Eventually, we pass by another set of travelers, a husband and wife sitting at the front of a covered cart, likely carrying goods for trade up to our city. The wife bears a very impressive crossbow for the dangers of the road. She eyes the drunken Kellyn with curiosity.

“Had too much to drink, this one,” Temra tells them.

They nod in understanding before carrying on.

“I think we should get off the road,” Temra says when they’re out of earshot. “Ky—Our pursuers won’t know which way we’ve gone. There are three roads leading out of the city, but if they question new arrivals to town, they’ll be able to point out having seen us. How hard will it be to remember a pair of sisters?”

“Just a moment,” Petrik says.

He runs back down toward the couple. They halt their cart and share a few words with Petrik. He hands something to them, and then they continue on.

“What was that?” Temra asks. “Now they’re going to remember us for sure!”

“I thought I’d ask if they’d like some bread,” he says.

“Bread?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yes, I informed them that my wife and her cousin made too much for our journey, and we’d love to share.”

“Oh,” I say, and Temra and I both look toward the ground awkwardly. Petrik was making himself more memorable. Hiding Temra and me. Even though he has no clue what’s going on.

“Give me some credit. I’m not an idiot.” Petrik steps forward, making a path through the trees and ferns at the side of the road so we can continue traveling more discreetly. We keep the road barely out of eyesight, checking occasionally to ensure we’re still on track.

When we finally stop for an early lunch, everyone turns toward the mercenary. He’s still out cold. Aside from the rise and fall of his shoulders, you’d think he was dead.

“We’ve got to cut him down,” Temra says. “Reya needs a break for as long as we can give her.”

We start with the saddlebags and weapons. Only when we can’t avoid it any longer do we cut the ropes holding the large man in place.

Petrik helps us to lift the mercenary off the horse’s back, but we only manage to get him halfway to the ground before he topples in our lopsided grip and falls the rest of the way.

The jolt from striking the hard soil wakes him right up.

“What—” Kellyn sputters. He tries to stand and reach for his longsword, which isn’t on his back anymore. We attached it to Reya with the rest of the weapons so as to keep it from sliding out of its sheath from the angle Kellyn was perched on the saddle.

The motion, which was off-balance to begin with in his state, results in him crashing to the ground once again.

He is not happy. Sick from too much mead, cramped from the way he slept on a horse all night, the bright sun—none of this is likely to put him in a good mood.