Brewer King 13 (Patreon)

“What do you mean you haven’t heard of imbar before, silly,” the girl at his side playfully slapped him on the shoulder, her hand lingering for a long moment.

San uncomfortably shifted. “I’ve heard of it, I’ve just never seen it,” he said.

Ellavano Alkava was Orbaris’ daughter. She had bright green eyes and dark hair, with olive skin and a narrow high cheekboned face. She carried a one year old baby at her hip, one of her siblings or cousins San figured. There were a lot of people living in Orbaris’ house and children were everyone’s responsibility.

“Everyone knows what imbar is. The Empire loves it. Da says its the main reason the Baronies exist. We export more imbar than any other place. Merchants and traders come from all over to collect the harvest before winter or during Midwinter’s Reprieve. Well, they did, but those fucking Suvanna blocked the trade routes.” Ellavano spat into the dirt.

“What do they do with it?” San asked. He stood within a silo of imbar, a large squat stone building that held tons of football sized furry vegetables.

“They make sweets out of it, silly,” Ellavano’s hand covered his own. She took the imbar from his grip and with experienced hands, stripped off the cover of the imbar; the skin peeling almost like an onion. Underneath was purple fleshed with a smell that reminded him of lemon.

From her belt, Ellavano pulled out a knife and cut the imbar in half. Inside looked like the spaghetti squash that Mary used to like to eat. There was a thin amount of meat, around a core with small black seeds, and the stringy mass.

Ellavano pulled out a length of stringy material and held it out to San with her finger. San stared at it, then at Ellavano’s smiling face. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Eat it,” she said. “It’s good.”

“Oh, fresh imbar,’ Pavano’s voice cut through. He limped into the silo, his face smiling and his cheeks redden with cold.

“Pavano,” Ellavano smiled at the man. “How do?”

“Your beautiful mother is yelling for you, my dear,” Pavano said. Ellavano’s eyes widen and she hurried out of the door, baby in tow.

San sighed. “Thanks,” he said.

Pavano only grinned, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Best be careful around her, she’s looking for a new husband for her and a father for the baby,” Pavano said.

“Baby?” San paused. “Wait, she’s the mother of that child? What is she, like, sixteen?”

“That’s usually the age people marry around here. If you’re lucky, you’ll be a grandfather by thirty summers.”

San shook his head and thought. “What happened to her husband?” he asked.

Pavano frowned. “Oh, I forget you don’t know much about Orbaris’ family. Ellavano was married to Hakkata, the one that was killed.”

“Didn’t Hakkata die with his sons, who were older in age?” San asked.  He tried to do the math.

“Aye,” Pavano said. “ Probably a run in with the Nox we faced. Hakkata’s wife died three years back, Orbaris had a daughter of age, so they married. I doubt there was much love in that relationship with Hakkata being known as a mean old bastard. But he was a well off farmer and none of his sons had yet to marry. Damn shame.”

“A lot of child marriage going on around here?” San asked.

“She’s no child, boy.”

San only grunted in response.

Pavano picked up the abandoned imbar and shoved a mass of the stringy material into his mouth.

“Better when it’s fried and with a little salt,” he said. He offered San the other half of the imbar.

“It is sweet,” San said after taking a taste.

“Empire loves this stuff. They buy it by the wagon load, adding it to everything from drinks to food, to their candles and soaps.”

“It’s sugar,” San said. It reminded him of a sugar beet, not sugar cane. “How do they process it?”

“Sugar? Never heard of that,” Pavano said. “I dunno how they do it, mash it, boil it, strain it, I believe. Magano’s good at making it, she puts it in her bread sometimes. Good stuff. Though its hard work, most people just fry it up and eat it as is.” Pavano cut the imbar and began eating slices of it. “The skin is supposed to make a dye also.”

“This is their cash crop?” San asked.

“Aye, this is what makes their sars. Traders come up from the Empire and they sell it to them. The baronies are the only place it can grow well, something to do with the weather and the soil, maybe. Perhaps its due to Senta’s blessing.” Pavano shrugged. “I suppose the Tribes can grow it too, but they’re not interested in it. They stick to their honey.”

