"At its simplest, the Might is the ability of someone to change the established laws of physics, to do something that should not be possible. The Might comes in various manifestations, and an individual usually has only one or two ways of channelling it. For example, some can use it to heal injuries or illnesses, others can move objects, and regrettably many can use it destructively. Then there are us seekers who can locate the Might in others.

It is an absolutely innate trait, present in varying degrees in perhaps one in 5000 people. It cannot be learned or made to ignite spontaneously. The Ksingi people aptly call this rare trait a 'gift'.

For most people, the ability remains latent and they do not become aware of their potential throughout their lives. This is especially the case for those who have only been given a small amount of the Might.

It would be fortunate for the world if the strongest in Might never realised their potential. Too many, however, do. For their sake, we seekers exist - for better or for worse."

- Laftakom Greyhand's notes, undated

* * *

Josel

The day had already dawned when Josel woke up from his dream. Someone poked him in the shoulder. He would have liked to go back to sleep - he was still tired - but the person who was trying to wake him up did not seem to give up.

Josel reluctantly opened his eyes to see the annoyingly cheerful face of Zdain Monteilon. It was too much for Josel with his morning grumpiness.

"Get your hands off me!" he snapped, slapping the other boy's arm away.

The sunny expression immediately vanished from Zdain's face. "Ragart told me to wake you," he replied.

"Okay. You can go," Josel said, more rudely than he meant to.

There was a mixture of anger and dejection in Zdain's eyes. "Can you do anything but be mean?" he asked in a quiet voice. Then he clambered over the heaps of carpets and stepped out of the wagon.

Josel remained staring at the pile of carpet in front of him, silently blaming himself. Why did he have to ruin everything, just when things were getting a bit better with Monteilon? There was simply something about the governor's son that always made Josel's blood boil. What it was, he did not care to wonder. He sighed and began to make his way through the clumps of carpet and out of the wagon.

The morning sun was peeking out from behind a thin veil of clouds. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Josel noticed that both wagons were parked in a meadow-like field at the side of the road. The horses were unharnessed. Tethered with ropes, they were chewing grass in the pasture. Marl was sitting on a big log, sharpening an already sharp-looking knife.

Josel looked around for his other companions. Plump Ragart was nowhere to be seen, nor was old Zal. The woman who had been introduced yesterday as Melgyera was standing with her back to Josel, busily picking at something under the wagon flap. She had not noticed him yet. Monteilon - no, Darren, I had to remember - was sitting on a wooden box a little further away, drawing patterns in the dirt with a stick.

Josel walked hesitantly over to the boy. Zdain did not look up or otherwise indicate that he had noticed the intruder. The soil was covered with check marks and a grumpy saw-toothed line.

I should probably say something, but what? "Is there breakfast somewhere?" Josel opened the conversation and immediately regretted his lousy start.

"Do I look like a servant!" Zdain jumped up and threw the stick to the ground.

"Don't shout, others will hear!"

"Who started shouting this morning?" reminded Zdain, without lowering his voice.

"I didn't..." Josel started, but was immediately interrupted.

"I thought as much - you would never," Zdain said. "Why did you even come to talk to me? We have nothing in common."

The coldness of the brown eyes made Josel swallow his attempt to say something soothing.

He turned on his heel, took a few quick steps and almost bumped into Zal.

"What's the fuss about?" the old man asked.

"It's nothing..." Josel tried.

"The racket is as loud as when the tidal wave of the apocalypse came."

"A wave of what?"

Zal was silent for a moment. The lines on his face deepened as he began to speak. "I told you about Shadaar and the miserable fate of its army. The worst upheavals of the Oblivion took place in those years, though it cannot be proved for certain. The Oblivion erased the knowledge of the past as it literally drowned large parts of Shadaar. A tidal wave swept across the continents, taking with it hundreds of thousands of people - those lucky or unlucky enough to have been spared by the war. This is why ancient relics are sometimes found beneath the soil, and why early history remains largely a mystery to us".

