Rhys Farrowslake was done with this gods-damned town.

“Five days, seven hours, and thirty-four minutes.”

“What?” Ren furrowed his dark brow, setting down the piece of pottery he had been evaluating. Not that he would be able to purchase it anyway. It would never survive the journey home.

“Five days, seven hours, and thirty-four minutes. Make that thirty-five minutes. That’s how long we’ve been in this gods-forsaken village on this gods-forsaken mission. And we have nothing to show for it.” He picked up the bowl Ren had been holding and absentmindedly flipped it around.

The stall owner said nothing, only looked up at the two soldiers from his whittling with a deep-set frown. The older man may not have appreciated his wares being handled in such a manner, but he wasn’t going to confront the two royal guards, no matter how bothersome. It almost made Rhys feel guilty.

Almost.

Ren guffawed, “I cannot believe you kept count down to the minute. Does this town even have a clock? I’m fairly sure it’s all bells here, Farrowslake.”

He shrugged, running a hand through his white hair while still examining the bowl. It was well made. “I’ve been keeping count in my head. That how much fun I’ve been having.”

“We rebuilt a barn in three of those days. Besides, we are leaving tonight. Stop your bellyaching.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes. “Yes, but we could have left this morning.”

“Take it up with the captain if you’re so set on complaining. You know how he likes to make sure everyone is having fun.” Ren took the bowl from Rhys and set it back down with a nod to the shop owner.

Rhys repeated the nod as they moved on to browse the next stall.

He sighed. “I’m not in command on this trip. Trust me. If I were, we would have been halfway back by now. Balasi would be singing my praises and kissing my feet for returning you to him earlier than expected.”

Ren shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes. That would be a sight to see. Although I promise you the day dear Balasi ever kisses your feet is the day I’ll have to leave him. Your feet are the most rank pair that I’ve ever had the displeasure of encountering.”

Joking aside, it was high past time to head back to Gallen City.

They were wasting time here and Ren knew it too. Not only had it been over five days since they’d arrived with nothing of interest happening, but the trip itself from Gallen City to the border town of Elnor took a fortnight and a half one way. On horseback and with some effort, one could cut that down to under a fortnight, but as this was an official expedition from the Gallen Crown, great heed was taken in bringing supplies and extra men. In other words, they took their damn sweet time.

As Captain Garron was the cousin of King Eddard, he was assigned a retinue of guards for the journey here and back. Much to Rhys’ chagrin, he was a regular in that retinue. Fortunately, so was Ren. They weren’t usually traveling knights, but palace guards. And damn good ones at that.

When it came to these little excursions, Rhys was always assigned as Garron’s second. That of course meant more responsibility.

An honor. Truly.

What had once started as an investigation into rumors of attack on this border town – All-Mother curse the Irisideans – had quickly turned into sitting around on their asses while a more "official" investigation took place. Which meant only the captain did anything worth mentioning.

The fifteen guards who had been assigned on this journey had been given two jobs in the meantime: patrol the area and don’t cause trouble. He knew it was mostly as a precaution should another attack occur but damn, he was bored.

Rhys had even convinced Garron to let their retinue help with the reconstruction in the meantime, but that had taken less than three days.

The attack, it seemed, left little damage, which conflicted with reports of other raids along the border of Irisidea; Rumored rogue men dressed in all black armor had been laying into towns with such brutality that just reading the reports had turned Rhys’ stomach.

There were whisperings that the Irisideans were responsible, but word from the smaller kingdom promised that they had had similar occurrences in the southern reaches of their lands on the border with Parth. With the treaty ending within the next year though, it may have been a lie to save face.

All that was known was that these soldiers always left at least a few survivors, but only half alive and half out of their mind. So, when their party had strolled into Elnor, only to be greeted with bleating sheep and a paltry – but interesting enough – marketplace for the surrounding small villages, there was a whole day of confusion and interrogation to get an answer from the people as to why they had called for help in such an official capacity.

Rhys watched the other soldiers meander around the small square. His eye caught Captain Garron walking in turn with who he figured was the leader of this retched establishment of a village. The man could have been a lesser noble or a peasant, it was hard to tell. Everyone here dressed the same.