“Do they make beer or wine out of this?” San asked, chewing on the vegetable.

“What? No. Some tried, but I hear it tastes like woolly piss.” Pavano shrugged and tossed the rind of the imbar out of the door. “A real shame about the war with Suvanna. This valley makes about ten thousand sars a year on their harvest. Enough to keep them going all winter and into spring.”

San nodded, looking at the massive amounts of the crop. He picked at another imbar. “Where are we going?” San asked.

“We can’t go to White Tower, not until at least midwinter. Sagaris’ more interested in protecting the gold than us. There’ll be some troops about, looking for us, but once the caravan gets to White Tower, we should be in the clear.”

“So we’re going to have to hole up somewhere? How far until midwinter?”

“Midwinter’s Reprieve, in about a month and a half. They say it’s when Senta walks the land, the snows stop and all is quiet for two weeks. Then the winter storms arrive and you’re trapped in your home until spring thaw.”

San looked out the door of the silo and at the frosty white landscape before him. He supposed it was a bad time to try and become an explorer and traveller.

“I’ve got an old acquaintance,” Pavano said. “Lives near White Tower, a ranger he was. Loves to live in the woods all by himself, but he’ll take us in until midwinter.”

San nodded. “Okay.”

“Just okay?” Pavano asked.

“How many sars a day does it take to live in White Tower?” San asked.

“Depends on how much living you want to do,’ Pavano replied. “Four sars a day will keep you in hard bread and wine. Two sars will get you a bunk for the night. Two sars will get you a place to wash once a week.”

San nodded. “Where do Adventurers sell the mana gems they find?”

Pavano raised a bushy eyebrow. “The Baron will buy any gem you got, but there are some merchants, especially midwinter merchants, who’ll take it off your hands. Although, come nightfall you might meet with some unsavory folks who will regain the merchant’s coins for a percentage.”

“Must be a lot of coin.”

“The Baron will pay ten thousand sars for a gem that’ll provide a level, everything else is based off that. I hear a Level Gem will sell for forty thousand in the Empire.”

Two Ripper gems would maybe net him two thousand sars, enough for a Nox light calvary horse or over two hundred days spent in White Tower. San tossed the imbar from hand to hand as he stood there. If it all went sideways, he would be able to survive until spring. From there, San didn’t know what to do. He had been just traveling, the Tribes had told him to leave and now he was probably being hunted for knowing about Sagaris’ gold caravan.

San looked down at the imbar in his hands and smiled. The strange magical system was telling him what he was and giving him powers. He supposed he should do something with them.

***

San groaned in pain as he lay down on the sleeping pad. He hissed as his sore muscles spasmed and ached.

“You should have said something,” Mary chided him. Her hands worked along his leg, kneading out the aches and pains.

“I thought I could make it,” San replied, gritting his teeth as pain shot from his feet to his balls.

“These are going to blister,” Mary said, looking at his feet. They were rubbed raw from the new hiking boots he had worn. Another idiot mistake. “Oh, poor idiot Sanjay.”

Even with the pain, San had to laugh. “No pain, no gain.”

“What did you expect to gain?” Mary asked. San looked up to see her smiling face above his. Her auburn hair shining in the LED lamplight, contrasting with the dark fabric of their shared tent.

“I-uh…” San stammered. Mary smiled and leaned forward, the warmth of her kiss sending shocks down his aching body. “I-“

“To arms!” Markona’s voice cried. “To arms!”

“What?” San sat up, nearly throwing Mary off himself.

“San?”

“My sword. Where’s the sword!”

“What are you talking about,” Mary asked, concern creasing her face. The sounds of battle were beginning outside of the tent, the roars of matchlocks and the clash of steel.

“Where is the damn sword!” San snapped.

“San. What are you ta-“

A boom thundered outside of the tent. San flinched from the noise, ducking his head and digging through their scattered belongings, trying to find the sword.

