"Alright you pair of vagrants," a thick man hollered from his seat. He wore a loose wrap around his head, which shielded his face and neck from the sun's burning gaze. However, it made it difficult to understand him. "We have a long way to go today, and this is perhaps the worst part of the journey. You got to have your fun in the last town, but we ain't staying the night here. Better not catch you louts trying to hang back to get some jollies. If I leave you behind, you ain't seeing a blue coin."

Faris yawned, feeling the weariness of the last week catching up with him. All he wanted was to find a nice little tree to lie under and see the world through the back of his eyelids. Not too much chance of that. He had work to do, and the job would not be over until the schlub of a man joined his wagon with the caravan. Jacques was a merchant with wares from the far east, or as the merchant claimed, "The finest raiment the likes of which the heathens of the land could not fathom."

"Remember," he ordered. "Plenty of scabs would love to get their hands on even one of my wares. Could get more coin than any of you will ever see at once." Faris felt his eyes roll as the merchant placed a hand on an unsheathed blade, which rested beside him for all to see. It was a six-foot single-edged blade, glimmering from lack of use. "If anyone gets any ideas, he can get a good look at what he had for breakfast." His usual threat lost all meaning a month ago. It was clear the man didn't know the first thing about swordsmanship.

Beside Faris, another man stood with his arms folded. He wore five knives out where all could see. One strapped low on each thigh. Two on the left side of his chest. Another on his right arm. A wisp of a smile hinted at more hidden beneath his woven ruana. His body was lean, no doubt having little to eat, but more than enough to keep his body strong. Man gave no name other than Azrael. On the road, wise men gave little information about themselves. They lived longer.

"Yes sir," Azrael agreed again. "No shenanigans here. Wouldn't dream of it. Your time is too valuable." Faris rolled his eyes at the pitiful flattery. His pride would choke him before he said anything like that.

In the east, it was good luck to travel in parties of three. Faris grew tired of their company. Jacques's constant hot air made Faris long for a bird to fly down and pry his tongue out from between his flapping gums. Meanwhile, Azrael hung on to the man's every word, laughing at every jest, especially those that were not funny, and seeking wisdom the man did not possess. Faris knew his type. It was all an act. The truth was in his eyes. He had a purpose behind his manner. Hoping that pleasing his employer would fatten his pocket. It would not happen. In truth, doing so gave the fat man a chance to stiff his admirer of his wages.

"Let's head out," Jacques barked, snapping the reins. His horses pulled the wagon away from the inn. "Have to admit that I'll miss it here," he said, casting a longing gaze back at last night's lodging. "Old Rehab knows how to treat her guests."

Faris felt no such connection with the inn. Wherever they stayed, the best bed he could have was some straw with the animals. Azrael did not mind the meager amenities. Every night, he would lay down with a grin and sigh of comfort. Often, Faris snuck off to find a more peaceful place to rest, but not as of late. Last night, he laid in the straw, hand resting on his silver sword, watching the stable entrance.

It was a week since meeting the two spies in the hills. Though their bodies were long since eaten, he could not shake his growing apprehension. When was the last time someone was that close? It had to be back in Ceylon. He shuddered to think about that close call, but that was different. The spy was not a civilian. Now, they were hiring anyone. It unsettled him, and he could not shake off the feeling.

"Hey Faris," Jacques yelled. "Clear these people out of the way. We gotta lot of ground to cover." Snapping his mind back to the present, he joined Azrael in front of the wagon, moving people aside so the wagon had a clear path. Curses were hurled at him, but he paid them no mind. All that mattered was getting out of this town as soon as possible. If not for his job, he would've avoided it.

The crowd took the hint and began moving out of the wagon's way without needing further instruction. "That's more like it," Jacques crowed, urging the horses to hurry along. Faris sidestepped quick to avoid being run over. He sighed, wishing there was some other way to survive. That was his last thought as he froze in place.

An invisible, threatening presence crawled along his skin. To those not familiar with the roads, they would spin around, seeking some creature on their body. They would find nothing because they looked in the wrong place. The presence is not a physical being irritating their flesh. It is the effect cast by the piercing eyes of another.