"So what caused the Oblivion?" Josel asked, because the teachers at school had never explained it. Zdain must have been thirsting for the same information, because he was staring at Zal with puzzled eyes.

"Who would know," Zal replied. "The Oblivion was a total disaster. It was a blazing sea of flames, an earthquake, and most of all an enormous surge that submerged most of the earth's surface into the sea. What was left was what formed the present states."

"How do you know all this?

"I read a lot and memorise things that interest me. Even old age has certain advantages," Zal replied with a smile. "I will continue with you another time. For now, I think breakfast is ready," he added.

At the same time, Melgy's hoarse voice invited them to have a meal.

* * *

A dining area was set up on the flattest part of the meadow, in a semicircle bounded by the wagons. Josel sat down on the clover tussock beside Zdain - too close, judging by the scowl.

Stern looking Melgy served the stew on tin plates. Marl, sitting on a stump, thanked her and accepted a hefty portion. Ragart showed Zal to take a seat next to him on a folding chair, the kind Josel had seen in Bartos' house. Soon the men were deep in conversation.

The stew steamed invitingly on the plate. Josel was scraping his first spoonful when Melgy's question caught his attention. "Ragart, are you sure the man you spoke to was telling the truth?"

Ragart turned in Melgy's direction so suddenly that his large belly bounced and his earrings flashed in the sun.

"That man was a merchant," he said. "And when a merchant dares to confess that he has abandoned his precious cargo, I believe him...Besides, we merchants never lie."

Melgy's response was a mere snort.

"Where was I...", Ragart continued. "Yes, this man did indeed have some skirmish with the Shadow Cross. That's why he had to flee in a hurry after the regime changed, leaving his possessions behind. I hear the rest of the merchants' guild grovels and kneels before the Shadow Cross."

Josel listened intently and turned to Zal, the supposed leader of the strange group. The old man's expression was focused but unreadable.

"According to the merchant, events had progressed very quickly. The City Guard was defeated within hours and the first officers loyal to the governor were executed at dawn. After a summary trial, imagine that!" Ragart snorted and waved his hand.

In anger or in excitement? Josel was not sure, but he understood very well which town they were talking about.

"What about the governor himself, was he executed as well?" Melgy asked.

Josel's heart skipped a beat. He glanced at Zdain, who was sitting tight as a kite string.

The silence felt unbearably long. Finally, Ragart said: "That's what the merchant didn't believe. Rumour has it that the Shadow Cross is still searching for the governor."

The answer relaxed Zdain's expression a little, and Josel let the air out of his lungs with relief; there was still hope.

The bald-headed merchant continued, "Paidos is now a town controlled by the Shadow Cross. A man called Isendar Vargan rules there, does that mean anything to you?"

Josel felt cold, that name meant a lot to him.

Now it was Zal's turn to join the debate. "Vargan, an ambitious and ruthless man, they say...The fall of Paidos changes the big picture. Whether it will change our situation is a matter to be discussed. Ragart, will you show me the map in your wagon? Marl? Melgy?"

The old man rose from his chair and made a gesture towards the wagon.

Fat Ragart jumped up with surprising agility and followed Zal to the wagon. There was nothing left of the joviality and playfulness the merchant had shown earlier.

Marl stood up too, looking determined. Unlike the others, however, he took his stew plate with him, as if afraid it would disappear in his absence.

"Boys, get some more food, we'll be back soon," Melgy ordered.

Obviously Josel and Zdain were not welcome at the meeting. They could only guess what was being discussed there. Why was the ordinary carpet merchant and his entourage so interested in the unrest in a town that was not even their destination? Perhaps they had some valuable merchandise in storage in Paidos.

After Melgy left, the boys looked at each other. Josel tried to read Zdain's face, to see what he was thinking. Was Monteilon still angry? He must have been, for he silently turned his gaze back to the stewpot. So Josel coughed loudly and said: "I wonder if the merchant Ragart spoke to was telling the truth."

Zdain was silent for a moment before answering: "Probably he told the truth. You saw those shadow sentries armed with rifles, didn't you? The City Guard was a mouthful for them, I bet."