“San…” Mary’s voice wavered.

San looked up to see blood expanding across Mary’s white shirt. She looked at him in shock, blood bubbling on her lips. “San…”

“Mary!” San threw himself to her. “Mary!”

A silvery blade appeared before him, slicing cleanly through the thin tent fabric. San stared at the blade, seeing that it was the Mage Chief’s sword. He followed the blade and saw a yellow eyed man holding it. He grinned at San before raising it.

San tackled the figure, snarling. He grabbed for their neck, feeling long hair tangling into his hands. The sword blade didn’t strike him, the figure instead flail beneath him, choking as his hands wrapped around their slender neck.

“San!” Pavano’s voice cut through the rage and adrenaline burning through him. He felt a sudden sharp pain smack into his head; it caused his grip to loosen. San staggered back falling on his ass on the chilly kitchen floor.

A sob filled the air and San blinked. The darkness of the kitchen wasn’t complete, a moment later the banked fire roared to life. San flinched at the light and saw Pavano’s limping figure stalking toward him.

On the ground before San was a figure, the shape of a young woman. She was weeping, desperate and pained. Ellavano.

“Wh-“

A fist smashed into San’s face. Pavano towering over him. It stung him, clearing some of the cobwebs still clinging to his mind. He had been dreaming, the yellow eyed man had shot Mary.

“Hetvana curse you, boy. What the hell are you doing?”

“I thought-“

The room exploded with activity as Orbaris, his wife, and two of his sons rushed into the room. They carried short swords and looked about frantically, weapons ready to kill.

“What the fuck is going on!” Orbaris roared, his voice loud, but his eyes held fear at the possibility of being attacked.

“Ella!” Marago creid, rushing toward her daughter. The young woman sat in the middle of the kitchen, her small frame crumpled and sobbing. San saw that Ellavano was wearing a thin gown, almost see through. He looked away, instead focusing upon Pavano who stood over him.

“Have you gone mad, boy?” Pavano hissed.

“I thought.. I thought I was being attacked. The Nox…” San stuttered.

The rage in Pavano’s face drained as he looked down at San’s confused and horrified face. San glanced back at Ellavano, his hands beginning to shake.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was her. I didn’t know it was her.” San stammered.

“What the fuck, Pavo. You brought some battle mad fucker into my home?” Orbaris snarled. “He damn near killed Ella.”

“Peace, Ob. It’s just the battle nightmares. We all know the feeling,” he said. Orbaris grimaced and his sons gripped their swords tighter, the wailing of their sister cutting into them.

“We kill him, Da,” one of Orbaris’ boys shouted. “He attacked Ella.”

“He’s a horned wolf, attacking anyone,” the other boy shouted.

“Lay off, boys,” Orbaris snapped. “Pavo, get him the fuck out of here. I won’t kick out a friend, but that boy’s been touched by Hetvana. He’s not welcomed in this house.”

“Aye,” Pavano said, resignation in his voice.

“Sorry, old friend. Sabato’s son came back like him, went mad and killed his entire family. Hetvana Touched are dangerous.”

“You stupid girl,” Magano snapped. “What in Senta’s name were you doing out here. Trying to ride that big fucking foreigner when no one’s looking! You nearly had your brains bashed out thinking with your cunt.”

Ellavano continued sobbing. The noise was waking the household, soon her sobs were taken up by the younger children.

“I-I’m sorry,” San said. He grabbed his sleeping bag and staggered to the door. The cold night embraced him, the icy air wrapping around his thundering heart.

Ellavano’s cries followed him as he made his way to the barn.

***

“Ob’s a good man,” Pavano said. “Soldiered for the Empire before the Baronies broke away. Then fought against the Empire, the Barons claimed they would revoke his komai rights. That anyone who owned land needed to fight, like in the Empire.”

San only nodded as he sat huddled in the barn. He had taken out his camp stove and made tea, but the bitter drink did nothing to warm him.

“No one knows why Hetvana poisons the minds of some men. Some only feel it after a battle, others; it consumes them over years.”

