After collecting his food, Rezkin made his way to the stables where he saddled a horse and strapped down his pack. He also collected a bag of oats for the horse, although there would be plenty of grazing opportunities. His route should more or less follow the river if Farson was headed toward the town, which was the only place the man could go. The fortress was at the very edge of the settled part of the kingdom, and he did not imagine for an instant that Farson would suddenly decide to become a hermit and live in the wilds. No, Farson would head toward civilization in hopes of losing Rezkin among the masses.

Rezkin opened the other stalls so that the horses could wander at will. Eventually, they would get hungry enough to leave the gates in search of food or water. Taking the reins, he led the battle charger out of the stables toward the gate. The tangy, sour stench of blood was heavy in the air, and the horse balked, but being a trained battle charger, he pushed forward anyway. Glancing around, Rezkin realized he could not leave things the way they were. There were seven swordmasters dead in the yard along with the other strikers who were masters of various other weapons. Their swords and weapons would be masterpieces, and it would be a terrible waste to leave them to the harsh forces of nature.

Rezkin spent several moments collecting weapons and other valuables from the dead men and stored them in the armory. None of the weapons were as exquisite as his own, but he did select a few knives and a throwing ax he particularly admired for himself. He secured the armory with the double interlocking iron doors and multiple heavy master-level locks. Since most of the lockmasters in the kingdom were dead in the yard, anyone else would require a catapult to bust through the stone walls and get into the facility. He doubted Farson would come back for anything.

Finally, around midmorning Rezkin was on his way. Farson had a two-hour head start, but Rezkin hoped he could catch up to him quickly since Farson was on foot. Just as Rezkin suspected, Farson’s trail led to the river heading south toward the village of Perdony. After following Farson’s tracks along the river for less than an hour, Rezkin spotted something unusual. He dismounted to examine the perturbed mud. Farson’s tracks ambled all around the site indicating he had stopped here. That was not what disturbed, Rezkin, though. It was the drag marks leading into the water. Farson had boarded a boat. It would have been a small boat, big enough to fit only three or four people, but it was more than enough to get one man down the river quickly.