Maybe twelve booths total formed a circle around the extraordinarily large oak in the middle of the village of Elnor. The Weeping Oak, they called it, since it not only produced enough sap to create all of Elnor’s syrup trade, but during the last skirmish of the Great War, supposedly held around this area, the sap began to drip down the branches onto the collected bodies of the dead, mourning the loss of Gallen life.

Or so the story went. Rhys knew it was probably a load of horseshit to drive up the price of that very tasty oak syrup.

Ren gestured toward Captain Garron, who was now walking their way, his conversation with the Alderman complete. He held a handful of parchment and a small vial in one hand and a quill pen in the other, occasionally looking around before writing something down on the rough paper – notes for King Eddard to go over once they returned, no doubt.

“Now’s your chance, Farrowslake. Tell him you want sweets after dinner too, while you’re at it.” He whispered. Rhys snorted as he turned and saluted the captain, his demeanor changing in an instant.

“Captain Garron. Shall I gather everyone for an early departure?”

The older man gave him a shrewd look, but without a doubt a flash of humor shone in his blue eyes. “We should stay another night and leave in the morning but I’m just as much ready to put this town behind us as you are Farrowslake. Tell the others to gather up what’s left of the packing.”

Thank the All-Mother and all her gods. Finally.

Ren saluted as well. “I’ll go alert the men, sir. Thank you.”

Once his friend and fellow guard had disappeared into the crowd, Rhys turned to his captain. “As much as I am thrilled that we are leaving, I think they appreciated the help with the rebuilding.”

“They did say as much.” Garron continued to jot down some notes on the parchment.

“Any more answers?” Rhys flexed, stretching out his tired muscles.

Garron sighed, wiping at the sweat on his brow. He looked up at the broader soldier. “After five long days of the Alderman trying to prove otherwise, I’m certain this was an accident, not the work of subterfuge. Convincing them, however, was a feat. You’d think they’d realize a burning of one field and part of a barn is not an emergency.”

“Not an emergency, no, but still devastating to such a small community. While such loss in Bluefield or on the outskirts of Gallen City would be chalked up to ill-behaved youths, here it is a matter of livelihood for more than just whoever works the field in question.”

“True, very true.” Garron eyed him for a moment before continuing. “You have the impatience of a hungry toddler on feast day, but you’re a discerning man. Next time we get a notice of a village raid, I think I might just send you out in my place.”

Rhys snorted, brushing dust from his green and blue tabard. “All Mother help me if you do. I can promise you I will be in that village for a day at most. Two days if threatened under penalty of death.”

The captain smiled, making another note. “At least I can sleep easy knowing that you’ll never take my job with that work ethic.”

Rhys pulled a face. “More responsibility? I think not. Your occupation is safe from me, sir.”

Garron chuckled. The broad-shouldered man he called a Second might have hidden behind bravado and sarcasm, but he worked hard and dedicated all he had to his profession as a guard. Rhys Farrowslake was the exact person he would want to take up the mantle when he retired.

“Fair enough. Let’s go home.”

Spasms ripped through Namina’s chest as she coughed up water and gasped in the fresh air. It grated against her lungs with each inhale — euphoric and excruciating at the same time. Sensation returned piece by piece: the comforting heat on her face and neck, the whistling of leaves and birdsong, the physical sensation of the rise and fall of her chest as she focused on taking deep breaths. Everything was spinning. Her fingers dug into the wet earth below, anchoring her. She couldn't help the sob of relief as the world rearranged itself and the vertigo finally passed.

"Missus?"

Her grey eyes opened wide.

A man leaned over her; his leathered face contorted into a grimace. She screamed and scrambled backwards. The scream immediately turned to coughing.

He receded; his hands held up at shoulder level — a gesture of peace.

"Whoa there, missus, I was only helpin' ya from the river. I saw a pile of feathers near the bank and thought my dog musta' attacked another goose. I didn't realize you was a girl until I got close enough to fish ya out."

She frowned. "You pulled me from the river?"

Even her voice sounded waterlogged. She coughed again.

A nod. “Thought ya were dead, I did. But you survived." He spoke slowly, raising a brow. He couldn’t have been more than a peasant, maybe a farmer at most, with his gray hair and beard growing wild. A dirt-stained vest covered a light brown tunic not unlike the one she wore.

