Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 13 Pt. 2

 Notes: Sorry it's a little late! Enjoy some...well, this is probably as angsty as this story will get, so, uh, enjoy the pain, I guess?

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 13 Pt. 2

***

Chapter Thirteen, Part Two

 

Just Close Your Eyes

 

He was halfway to the square when it happened. One moment his ears were filled with the swell of the crowd in the distance, supplemented by a voice that was being magically projected to come off as louder than it actually was. Hiram assumed it was a performer, someone working to draw the crowd in close for a show, but then—

“REVEAL YOURSELF, SAVIOR OF GARRISON! REVEAL YOURSELF TO CLAIM YOUR PRIZE AND THE GRATITUDE OF OUR CITIZENS!”

Hiram doubled over, clutching at his head as he slammed his eyes closed. This was more than a simple seeking, so much worse. This was a compulsion, and it was a strong one. Whoever the wizard behind it was, they were powerful. They’d not only used whatever shreds of evidence Mule had left on the gnolls to orient their spell, they’d expanded it to encompass Mule’s caretaker—him.

Hiram wasn’t worried about Mule, as unicorns were immune to most types of magic and could never, under any circumstances, be compelled. He was far more worried about the fact that he knew, if he opened his eyes right now, whoever was behind the compulsion would see right through him. He felt their consciousness in the front of his mind, wriggling with curiosity behind his eyes, and he was filled with a loathing so intense he knew that whoever it was had to feel his animosity.

Compulsions were hideously invasive spells, the worst sort of violation of privacy. Hiram had refused to do them after the first time he felt one laid upon him, so adamant about it that not even Andy was able to convince him otherwise. He’d made sure to lay the strongest possible protections he could on his companions, so that none of them would ever have to suffer from the at best horribly mannered, at worst predatory magic users who might attempt a compulsion on them.

He felt Phlox responding, trying to rebuff it, but the elemental had been prepared for the light touch of a seeking, not the hammer blow of a spell like this.

“HE’S HERE! OUR WIZARD TELLS US THAT OUR SAVIOR IS CLOSE BY! COME FORTH, GOOD SIR, AND TELL US ABOUT THE FIGHT!”

It was getting harder and harder to fight the urge to open his eyes. Worst than that was the impulse to straighten up and start walking again, walking toward the plaza where everyone was waiting for him, they wanted to meet him, to fete him, and he wanted…he wanted to, he…

No! Caught between two awful options, Hiram took the one that would give him more time—any time. He reached inside himself, unlocked the barriers he’d put around the vast majority of his magic for months now, and set himself free. As his power surged, the foreign consciousness in his mind was pushed out with a squawk of surprise and dismay. The compulsion itself still lay upon him, though, like a scratchy blanket over his brain, and Hiram did the best thing he could think of with it.

He stitched the compulsion into a thread of his power and hurtled it toward the greatest agglomeration of magic in the area, possibly in the entire country. He sent it straight to Gemmel’s Tower, where the dark, hungry energies absorbed both magical signatures like pebbles swallowed by a lake. Leylines shivered with the passage, but not specifically enough to pinpoint Hiram.

At least, he hoped not.

“You have to get out of here.”

“I know,” he groaned as the crowd began to roar. Whatever they were seeing in the plaza, it had everyone in a tizzy. Probably the wizard responsible had collapsed, or maybe he was babbling about seeing things he shouldn’t have in Gemmel’s Tower. Whatever was happening, the situation was only going to intensify at this point. He needed to leave, now. “Let’s go get Mule.”

“You have to open your eyes first.”

Oh, right. Hiram pried his eyes open gingerly, wincing as the light ramped up the headache that the obscuration had planted. Damn it, he was going to experience severe backlash as a result of shooting off a huge pulse of magic without even going through a warm up. He had to get as far away from Garrison as possible, before he couldn’t move anymore. “Come on.” He stood and brushed himself off with shaking hands, then picked up his rucksack. The weight almost dragged him off his feet again.

“Will you be all right?”

“I have to be,” Hiram said, injecting a little more confidence into his voice. “Don’t worry, this is nothing compared to what I’ve gone through in the past.”

“You were prepared for such things in the past. You haven’t used your magic for so long…Hiram…”

“First things first, my dear. We need to get out of here.”

It was thankfully easy to reach Mule, settled on the outskirts of the square as she was. The two lads charged with caring for her were in a tizzy, one of them on the other’s shoulders as he tried to make out what was happening on the stage in the center of the plaza. “Thanks, sir,” he said absently as Hiram paid what was due. “Say, did you see what happened? One second the Wizard Greenlief was doin’ his thing, the next he was fallin’ over!”