“PTSD,” San replied.

“Eh?”

“Nothing. Just a thing from where I come from.”

Pavano rubbed San’s shoulder, a look of concern on his creased face. “You’re gonna be okay, San,” he said. The words weren’t a comfort.

“Yeah.”

“Ob knows what you’re going through. He spent years reliving the battles he fought against the Empire. He is angry, yes, but he is not going to kill you.”

“Okay.”

“Ellavano will be fine. Just some bruising and a little shakened up.”

San looked down at his hands. He had nearly killed her. He was Level 2, far faster, stronger, and deadlier than she was. He could have killed her.

“Are we leaving?” San asked.

“Aye. I think its time we did.”

“Okay.”

***

They left at sunrise, Orbaris standing at the threshold of his house with a crossbow and stony faced. Pavano spoke with Magano and San watched as he slipped her some coins. Payment for what San had done.

A few sars for terrifying and injuring her daughter. A few sars for the disruption he had caused. A few sars to smooth over the fact he had nearly killed a girl.

The four woollys brayed, their mouths moving as they chewed cud. The two younger woollys were tied to the back of the cart they had purchased off of Orbaris. It was a two wheeled cart, six feet long and four feet wide, enough for them to layer the loot they had taken from the dead, and then pile imbar on top of it.

San wore a ratty cloak and clothing over his Tribe furs. Pavano had obtained the old clothing from the other residents of the valley. A little sars to help them through the winter.

Pavano rejoined him, hopped on the small single seat of the cart and clucked to the two older woollys. They brayed and then began pulling forward, the hard packed snow crunching under their hooves and the cart wheels.

San glanced back at Orbaris’ home. He and Magano stood at the threshold, their faces expressionless. San clutched the cloak around him and followed after the cart.

“We can make it to my friend’s house within three days,” Pavano said.

“He’ll be okay with a crazy man?” San asked.

“He’s half mad himself, so the question is will you be okay with a crazy man?” Pavano grinned.

San nodded and trudged beside the cart. The air on the Trade Road wasn’t as cold as it had been in the komai valley, even with the towering trees looming over the road.

The woollys were tough creatures, they didn’t have to rest and could go all day. Pavano didn’t stop and San didn’t feel like stopping either. They had cold bread and a nip of mead that Orbaris had given Pavano.

San scanned the trees, his gaze unfocused. The clinking of the harnesses, the heavy breathing of the woollys, and the crunch of the cart wheels on the hard snow lulled his senses.

A sweet note began to fill the air, a rising song that caressed San’s face. San tilted his head, feeling the warmth of spring on his skin. He smiled at the feeling. The song wove its way through his head, plinking and plucking at memories.

The time Mary and he had tried making homemade sushi. The time Mary and he had driven to California to hike in Yosemite. The first time San held Julia in his arms in the hospital, the small dark eyes looking at him and an intense feeling that seemed to crack open his chest as he looked down at his daughter.

That was a memory he would never forget, one that he had held onto in the deepest pits of his depression. San grabbed the memory and hung onto it, he felt something trying to tug at it, trying to pull it from his grasp. San gripped the memory tighter and yanked it back-

San took a sharp inhalation of breath, his eyes clouded with tears, and his body dreadfully cold. San blinked and realized he was lying on the trade road, the hood of his cloak wet from the snow melting beneath him. The wheel of the cart inches from his nose.

“Pavano?” San groaned. He felt sick, his throat raw and his muscles aching. He pushed himself up, hissing as his muscles protested the action. It felt like he had spent an entire day in the gym.

The cart was parked on the side of the trade road, the sky was darkening as night fell. San shivered in his damp cloak. Pavano was leaning drunkenly in his seat, the only thing holding him up was the spear that had caught in the harness of the woollys.

The woollys brayed softly to him, their large wet eyes looking at him and demanding to be fed. San shivered again, as he stumbled toward Pavano.

“Pavano!” San gripped the man’s shoulder and shook it. The old man’s cloak was stiff with cold, frost embedded into the fabric.