Josel decided to continue the conversation. "Why are Zal and Ragart so interested in all this? I find it odd that Zal recognizes Vargan's name. Surely he's not that important a person anyway."

"Yep! It would be also interesting to know whether Zal and Ragart are for or against the Shadow Cross," Zdain said contemplatively, stirring his stew with a spoon.

After a moment's pondering, Josel spoke again, "If they are on Vargan's side, we are in grave danger. If they are against him, we are still not in safe company."

"You're right."

"That's why we need to leave at the first opportunity."

"Waiting for that opportunity," Zdain replied.

The boys finished their rations in silence. After a while, their companions returned from the wagon to the stew pot. Melgy and Marl looked as serious as usual, and Zal was lost in his own thoughts.

Only Ragart was carefree, telling a hilarious story about a horse and a cow having a cub together. Josel and Zdain tried hard to appear amused. It was the wrong time to reveal to the others that the situation in Paidos was worrying them too.

* * *

The journey continued. The landscape along the roadside was still wooded, but the trees no longer looked so menacing or dense. There were hardly any other travellers in sight. The route through the Veilwoold was not popular. The reason was not the Shadaarian ghosts, but the fear of the bandits. There were not enough Imperial soldiers to patrol the country byroads. So a traveller had to rely on luck, or arm himself to the teeth, as Zal and his companions seemed to have done.

According to Ragart, they would reach the Southern Trade Route after a few hours. From the crossroads, it would be less than a day's ride to Ipalos. Josel was a little worried about getting back on the main road. There would be plenty of other wayfarers. He had certainly not forgotten Jolanda and her little patrol.

Besides, the wagons seemed to be moving faster now than at night. Ragart kept the breaks very short and encouraged the horses to push harder. Why the strange party was in such a hurry, the boys were not told that information. Perhaps the carpet buyer was impatiently awaiting delivery in Ipalos.

Josel and Zdain took turns on the driver's bench next to Ragart. With the morning's quarrel still fresh in their minds, they had little to say to each other. Fortunately, Ragart had an inexhaustible storehouse of wild stories, each more unbelievable than the last.

"Have you ever seen a fury hound?" Ragart asked, managing to capture the boys' attention.

Josel rolled his eyes at the man's back, and Zdain, sitting on the driver's seat in front of him, mumbled something declining. They would not fall for such nonsense.

"I have," the merchant said and fell silent. He looked over his shoulder at Josel and then at Zdain beside him, but did not utter a word. He just smiled with his whole wide face.

Josel heard the rhythmic thumping of the horses' hooves and the birds twittering in the trees nearby. He also heard his own breathing. Ragart, on the other hand, shrouded himself in a silence that tickled the boy's curiosity - mischievously, no doubt.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

In the end, the merchant must have gotten what he wanted, for Josel could no longer hold out. "The fury hounds aren't real. You're just trying to fool us," he retorted, sounding more uncertain than he would have liked. The one-armed veteran in Saramanda's Inn and his words had not been forgotten.

Ragart smiled. "You wouldn't say that if you'd been with me then. It was three summers ago, in the town of Eastkeep..."

"In Eastkeep?" Josel made sure he had heard correctly.

"Yes. At the eastern gate of Andiol, in the land of adventurers. It’s a town populated by fugitives, mercenaries and all manner of villains. In Eastkeep, a pint of ale costs a copper, a woman one more, and a third trade will kill you. A fool ends up miserable there, but a cunning man can make a fortune by snapping his fingers," Ragart described in the voice of a storyteller.

Josel pricked his ears to catch every word over the hoofbeats. Zdain also concentrated on listening.

At school, the teachers had portrayed eastern Andiol as something quite different, a remote and sparsely populated wasteland not worth wasting lessons on. In the Empire, only the West mattered. It was the home of prosperity, while in the East there was nothing more significant than the unbroken front against the Ksingis. Paidos fell somewhere in between.

"In Eastkeep, Fox encountered a fury hound - a mistake that almost cost him his life," Ragart spoke as he applied his whip to the horses' hindquarters.