“I’m afraid I didn’t see anything,” Hiram said with complete honesty. “Thanks for the help.” He took Mule and led her well away from the plaza before removing the blinders, just in case. The side streets were nearly empty, and it was a simple thing to saddle up and head for the road once more.

Well, it should have been simple. It actually ended up being quite a challenge to get from the ground to the saddle, and for the first time in a long time, Hiram felt his age. Gods above and below, he was so tired, and his head ached fiercely and was only getting worse, and his sinuses felt like they’d been forcibly scraped out with copper wire, and his throat still tickled and his nose was stuffed up and his lungs were sore from coughing, and everything about him was a complete mess right now.

Be a mess on the road. Or perhaps off the road.

“Mule,” he murmured once he was finally on her back, “take the long way home, darling.” Mule wasn’t smart in a humanoid sense, but she was completely attuned to Hiram’s needs, and he was confident she understood him. They set off from Garrison, not on the direct road that led straight back to Lollop, but via the north road. It was a more roundabout path, but exactly how roundabout, Hiram wasn’t entirely sure.

Whatever, it would be fine. Mule would get him home.

Hiram’s faith held out until it got dark. They were still on the road, and there was no sign of an inn anywhere. Worse than that, his headache had progressed to the point where every movement felt like an intensification of the agony, and even Mule’s gentle gait made him want to throw up. The full moon had only just passed, leaving the night sky unreasonably bright, and eventually it was too much for Hiram to bear. “I have to get down,” he muttered. “I have to stop.”

“Use a spell of healing, it’s not—”

“No!” Hiram immediately regretted raising his voice. “No, no more spells, no more dips into my magic, nothing. I just lit up the entire ethosphere with my magical signature. Andy’s going to be sending more wizards in this direction than I have fingers and toes, and the only thing that’s going to keep me safe is disappearing completely.” He brought Mule to a stop, then slid onto the ground. Hiram’s legs hit too stiffly, and he almost collapsed.

“You need to get home!”

“I need to recover some first,” he said with a sigh. “Mule, darling, help me into the woods.”

“I’m sorry, you want her to lead you into the gnoll-infested forest? The dark woods? The place everyone warned you about, so that you can recover?”

“I just need some sleep.”

“Yes, in a bed.”

Hiram stopped talking and focused on not tripping as they moved deeper into the forest. It was cold and far too wet to be comfortable, but at least it wasn’t actively raining on him this time. Even better, it was blessedly dark. He stopped a dozen or so yards in, where he found a fallen tree that would make a decent base for a lean-to. A little rummaging in his pack produced his oilcloth cloak, which he draped over the tree to shield the ground beneath it. Then he bundled himself up in every other piece of clothing he had, sipped at the water in his canteen long enough to leave his stomach feeling sloshy, and turned his rucksack into a makeshift pillow.

There, nothing to it. Hiram knew how to sleep rough—he was an old hand at this sort of thing! Granted, he’d usually been part of a group, and there’d been lookouts and the like, and he’d set up all sorts of defensive spells to let him know if something bad was coming, but this was fine. Oribel was one of he safest countries in the empire, gnoll bandits notwithstanding.

It would be fine. It had to be; he couldn’t stay awake any longer. Hiram lasted just long enough to loosen Mule’s bridle and saddle, then curled up on his side in the shelter and fell into a fitful sleep.

Gods, his head hurt even in his dreams…he drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, unable to concentrate on the faint voice he heard, one that sounded like Phlox. “Go get help,” it insisted, and then Mule was whickering and there was the sound of hooves picking their way back to the road, and then there was nothing at all as a deeper, more exhausted sleep finally found Hiram.

***

Miles away, a predator roamed. The night after the full moon was always easier spent in beast form than as a man, especially since the urgency had passed. With full control of his faculties, it was almost fun to be a monster, to hunt for prey in the forest and feel the freedom that came with such a strong body. He stretched his senses as far as they would go, and recoiled as he smelled something terribly dangerous.

Unicorn.

He hunkered in the undergrowth and waited for the unicorn to pass. It moved at a thundering pace, and despite himself he found his gaze drawn to the road. It must be a very fancy rider, to harness a unicorn in such a way.

He blanched as he realized that he recognized this unicorn. It had almost run him through not long ago—it wanted him dead! It would surely try to kill him if it sensed him…and yet, it didn’t even pause in its run, passing him with single-minded focus.

That was Hiram’s unicorn, all dressed up to be ridden yet with no rider.

Fuck. Where was Hiram?

His instincts screamed at him. Find him! Hunt him down, grab him up, make him yours! And in this form, there was no reason not to.

The predator moved close enough to the road to follow the telltale scent of unicorn and began his own run.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 13 Pt. 1

 Notes: Let's just have a nice day. Can we just have one nice day? Can we?