“Osanna,” Pavano whispered. “You must hide. They are coming” the voice was faint and low, intertwined with such sorrow and pain that San froze before him. San shook Pavano harder, but the man’s eyes remained closed and his body limp.

San pulled back his hand and slapped the older man across the face. The sound was resoundingly loud in the silence of the evening. Pavano’s eyes snapped open.

“Osanna!” he cried, before his eyes focused on San shivering in front of him. “What?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up a moment ago, on the ground,” San said.

“I was dreaming… no remembering,” Pavano shook his head. “I can’t…” His voice stopped and his eyes latched onto something ahead of them.

San turned to follow the man’s gaze and saw a creature in the trees. It was gaunt and white, the flesh leathery and smooth. Black pitted eyes stared at them and a jagged tear in the face for a mouth gaped open, from within it writhed scores of snakes or worms.

Pavano snatched a loaded crossbow from the cart and fired a bolt into the trees.

“Begone, foul fucker!” he shrieked.

The bolt thudded home into the chest of the creature. It looked down at the bolt and then back at Pavano. No blood flowed and it didn’t seem to be bothered by the attack. The creature pulled the bolt out and tossed it to the ground. It’s gaping mouth snapped shut, sealing so perfectly that it seemed its entire face was just two black orbs.

With slow and deliberate movements, the creature launched itself from branch to branch, barely rustling the snow heavy limbs. In moments it was gone, the trade road pregnant with silence.

“What the hell was that?” San asked. He had his sword out, not even realizing he had drawn it.

“Memory Thief,” Pavano said. “It sucks you dry of everything, until you’re an empty shell.”

San shuddered. What had he lost? What had the creature taken from him? San dug into the back of the cart and pulled out a torch. He used a lighter to ignite it.

“Fire in the Night,” he said and the torch flared for a moment.

“Good idea,” Pavano said, his voice hoarse and dry. He coughed and pulled his spear back to his side. “We should keep moving for a bit.”

“Will it follow us?” San asked.

“No. Not tonight, it doesn’t attack those that see it.” Pavano said.

“Why?”

“I guess its shy,” the old man chuckled hoarsely and flicked the reins. The older woollys brayed softly, but moved at his commands.

San held the torch high as he walked beside Pavano. He felt dark eyes watching him from the trees.

***

“Is this normal?” San asked when they resumed their journey in the morning.

“What?” Pavano asked.

“All these monsters we’ve been seeing.”

Pavano was silent for a while as he chewed on a hard biscuit. “The Shades are always there, but you don’t normally see a Memory Thief in these parts,” he finally said. “If you believe the crazy fuckers of the Hesna cult, the veil between this world and the Void is thinning, that soon Hesna will return and the final battle for our world will begin.”

“Do these things just all prey on people?” San asked.

“The old ones claim the soul is a flame. That the creatures from the Void seek to snuff it out; that they wish to plunge the world into darkness and cold.”

“The Mage Chief said something similar. The soul is a flame. That the Flesh Horror fed off of those souls, until there was nothing left.”

“Ah, you met the Mage Chief?” Pavano asked.

“Yeah. I think he was a ghost,” San said.

“Ah,” Pavano replied.

They continued on in silence. San kept scanning the trees, wondering if the Thief would return again. They had traveled far, according to Pavano. A journey that neither of them remembered.

Pavano claimed that the Thief would have exploded like a mosquito with all the memories he had. San had to smile at the bravado of the older man, he always presented a grinning, unworried face to the world. Yet, San could still hear the ache and pain in his voice as he called out the name Osanna.

That memory was Pavano’s own. Sorrow and loss seemed to be the common thread tying everyone together. San snorted at the idea, but he could not let go of it. Sagaris had lost her family, if the Shades were to be believed. A son and husband. Nexion was scarred from war. Even the trapper Kenton lost friends in the Sickleland war.

San looked at the clear sky. Loss seemed to be everywhere.

They exited the forest; the land before them somewhat flat with a wide slow creek cutting through the trade road.