As the wagons soon picked up speed, Josel and Zdain shouted in unison, "Tell me more!"

Ragart laughed, rubbed his bald head and released the boys from their agonising wait. "It started in a shabby beer hall. The floor was covered with rotten straw, sweat was reeking everywhere - probably my own too - and a harlot who had seen her best days was leaning against the bar. I sat alone at a rickety table, with my fifth or sixth tankard for company. Suddenly a floorboard creaked beside me and I turned to look..."

* * *

"...The next day a passing caravan of traders found me in the wagon and the mangled bodies of three Afamatian bandits on the road. I had to pay through my nose to keep the mouths of those damned greedy merchants shut. That's probably my biggest regret - apart from the non-existent pearls, of course," Ragart concluded.

"What happened to the fury hound?" Zdain asked in a husky voice.

Josel held his breath, that's what he wanted to know. Ragart could not have concocted such a thing on his own. There had to be fury hounds.

The merchant stared down the road in front of him. Then he lowered his voice and answered: "I don't know. I suppose it's still out there somewhere in the dead of night. Imagine a canine beast the size of a small horse. And imagine its razor-sharp teeth, its insatiable hunger and thirst for blood. Maybe it is watching us right now with its red eyes from the edge of the forest."

Josel gasped involuntarily.

It made Ragart turn his head. "What did you think of the story?" he asked. "What was your name again?"

It was only after a long struggle that Josel managed to say, "Franz".

"So impressed by my story that he can't remember his own name," Ragart said and laughed out loud. It was not a nice laugh.

* * *

"Don't you realise how dangerous our situation is? And you can't even remember the name you made up! Ragart already suspects us!" Zdain whispered angrily as they climbed down from the wagon during the next break.

"I know!" Josel hissed back. It was true, the situation was very dangerous. All Ragart had to do was tell Zal his suspicions, and the old man would hand them over to the Shadow Cross in no time.

"We need to get out of here. At the first chance," Josel said.

Zdain did not agree. "Where could we escape from here, on a busy main road? Let's wait for Ipalos instead. We'll slip away into some shady alley in the city and never have to see Zal and company again."

"Do you think we'll make it to Ipalos without being discovered?"

"Ragart said we'd be there in the morning. We can make up a good excuse or two before that."

"I guess so," Josel agreed.

Without further ado, Josel left Zdain's company. He needed a moment alone to think. He decided to make a tour around the wagons before they continued the journey. At the same time he could keep an eye on the road for Isendar Vargan's patrols.

He hated to admit that Monteilon was right. Without the horses, the flight would lead nowhere. And there was no way they could steal a couple of horses from Ragart. Marl would chase them down and surely skin the horse thieves alive. So staying with the wagons all the way to Ipalos was probably the best option.

Ipalos - Josel had never been there. In fact, he had never visited any town the size of Paidos. All he knew about Ipalos was what he had read in school books or heard from Bartos, who had been there a few times on his father's business trips.

The city of Ipalos, to the south-west of Paidos and somewhat larger than it, was a prominent trading centre. It owed much of its significance to the Frothy River, which flowed through it. It was one of the largest rivers in Andiol, both in flow and length, and flowed into the Great Ocean a few miles from Ipalos.

The location of Ipalos on the southern trade route attracted merchant ships to its sheltered river port. Further upstream, ships could easily continue north along the wide river, eventually sailing all the way to the western Andiol. The bustling trade had made Ipalos prosperous, but as a port city it was more restless than the peaceful Paidos.

Josel was not at all pleased with the city's troubled reputation. He did not need any more excitement. Fortunately, Zdain had told him he had been in Ipalos before, so finding Marta's house should not be an overwhelming task. They would find Lady Marta, meet Josel's father, and the silly adventure could be over.

Almost accidentally, Josel's feet led him to the side of the other wagon and straight into the lion's den. In fact, he almost tripped over Zal, who was reading a book in his chair behind the wagon.

"Well, Franz," Zal said, putting the book on his knee. "Don't walk too far, the journey will continue as soon as the horses are fed," he added, adjusting the position of his glasses.

