness encouraging. There was no putrid smell of death, or looming dread. Arriving outside a spacious workhouse, a well-dressed man with a disinterested look awaited the group. He stood in front of a wooden table with an ink quill in his hand.

"Greetings," the man said nonchalantly. He looked tired and annoyed. "I am Lukas Morten, an appointed official of Baelcroft. I, and my clerks, are tasked with ensuring that business is conducted in an appropriate manner within the town. Come forward two at a time, and we will provide you with an appropriate profession." After addressing the crowd, the official made his way around the table and took a seat.

In the hour that followed, the new arrivals spoke at length with the official and his accompanying clerks. The peasants were divided into groups; the younger members would serve as apprentices for the professions that were in high demand, while the adults would continue the labor they were familiar with. Fieldworkers, furriers, chandlers, seamstresses, and weavers were among the named professions Amana heard the official list. She waited uncomfortably until it was her turn, uncertain of what to say. When Lukas noticed her, he waved her forward impatiently.

"Don't be shy, girl," Lukas said as he wiped his brow with a small cloth. He was a lanky man with short, dark hair and he wore a fine doublet. "What labor are you familiar with?" As he spoke, his focus was on the parchment paper held in his hand.

"Uh..." Amana fiddled with her skirt as she tried to think of something.

Lukas looked up with an expression of irritation, but when he saw Amana standing in front of him his face changed. "It is rare to see a commoner with such fair looks," he said with surprise. "And your hands are quite unworn. Were you a courtesan? There is a brothel here in Baelcroft, but I keep no records when it pertains to that sort of work."

He thinks I'm a whore! "How dare you," Amana said with a tone of defiance. "I am no whore. I am a prin-" she caught her tongue, and grimaced at her reckless outburst.

Lukas frowned. "What was that? Surely you did not mean to say that you are a princess?" He asked with suspicion.

Amana forced a smile. "Of course not, you misheard. I was in service of a princess." Think fast, Amana. "I am a handmaiden. Or I was one, before I arrived here."

"There are no princesses in Trilea," Lukas said as he leaned back in his chair. Save for the one standing in front of you, silly man.

"I was not a handmaiden in this kingdom, I have only recently arrived here," Amana explained. She brought her hands together at her waist.

"You lie," Lukas accused. "The border with Lindran is closed and guarded."

"It is not Lindran that I come from," Amana said assuredly.

Lukas raised his brow. "Sargotha?" He asked.

Amana nodded along. "Yes, I was a handmaiden in Sargotha." I haven't the faintest idea where Sargotha is...

"And why have you come to Trilea during these troubling times?" Lukas scratched his head in confusion. Amana could tell he was tiring of the conversation.

"My brother lived nearby, in Thornwood. I feared for his well-being and came to check on him. Alas, he was already dead." Amana thought of Brynn and the sadness on her face was not entirely forced.

Lukas let out a defeated sigh. "I don't know if you're lying, and I don't care. It's been nothing but a steady stream of hapless villagers for half a year now, and I am allowed to turn none away," he lamented. "It seems you are in luck; the baron is in need of another handmaiden. What is your name?"

"Amana." So many lies, at least let me be honest about my name.

Lukas thumbed through the pile of parchment before him until he found the one, he was looking for. "This is the contract that binds you to the servitude of Baron Hyward," he said, explaining the arrangement. "You'll be provided a room and meals, as well as a pittance each day. If these terms are agreeable, I'll have you sign, and we'll be done." He scribbled Amana's name on it and handed her the quill. This agreement could have potentially disastrous consequences, but this work is something I have familiarity with. Noticing her hesitation, Lukas gave an awkward chuckle. "Do not be embarrassed if you cannot write. A simple line or mark will suffice."

Perhaps this might be the first step of a new plan. A more thoughtful one. Amana reached down and wrote her name on the contract.