“Hizon’s Drink,” Pavano said. “General Hizon of the Empire stopped here to drink on his conquest of the Tribes. Little did he know that the Tribes had been using this creek to piss and shit in upstream.” Pavano laughed. “He got sick and died two weeks later, but not before slaughtering the Tribe army sent against him; all the while shitting and vomiting on himself.”

San scanned the wide creek. The road dipped into it and he could see the area they would have to ford. He hoped it wasn’t too bad, the thought of cold wet feet did not appeal to him.

He looked to the northeast, following the creek from where it came from distant mountains. He could see an old track that lead into the forests and along side the creek.

“Is that a kid?” San asked, seeing a figure stumbling through the snow.

“I dunno, son,” Pavano said. “My eyes aren’t that great anymore.”

San dug into his pack and pulled out a small set of binoculars. It took him a moment to find the figure. They were short and thin, a ragged woolen cloak covered in frost and snow clung to them. San could see his cloak was sodden with melting snow and possibly even from falling into the creek. The kid staggered and stumbled forward, his eyes focused on the trade road before him.

“What the hell is he doing?” San asked.

“Going for a stroll,” Pavano said. They watched the kid for a moment. He slipped in the snow, got back to his feet, and continued walking. “Tough little bastard.”

“Yeah.”

Pavano glanced at San as he put away the binoculars. San dug around the back of the cart and pulled out a dusty old blanket that Pavano had traded someone for. He headed toward the boy.

Pavano chuckled softly and clucked for the woollys to begin moving.

The boy was so intent on reaching the trade road, he didn’t noticed San. The boy reached the road and stood there, gasping and staring at nothing. He took in long breaths and shuddered in his sodden clothing. The boy had long dark hair tied into a ponytail and his face was ruddy from the cold. He must have been traveling for a while, as San saw no smoke fires or any kind of structure in the area. The lone narrow track disappeared into the distance, winding through the forest and heading toward far mountains. Had the boy come from there?

“Hey, kid,” San said as he neared the boy.

The boy jerked and flinched, his eyes widening at the sight of San. The boy looked around, as if trying to find some place to hide.

“Easy there, kid,” San said. He held his hands out, showing them empty. “You okay? Do you need help?”

“Endaha,” the boy said.

“What’s that?”

“Endaha, my brother’s wife,” the boy clarified.

“Okay, Endaha. Is she okay? Does she need help?”

The boy blinked and continued staring at San for a moment. “She was bitten by a bonewing; she is sick now. Dying. We need a healer.”

Pavano and the cart clattered up to them.

“What’s a bonewing?” San asked Pavano. The old man shrugged.

“Please, please. We must go to White Tower, get a healer and bring them back for her.”

“White Tower is still two days travel, son,” Pavano said.

“We must hurry. I left this morning, I hoped to meet someone on the road,” the boy said, he was beginning to panic, his eyes widening and casting around the empty stretch of the trade road.

“Slow down, kid,” San said, setting a calming hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Tell us what’s happening. How far is it to your house? Is there anyone else there that can help?”

The boy looked frantic and jerked himself away from San. “A bonewing was trying to attack our grazers, she chased them off, but one attacked her. Bit her in the arm, it’s festering now, she’s sick, can barely move.”

“An infection?” San asked.

The boy shrugged helplessly. “Bonewing sickness,” he said. “Carrion creatures, they spread illness with their bites.”

“Your brother’s wife,” Pavano said. “Where’s your brother.”

“The Baron called him up for service this spring,” the boy said. “We haven’t seen him since. The war with Suvanna.”

“Where are you from, boy?” Pavano asked.

“Exonaris komai, half a day’s journey north.”

“Never heard of the place.” Pavano looked at San. “Could be a trap, bandits luring us into the woods to gut us and eat our woollys.”

“No, no, sir. My brother’s wife is ill, she needs help. Kovass will be angry with me if she dies and loses the baby.”

“Baby?” San asked.

“She is near due, sir. Senta might bless her with a boy this time.”