Josel's gaze was drawn to the cover of the book resting on the old man's knee. The book was more than familiar. Zal was reading Andreuz Sandkan's latest novel, When Masked Thief fooled Troubadour Kharl, which had just been published that spring.

Did Zal read adventure novels like that? Too late, Josel managed to wipe the astonishment from his face.

"Do you know this book?" Zal asked in his usual voice. But his eyes flashed with such precision that Josel thought it best to tell a half-truth. "Yes, it is familiar. The Troubadour Kharl books are my favourites."

The old man seemed to weigh Josel's words. "Yes, reading is always useful. It's nice that a hard-working woodcutter's son has time to read. I suppose you have to help out with the woodwork quite a bit, don't you? You're old enough to do a man's work, aren't you?"

"Somewhat," Josel replied, wondering what Zal was after.

"Has your father taught you the secrets of his profession? He presumably wants you to take over his work?"

"Yes...he has taught me."

Zal's expression brightened. "Well, good. Then tell Franz, the old uneducated man, which type of axe is better for felling really big trunks, the hatchet or the poleaxe?"

Josel swallowed. Something he had feared. "Uh, I'm not... really sure."

But Zal did not let him get away with it: "Well, but aren't these the basics? Answer, please. What kind of axe?"

The question could not be avoided. Josel tried to think of something clever to say, but his mind went completely blank. He had to make a guess. "The poleaxe is undoubtedly better, at least that's what my father always insists."

Zal's sharp gaze almost pierced Josel. "Then your father is the worst lumberjack in the Inhabited World. Anyone who's done a bit of woodcutting knows that neither type of axe is suitable for felling trees."

Josel felt himself sweating from head to toe. The old man said no more, just watched him intently.

"I must have misheard something," Josel finally managed to stutter. Then he hurriedly said to continue his walk. Zal replied with a knowing nod.

At that moment a crow began to make noise in the nearest tree. To Josel's ears, as he left the scene, its rasping sounded very accusatory. The game was lost, the old man had seen through the lies. It was only a matter of time before Josel and Zdain were called to account for their dishonesty.

Frustrated Josel wanted to rage. When Zal was out of sight, he kicked a stone lying in the road so hard it hurt his foot.

* * *

As the wagons rolled onto the Southern Trade Route, the landscape changed completely. The edge of the forest gave way to meadows, hayfields and bushes in colourful blossom.

Occasionally the wagons would pass a few regiments of houses. They were surrounded by fertile-looking fields and pastures where goats and sheep grazed with complete disregard for the passing carriages. Occasionally you might even see a horse or a few cows.

From all this you could conclude that the houses along the roadside were more or less well off, though not rich. But it was safe to live along the busy trade route, where the imperial soldiers kept order and the bandits at bay.

But now there were no patrols of the Imperial Army. Only two soldiers rode at a fast pace past Josel and the others towards Ipalos. The soldiers' haste was obvious and made Ragart's face fall: "At this speed, they'll kill their horses long before they reach Ipalos."

Sometimes they encountered other travellers too. Every horseman who rode towards or past them made Josel, who was sitting in the driver's seat, lower his eyes quickly. There were people on the road for thousands of reasons, but among them might well have been two messengers from the Shadow Cross, looking for the two boys who had escaped from Paidos.

In general, the other road users were country folk, transporting their produce for sale either to a neighbouring village or even as far as Ipalos. Josel wondered how many of the farmers they saw would donate part of their earnings to the Shadow Cross.

It was said that the organisation was even more powerful in rural areas than in towns, and that entire villages, down to the last house, were members of the Shadow Cross. In return for the tax they paid, farmers received protection from the Shadow Cross against bandits and cattle rustlers, as well as insurance against crop failure or natural disasters. Such protection meant a great deal to ordinary villagers, so it was no wonder that so many willingly joined the ranks of the shadow walkers.

There was no news from Paidos. When they stopped to water the horses, Ragart tried to question a merchant couple from Paidos for information. But the merchants had left town before the Shadow Cross overthrow, so Ragart gave up snooping and began discussing the impact of the grain price rise on the economy of Andiol.