Namina fingered the hem of her feathered cloak. She had survived! But how?

There had been a stomach-turning weightlessness as she had jumped off the bluff, followed by blinding pain, and then nothing. The force of the fall alone should have killed her.

"Where am I?" Her lungs screamed as she spoke, but she pushed past the pain.

“Not far from Elnor.”

Elnor. She mulled over the name and recalled the maps she had studied during her tutelage.

Elnor... "In the kingdom of Gallen?"

"Yes…” his bushy brows furrowed together, almost meeting. “Ya musta come from a long way away then. Irisidea? Parth?"

"Parth.” She said all too quickly.

Namina had never been good at lying. Better to tell half-truths and lie through omission than to be caught in a tall tale she would most surely fail to create. "My company was traveling to the capital of Gallen from the flatlands of Irisidea when we crossed the river. I lost my footing and fell. Not too far from here, I think."

He nodded, regarding her shrewdly.

"You look Parth.” The comment struck her as funny. While one would find grey eyes and olive skin more the norm in the southern country, there were plenty of people to the north with darker complexions than her. The Four Kingdoms may have had very different roots in the beginning, but over the few thousand years they had existed, those roots had become intermingled.

As a daughter of both an Irisidean and a Parth, she was a prime example of that intermingling.

Namina raked her hand through her hair, pushing it off her brow before struggling to her feet. The man caught her elbow to help her up. It took all she had not to yank her arm away and cower like the pathetic mess she felt.

Namina hugged her arms around herself, gripping the edges of her cloak tight. She was soaked to the bone, and her hands were as wrinkled as dried raisins. If she were in Gallen now, then she could have been in the water anywhere from a few hours to a day or more.

She marveled at her luck.

No. Not luck.

Magic.

"How far to Gallen City then?" She had already mentioned it. Best to keep up pretenses and at least head in that direction.

"A two, maybe three, week journey by horseback. Hoping to catch up, are ya?" he added a tentative smile surely meant to placate her. The mistrust between them was still thick.

Namina nodded again, finding the dark stains of water in the dirt below her much more riveting than the man’s face. There were still several decently steady drips coming off her cloak to add to it. She flexed her waterlogged toes within her boots before finally meeting his eyes once more.

“Well, there's a party from Gallen City here that'll be headin' back within the day. If we hurry, I could get ya passage with them. It won’t be cheap though."

The farther into Gallen she could get, the better. Daroth would soon start sending men to the borders of Irisidea and beyond if he hadn’t already. They could be mere minutes away for all she knew, waiting to try to snare her again after one wrong move.

"I can pay." She breathed, rifling through the pockets of her cloak until she found the small pouch her lady in waiting Liora had procured for her. Her pack was long gone but she thanked the stars that she had kept the coin pouch separate.

“I’ll even give you a small wage for arranging it for me."

“A wage, huh?” He watched her with keen interest now. Just like all the men she had known before, he could be bought for a price. Status or no, coin spoke volumes.

"I only have Irisidean money." The gold coin sat in her open palm, the profile of the late king shining in the morning light. He stared, his eyes going wider and wider. Was that enough?

Should she have offered more?

Namina blanched and added, “I’m part of a group of apothecaries so we go wherever there is illness. Irisidea was having trouble with the Red Plague, and we were there for some time."

Again, it was a half-truth. Her magic could heal just as easily as medicine when it came to most ailments. And there really had been trouble with the disease in the south, but she had not been allowed to help despite her desire to do so.

He took the coin from her hand and bit it, a gesture she had never quite understood, before his smile grew genuine. Whether he believed her or not was inconsequential now that money was involved. The gold coin had made its mark.

“Well, alright then. Let’s get ya off. The name's Winton."

He wanted a name. Any name. Namina stumbled over her thoughts, at a loss of what to say.

Panic began to rise in her throat.

“I’m Mina.” She nearly yelled. Then she flinched at the name she had given. It was common enough, but way too close to her own. Dropping two letters from her own name would do little to help hide her identity. Winton took no notice of her discomfort, still enamored with his payment.

She grimaced, resigned to use the shortened name anyway.

"It's a pleasure.”