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He was in a packed street. Of course, someone was watching him somewhere. How could he not be noticed? A cloaked man couldn't go anywhere without some eyes narrowing in his direction. However, it was not being looked at that he felt. Many eyes passed over him, paying little attention. What he felt was the probing eyes of a pursuer. That was a distinct feeling. One that only a fool ignored.

Faris drew in a careful breath, glancing around while hiding that he sought out the onlooker. Too many people were around him, making it impossible to spot him at once, but they helped hide Faris's gaze, giving him a barrier between himself and the watcher. If he let the mystery man know that he was suspected, he would avert his gaze, and Faris would not spot the man responsible. He was being watched for a reason. Finding the onlooker was the first step to understanding.

At once, the invisible presence vanished, leaving no mark that it even existed. An overwhelming sense of urgency drove Faris from his careful observation. He spun around in frantic searching. No eyes turned in his direction nor did any move away in fear. His eyes darted to one face after another. He burned each one into his memory. If this presence followed him, he had to recognize the onlooker fast.

Cautiously, he walked on, following Jacques's wagon into the marketplace. A hand slid down to the hilt of his white blade. If needed, he had to make the first strike. That was the only way he could live another day. A wistful thought arose from the depths of his memory. A child walking without a care in the world. Back when it didn't matter who anyone was or how he knew them. He let the eyes fall on him and stare as long as they wanted. Now, it was the difference between life and death.

Out of the corner of his vision, a man passed by, catching the eyes of many a traveler. He was the kind of man that drew attention to himself. His head raised high above the shorter crowds. A bushy beard brushed out from his chin, thin braids shaking amongst the bush. He walked around bare-chested with sandy breeches, with his shoulders only protected from the scorching sun by his long locks.

A fisherman, by the looks of him, Faris decided at once. The longer the man walked along through the crowd, Faris had a little stone sink in his stomach. He recognized this man. Those without a care believe that finding a former companion, traveler, passerby, or otherwise, was a good thing. They could not be more wrong. It was dangerous, especially when one was not sure where they had met.

Faris averted his gaze, focusing on the road ahead. The worst thing he could do was draw more attention to himself. It didn't help. Sometimes, others noticed where one wished them to or not. The man stepped closer to him and cocked his head to one side, giving Faris a long, hard look. His hairy hand reached up to his furry chin and scratched in thought. "Have I met you before?" he asked. His tone indicated that whatever answer Faris gave, this man had convinced himself that they met before. All he wanted to know was an answer; Faris would give it to him.

"Last summer, I had an extensive stay by the Neptune Sea," he offered. He leaned his head back with his eyes half-closed. With each word, he constructed the lie in his head so well that if he didn't know better, he would believe it too. "Worked for a family of fishermen that wanted a little protection. Had a little trouble with piracy at the time. Otherwise, it's a beautiful place."

He had no extensive stay by the Neptune Sea. The people there were untrusting of outsiders due to their problems with pirates stealing their wares. To live there, one needed a close friend to vouch for them. Faris had no connections when he passed through. He had to sleep outside the port city with his trusted sword close at hand. Still, this fisherman didn't know that.

The man's eyes narrowed for a second before the hard stare softened. Sighing, he slapped his thigh. "That's it," he announced with great satisfaction. "Had a little business of my own then." He shook his head. "Thought that my mind was playing tricks on me. It's so rare that I should recognize someone in this part of the country; my mind is turning like my departed mother’s. In time, I doubt I could remember my own name."

With the mystery settled for the fisherman, he nodded his thanks, walking on without need of further conversation. Faris stopped walking. The wagon went on. People passed him by, but he stayed still. He could not continue working for Jacques. It did not matter how long he followed the blowhard around. He had to disappear.

Spies a week ago, and now a random passerby recognized him. They would come looking for him, if they were not already closing in. Continuing this path led to only one place, and he could not go there. He had no choice. Turning on his heel, he slipped down another street. The small coin purse he was entitled to at the end of the job passed out of mind. This was not the first job he abandoned. It would not be the last.

Survival was all that mattered. Starting from today, he had to walk the road alone again. Perhaps he would find a place to hide. He had to make them lose his scent. Those hounds could track their quarry for months, but they always underestimated their prey. Rats were great about hiding.