The closer Josel and his travelling companions got to Ipalos, the larger the clusters of houses became. By afternoon, they were already good-sized villages, with signs for inns beckoning them to stop.

Ragart did not even look at the inns. He said they would drive all night again, because he wanted to be in Ipalos by dawn and get rid of the carpet piles as quickly as possible and at a high price.

Josel was not sure if that was the underlying reason for their haste. There was no point in asking further questions, as Josel did not want to answer any questions himself. It was better to keep quiet, listen to the bald-headed merchant's prattle and hope for a speedy arrival in Ipalos.

In the evening the wagons were halted for another long rest. The horses were given a generous portion of oats and a good brushing as a reward for their efforts. Zal pointed out that they were on schedule, so the pace could be slowed down a bit if it would help the horses to keep going. Ipalos would be reached early in the morning.

Josel and Zdain spooned up the stew Melgy had warmed up. There was little to talk about, as the old feud was still simmering. Still, it was good to have Zdain around. There was at least one person who shared the same goal. In this strange group, Zdain was, after all, the only one Josel could trust.

The evening slowly turned to night and the wagons were on the move again. The other travellers had all but disappeared. Only a couple of farmers, clearly behind schedule, hurried home. Although the Southern Trade Route had a reputation for safety, the people of the nearby villages were not happy to spend the night outdoors.

The gathering darkness made Josel yawn and long for sleep, but it did not seem to bother Ragart. The bald-headed merchant held tightly to the reins of the horses while staring into the night. He showed no signs of fatigue, unless you counted a lull in the chatter as such.

The only concession Ragart made to the time of day was a carefully wrapped travelling cloak. Under it, he watched his surroundings like a cunningly stalking predator, true to his nickname. Josel had a hunch that the happy-natured waggoner, telling funny stories, might be a misjudgement of Ragart 'Fox' Zapp's character.

Eventually, Josel gave in to fatigue. After bidding Ragart goodnight, he crawled past the piles of carpets to his last night's resting place, where Zdain had moved an hour ago. The lantern was only dimly lit, but Josel guessed Monteilon was still awake.

"Good night," he murmured as he lay down. Zdain's reply was only a quiet grunt, but it was a reply nonetheless.

* * *

The stones littering the sandy road made Josel's feet bleed. Nevertheless, he ran like a man possessed. He had to get away from his pursuers.

"Where are you running to, city boy? Why did you lie to us? Aren't you grateful that we saved you?" Zal shouted after him.

"No, let me explain!" Josel pleaded as Zal's gnarled fingers grabbed his shirt collar.

When Josel turned around, Zal had changed into another person. The man in black had long black hair and thick eyebrows. Josel recognised him as Isendar Vargan.

"You stupid bastard, did you think you could run away from me?" Vargan hissed, then burst into a ghostly laugh that distorted his hollow features.

Josel struggled but could not break free of the man's grip. Vargan shook him and pinned him to the ground.

The soil was damp and cold. As damp and cold as the early morning in the Ragart's wagon.

* * *

"Wake up! Something is happening. Soldiers...checkpoint," someone whispered, shoving Josel awake.

"What?" Josel coughed, dazed from the nightmare. He blinked and saw Zdain's worried face above him.

"I said soldiers and a checkpoint," Monteilon repeated, loosening his grip on Josel's arm.

"What makes you say that?" Josel mumbled, then stood up on his elbows. It was still dark outside.

"Because I was awake and I saw it with my own eyes! The soldiers are checking the wagons."

At the same time, Ragart slowed the horses pulling the wagon, making them snort loudly.

"Shadow sentries?" Josel half asked, half said. "They'll get us if we stay here!"

"I know, but how do we..."

"Behind the wagon," Josel clarified, putting on his shoes. "Come on!" he added, rolling to his knees and going on all fours between the piles of carpet at the back of the wagon.

Zdain cursed under his breath and followed.

The wagons had already stopped. There was a whistle and then Ragart's voice.