“This time?” San asked again.

“I have a niece, two summers old. She’s with her mother now.”

“You left a two year old with a pregnant sick woman?” San asked.

“I-I had no other choice,” the boy’s eyes watered and he began gasping for air. “She’s gonna die without any help. Please, take me to White Tower, sirs. I have some coin,”the boy dug into a pouch and produced half a dozen copper sars.

“Put away your money, kid,” San said. “Tell us where to go, we’ll help if we can.”

The boy looked relieved and thankful for a second and then a frown began to form on his face. He looked to San’s sword and then the spear that Pavano carried. The realization dawning on him that he was speaking to complete strangers. Thankfulness was replaced by wariness and fear.

“Don’t worry. We’re not going to harm you. We only want to help,” San said.

“Aye, trust him, lad,” Pavano said. “He’s an Adventurer, gave his oath to Covanus to fight monsters and defend the weak.”

“Covanus… A-adventurer?” the boy’s expression went slack for a moment. “Really?”

“Aye, he faced off against the Hanged King’s shades not five days back, didn’t flinch as they tried to lure him into the woods. The next night, he killed a mage with his bare hands.”

The boy looked to San with wide eyes.

“What’s your name, kid?” San asked.

“Azios… Azios Exonaris.”

“You’re a komai?” Pavano asked.

“Small one, sir. Only my brother and I left now. Tribes…” he stopped speaking.

San nodded. The war that engulfed the Tribes after the death of the Mage Chief. Raiding parties had crossed the Red and attacked komai up and down the Trade Road. From what San knew, the bigger farming communities repelled them, but the smaller ones got wiped out.

“Alright, Azios,” San said. “Show us the way. I have some medicine that might help.”

“You do?” The boy brightened.

“You do?” Pavano asked.

“Yeah.” San said. There had been some antibiotics in his first aid kit. The bite from a carrion creature carried the risk of infection, so San hoped that it would be treatable with the antibiotics. He knew he should keep them, who knew when he might need it, but how could he refuse when there was a pregnant woman in danger and a small child left alone?

Was it foolish? Was it a weakness? San didn’t know. Yet he knew this was the right course of action. He could leave the kid on his own or even take him to White Tower to be disappointed, but he could do something now. San chose to do something now. He might have no skin in this game, but he could help and he would.

“Show us the way, Azios,’ San said. The boy nodded eagerly. “First, take off that cloak, you must be freezing.”

The boy looked confused for a second and then began shivering, as if the cold had finally got to him. His fingers fumbled for the cloak ties and it flopped wetly to the snowy ground. San gave him the ratty blanket and picked up the boy’s cloak.

He looked down the road and paused. He dug his binoculars from his coat and peered at the distant trees. In the late afternoon sun, he saw metal reflecting sunlight. A moment later he saw figures on horses emerging from the forest where the Trade Road lead.

“We got company,” San said. He tossed the binoculars to Pavano, who stared at them for a moment before peering into them.

“Sweet Senta,” he remarked. “I can see all the way to the Great Cities.” He chuckled and then stopped. ‘Fuck. White Tower calvary, five men, typical search party.”

“Search party,” San sighed. There was only one party for which they were searching for.

“Can they help?” Azios asked. “They’re Baron’s men.”

“They’re not gonna help no one, son,” Pavano said. “They’ll try to shake us down and find out what we know.”

“Know about what?” the boy asked.

Pavano looked to San. “A big foreigner,” he said.

San sighed and looked toward the distant figures. They were trotting along without hurry and he guessed it would be fifteen minutes before they arrived. They knew that Sagaris would have told the Baron’s men about their escape. They would be looked for on the roads, but they had spent over a day traveling without meeting anyone and there had hoped they would make it to Pavano’s friends home.

“You know the drill, son,” Pavano said.

San sighed again and climbed into the back of the cart. He pushed about the imbar to make a spot to lie down in. The furry vegetables smelled of earth and a faint hint of lemon. He pulled Azios’ sodden cloak over him and lay there.

“What are you doing?” he heard Azios ask.

