Jonny woke to a bright glare filtering through the limbs of the maple he’d collapsed under the night before. Everything hurt, even his hair somehow. He hadn’t used the urn’s power for more than a second or two and it about killed him. He hoped that blond bitch he blasted was in worse shape than him at least.

He struggled to his feet. His stomach was complaining and his tongue felt like sandpaper. Maybe he could find a stream to quench his thirst. Jonny staggered from one tree to the next. He couldn’t believe the sorcerers hadn’t chased him last night, especially after he blasted one of their own. Maybe they were afraid of the urn. He grinned then winced at the pain in his face. It would be nice if the red tabards feared him instead of the other way around.

If he was honest with himself Jonny doubted he had guts enough to use the urn again or the strength to survive if he did. There were some things you should only do once in your life, like jumping in a frozen lake on a two-royal bet or sleeping with your best friend’s girl just because she’s willing. Using the urn’s power definitely fell into the one time only column.

He needed to get out of these trees and figure out where he was. After the battle he’d been so messed up he couldn’t even remember which direction he ran. He thought east, but wasn’t willing to bet his life on it. His contact lived in the village Long Rest southeast of the capital. It was situated on a dirt side road off the main trade route. If he could only reach it everything would be okay.

An hour of stumbling through the woods brought Jonny to a clearing where he finally got a good look at the sun. He’d been moving dead east, thank heaven. He only needed a minor correction to get back on track.

Jonny had managed about three hundred yards when the splashing of water brought him up short. His head swung left and right, trying to home in on the noise. Five minutes later he found it, as pretty a stream as you could hope to find. His knees crunched in the grass beside it and he bent down to drink. Three handfuls slaked his thirst and cleared his head. Now that he could think again it occurred to him that he may have been out longer than he first thought. If that was true the lack of hunters surprised him even more.

Never one to question his good fortune, Jonny started walking again. He had a long way to go on an empty stomach.

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Jonny managed to cover half the distance to Long Rest when he heard voices and people crashing through the bushes. He leaned against a tree and held his breath. They were growing closer by the second and Jonny was too tired to pick up his pace.

Tired or not, if he didn’t hurry whoever trailed him would catch up. He pushed away from the tree and managed a limping trot. At least it wasn’t sorcerers tracking him. They’d be in the sky not crashing through the bushes. The red tabards had probably set his former comrades on him. Maybe if he saw someone he knew they could make a deal. On the other hand if they’d heard about him poisoning Fat Garrik and his crew at the gate maybe they’d run him through and ask questions later. Best not to risk making contact.

A combination of grit and terror brought Jonny within sight of the village ahead of his hunters. He looked down at Long Rest from the top of a little ridge. His contact lived on a farm at the edge of town. Another half a mile and he’d be safe.

Jonny started down the ridge, stumbled on a root and tumbled to the bottom. The urn flew out of his satchel and landed at the base of a small cherry bush. He reached for it, stopped, bit his lip, and grabbed it.

Nothing happened. He slipped the evil thing back in the satchel and yanked it shut. Why didn’t it come to life when he touched it? He didn’t know and didn’t care. It wouldn’t be his problem for much longer.

He dragged himself up and limped on, his ankle now hurting just a touch more than everything else. At the edge of the woods his contact’s farm came into view. It was a modest place, the sort of little farm you wouldn’t give a second look to. A small barn sat about ten yards from a one-room stone hut. Smoke swirled out of the chimney and in the field a small flock of sheep browsed at the new spring grass.

He rapped on the door to the hut. Come on, damn you, open up. The door creaked in and a pinched, wrinkled face sporting a patchy beard appeared in the gap.

“What the hell are you doing here? Our next meeting isn’t for two months.”

“I need help. Everything went to pieces in the capital. I can’t go back. I have the artifact, but there are hunters after me. You have to hide me.”

His contact’s jaw worked as he thought it over. “Get inside.”

The door opened enough for Jonny to slip inside then shut behind him. The hut held nothing but a cot, a workbench, and an iron stove. “Where am I supposed to hide, under your bed?”

“Something like that.” His contact pulled the cot out away from the wall and ran his finger along the floor. Something clicked and he lifted a door up revealing a space under the floor. “Get in.”

Jonny crawled into the tiny space and the door slammed, leaving him in total darkness. Scraping came from above as his contact slid the cot back in place. Nowhere for him to run now. He just had to hope his contact didn’t betray him.