Josel did not stay to hear what the soldiers had to say to the merchant, but jumped off the back of the wagon behind Zdain and onto the road.

There was movement only at the front of the wagons. Josel hesitated for a moment before beckoning Zdain to follow him over the roadside ditch and into the bushes. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the wagon Zal was driving pull up next to the Ragart wagon. He also saw a man holding a lantern, with the Shadow Cross emblem on the front of his tunic.

Fortunately, the shadow sentry had turned his attention to the wagons and failed to notice the boys disappearing into the bushes. Soon they were running along a path winding through the bushes. Josel guessed it would take them in the right direction, towards Ipalos. The bushes and sparse trees here and there offered little cover from view, but there was no sound of pursuit.

Eventually Josel slowed his pace to jogging and then walking.

Zdain came up beside him. "All the stuff was left in the wagon," the brown-haired boy said calmly.

At that moment, Josel did not care about the belongings. He pointed to the lights in the distance; it could only be Ipalos early in the morning.

* * *

On the Southern Trade Route

"Should I stop them?" Marl asked, his hand on the holster of his pistol. Zal, sitting beside him in the driver's bench, tore his gaze away from the two boys who were slipping past the wagon into the woods beyond the roadside.

"No, let them go," Zal replied. "We would unnecessarily attract the attention of the shadow sentries and put ourselves in danger at the same time."

Marl grunted in agreement - the old man was right, as always - and steered the wagon behind the Ragart's wagon, which had already come to a halt.

"What have you got for cargo?" the sour-faced shadow sentry pressed Ragart.

"Just carpets, two wagonloads of plain carpets, which I want to get rid of as soon as possible. You wouldn't like to buy a pair, would you, Mister Soldier?" chattered Ragart.

"I don't want to," interrupted the man who had stopped him. "Are there people on board?"

"Were you looking for people, not smuggled goods?" the merchant asked, his tone curious.

"Answer my question, please," the shadow sentry said, more tense now.

"There are a couple of boys there. Relatives, you see. They're good laddies..."

"Show me," the shadow sentry demanded, gesturing to his comrades standing further away to come closer.

"I wouldn't dare wake them if they were asleep," Ragart tried.

"Show them to me!"

"All right, all right. They're in the wagon," Ragart said, moving from the driver's seat to the inside of the wagon. After asking his comrades to keep watch, the shadow sentry climbed in after him.

Ragart lit a lamp on the wagons.

"There's no one here," said the shadow sentry.

"But they were here, behind the carpet piles..."

"Did you lie to me?"

"Certainly not, sir," Ragart tried to defend himself.

"You talked about boys, but there are none here. Show me the boys or I'll arrest you!"

"We are here!" Zal called from outside the wagon.

The shadow sentry turned quickly. "Are you the boys?" he said, staring with a skeptical look at the old man and the Marl standing beside him.

"Where did you go? Haven't I told you a hundred times that..." Ragart scolded, instantly getting into the act. He scrambled through the driver's seat to the ground, so fast that his large stomach jiggled.

"Mister Zapp, when the coach finally stopped, we just went to the side of the road to relieve ourselves," Zal said defensively.

The shadow sentry watched the duo who had appeared beside the wagon, still openly suspicious. "What kind of boys are you? You're old men!" he growled.

"Zapp and Boys is the name of our shop," Ragart smiled lovingly and spread his arms.

"Boys!" repeated the shadow sentry, annoyed.

"Yes, and they are good boys, like I said."

"Then who will drive the other wagon?" the shadow sentry asked the bald man, ignoring his babbling.

That got Ragart excited: "Well, that's our girl!" He waved happily at Melgy, who had just appeared on the driver's seat of the other wagon.

"Go and don't come back!" the shadow sentry snorted, turned and started to walk towards his two comrades, mumbling to himself.

Relieved, Ragart sat back on the driver's seat and muttered: "Fox was almost caught in a trap, but he slipped away, albeit with a heart attack...Next time you rescue me from trouble, do it a little faster."

The words made Zal smile a little. Marl did not smile, as he had not done for many years.

* * *