“When they ask, the big man’s your father, I’m your grandfather. Your Pa is sick, don’t know what’s up with him. Act scared, stupid, and confused,” Pavano said.

“Huh?” Azios asked.

“Exactly like that, son,” Pavano replied.

They all waited in silence as the riders finally caught sight of them and clattered toward them in a group.

“Hold there! By orders of the Baron! Identify yourself!” a man shouted.

“How do, soldiers,” Pavano said. “Nice day, is it not?”

“Identify yourself.”

“Hob, m’lord.” Pavano’s voice sounded rougher and differential. “From Exonaris komai, sir.”

“Never heard of it,” a voice said.

San began coughing, ragged and deep. He gagged and moaned, the sound carrying over the conversation.

“Who’s that?” a voice demanded.

“My son, m’lord. Bomin.” Pavano said.

“What’s wrong with him?” the calvary officer demanded.

“Dunno, m’lord,” Pavano said. “He was fine this morn, but began getting shakes and his ass be running like the Red after spring rains.”

“Senta, that’s disgusting,” another man muttered. “Sounds like Red Fever.”

There was a murmur of concern from the riders.

“Red Fever took my youngest,” a man said.

San began coughing louder, his body shaking and the sodden cloak flapping around him. He let out a pained groan.

“We’re looking for two men,” the officer continued. “Big foreigner fucker and an old man, like you. Got three woollys they stole off of a trader. Got Trader Sagaris’ mark on them.”

“Ain’t seen no one on the roads, m’lord,” Pavano said. “We were hoping to sell those two yonder woollys in White tower and some of our imbar. The boy’s Ma died two weeks back and the winter’s looking to be hard.”

“Price for woollys are pretty good in White Tower these days,” a soldier commented. “That imbar’s not gonna sell, though.”

“Let me see your ownership tabs,” the officer demanded.

San put on a show of coughing and groaning, while the officer checked the tabs. His throat was beginning to hurt and the imbar was becoming uncomfortable. San sighed, wishing they’d moved a little quicker.

“Looks to be in order,” the officer said. “You see two men and three woollys out here, you report it to the Guards, you hear? Might be some coin in it for you, if they get captured.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

San let out a groan.

“Senta bless you,” the calvary officer said. “Be off, you three. It sounds like he doesn’t have much longer to live.”

“Please, m’lord. Is there anything to be done?” Azios asked, his voice pleading.

“Sorry, son. All the Healers have gone with the Baron to fight the fucking Suvanna. None left in White Tower.”

“In a year or two, come to the barracks. The Baron is always looking for soldiers,” another man said. “That old one doesn’t look like he has many years left.”

“Let’s move,” the officer said and the horses neighed and whinnied as they clattered away. San continued coughing loudly until they receded into the distance.

“Well acted, boy. You have stage experience?” Pavano asked.

“In high school,” San sat up, rubbing his shoulder from the uncomfortable bed of imbar.

“You’re criminals?” the boy asked.

“No. Just a misunderstanding,” San replied, getting out of the cart.

“Misunderstanding? The Baron’s Guards don’t go looking for men like you for a misunderstanding.”

“Who says it was us they were looking for?” Pavano asked.

Azios pointed to San. “Big fucking foreigner and old fucking man.”

“Not too old to teach you to respect your elders, boy,” Pavano said.

“Take us to your komai, Azios,” San said. “Best we leave before they decide to come back.”

“Aye,” Pavano agreed.

“This way,” Azois headed back down the track he had been walking on. “You can heal her?”

“I think so.”

“San there was stitching up half dead men in a Nox attack,” Pavano said. “Single handedly saved Trader Sagaris’ caravan, then took the fight to the Nox camp.”

The boy’s eyes widen at San, then narrowed.

“Why are you in a shitty cart full of imbar and with two half dead woollys, then?”

“Ah, that’s a tale to tell, my boy. Come, sit up here and I shall tell you the adventures of San Mage Killer.”

San snorted at the name. It was better than San the Foreigner.