“Aye, looking for a guide,” he clarified.
I turned and headed back toward the south gate, hoping the soldiers there had moved down up from there.
They hadn’t.
The snow was falling more heavily, and the cold had sneaked in under my heavy cloak and was once more nipping at my bones.
With a sigh, I made my way around the back of the old wooden houses to the last house before the church of the gods. Snow lay over it in a heavy blanket. There were no footprints from or to the door, and it looked like there hadn’t been in some time.
I heard the low call of the old cow in the barn, and with careful steps, I crept around to the back of the barn, lifted the loose timber, and sneaked into the cattle shed, coming face-to-face with the cow.
“Hey girl,” I greeted. “Miss me?”
The cow gave a low moo in answer, and I took it for the invitation it wasn’t.
Once I’d checked that the door was secure, I settled into the one bale of hay and looked up at the weathered roof with missing timbers. How the cow and the hay stayed warm and dry was a mystery I never investigated. But it was a roof, or part of one, over my head, and that was all I needed.
After four days on the trail, I had food in my belly and a place to rest, so I closed my eyes and welcomed sleep.
The hard nudge into my side was enough to make me grumble, “Stop it.”
The yank on my cloak was enough to make me say, “Fuck off,” louder.
The warm hand on my shoulder made me sit bolt upright, my knife in hand, ready to defend myself.
I looked into the face of a Darysian soldier.
“What?” I demanded, then remembered who I was talking to and dropped my head. “Sir?”
“I’m no sir,” he said with a dry voice, but there was warmth in his tone. “I was told you’re a trailfinder.”
“You were told wrong, sir.”
How the heck had he found me?I glared at the cow that was trying to eat my temporary bed.
“We’re rounding up all the trailfinders in the square.”
“Why?”
He grinned. “Got a job for one of them. The captain said we’ve to get them all. They told me you were one.”
Who did?
“I was sleeping.”
He nodded. “Yeah, the old woman who lives here said you weren’t supposed to be using her barn as your bed.”
I was going to argue, but his amused smile had slipped a bit. “Do I have a choice?” I stood, brushing hay and some snow frommy cloak, ensuring my blade was where it was supposed to be, and picked up my satchel and staff.
“There’s always a choice,” he told me, his cheerful demeanor returning.
“For me?” I asked as we walked to the front of the barn.
“Oh no, your choice was either come peacefully or by force.”
“Not much of a choice.”
“But itisa choice.”