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 13 Pt. 1

***

Chapter Thirteen, Part One

 

Photo by Jez Timms

A Better Deal

 

Luck was with Hiram. The weather was clear now, the sky blue instead of the interminable gray it had been for the past week of drizzle or so, and the crisp autumn weather that kept threatening to descend seemed to retreat today, with sunshine and a warmth that was enough for him to shed his cloak as he and Mule ambled deeper into Garrison. Even his sniffles let up. Better than all that, though, was the way the crowd got bigger the farther into the center of the city he went. By the time he reached the main square, three times the size of Lollop’s and teeming with people, no one even thought to give him a second glance.

Gods, it was refreshing. That had been the best part of his escape from Galenish—the anonymity of it all. To go from a fearsome, even legendary figure to just another nobody was delicious. That was what his choice of Lollop was meant to ensure for him, and then… Then I went and became a bit notorious. But that was all right, it would die down. In the meantime, he could appreciate being no more than a face in the crowd.

Hiram dismounted when the traffic became too thick and found a hitching post manned by a pair of twin boys who assured him they’d look after Mule while he shopped. “Water’s free, feed’s extra,” one of them said enterprisingly as he took the reins from Hiram and expertly attached them to the post. There were two other horses tied there already, but Mule paid them no mind.

“She’s already had breakfast,” Hiram replied. “I’ll give you two extra bits when I come back to make sure she’s got a bit of space to herself, though.” Not that he expected Mule to give them any trouble, but…actually. “One moment.” He rummaged through his rucksack—he wasn’t fool enough to leave it on Mule while he shopped—and pulled out a pair of blinders. He fixed them to her long, bony face, feeling her relax a bit once he was done. Not that he expected her to see anything especially evil in a place like Garrison, but then again, he hadn’t expected the gnolls on the road, either. The last thing he needed was his unicorn to pitch a fit and impale something where everyone could see it.

“Bit fussy, then?” one of the boys asked.

“Just particular about her company, that’s all,” Hiram replied. “Thanks, lads.” He paid them half in advance, then tugged his rucksack over his shoulders and set off into the market.

His first stop was at a tea station, where he bought a cup of the sweet, spicy, milky brew that seemed ever-present in Oribel. This was spicier than what he was used to back in Lollop, and he stifled a cough into his sleeve before he took his second sip. The lady running the stall chuckled. “Bit harsh for you, sir?”

“It’s a good wakeup,” he assured her. “Just a trifle more heat than I’m used to.”

“Where do you hail from, sir?”

“Lollop.”

“Do you now!” She beamed at him. “My cousin and her husband live there, sir.”

Well, damn. “What a coincidence.”

“They run the tea stall, of course. Do a bit of foraging for some of the rarer spices we use, too.”

“Mm.” Hiram was drinking his tea down as fast as he could, more than ready to move on.

“Her last letter was full of tales about the place. There was a hullabaloo in the temple not long ago, it turns out. Were you there for it?”

He swallowed the last of his tea, gasped a bit at the persistent burn of the black pepper, and handed the cup back. “I don’t go to the Temple of Melemor often,” he said. “Have a fine day, mistress.”

“Wait, sir—your name, sir!” But he was already gone.

After that, Hiram was careful to stay a bit more reticent when it came to conversation. He made polite conversation in the stalls that attracted his notice and bargained hard but not too hard for the goods and ingredients he was interested in, but no one else got any details from him. A few enterprising thieves did try to relieve him of the contents of his outer pockets, but Phlox knew how to handle that. Static electricity was surprisingly easy to generate, and something no one could directly link to magic. The sound of people cursing their tingling fingers as he walked away brought a smile to his face.

Hiram was lucky to find an empty chair in a busy tavern on the edge of the plaza around lunchtime. He sat down with a sigh, more tired than he cared to admit. Fine, perhaps he was a little sick, a bit under the weather, but it wouldn’t interfere with his time in Garrison. When the waiter, a broad-shouldered young dwarf carrying a tray stacked with twelve pints on one hand and a rag in the other, came over and wiped the table down, Hiram contented himself with ordering the special for the day, then stared out into the crowd and watched people go by.

“Perhaps this place would have been better.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured. “But a larger city comes with a different set of problems.”

“You could more easily be of no import here.”

“But it’s too easy to make connections in a place like this.” He glanced back in the direction of the tea stall. “Case in point. No, the only way to avoid people entirely would be to venture off into the wild and set myself up as a hermit on a mountaintop or some such nonsense.”

Phlox snorted quietly. “That would drive you mad.”

“I know,” Hiram admitted. “I’m not made for solitude, I’m afraid.”

“You would have me.”

“That’s true. And you’re a good companion, but we’d tear each other to shreds in a week if we didn’t have someone else around to distract us. And Esme would riddle up company before we knew it.”

“She can’t help her nature.”

“None of us can.” They fell silent for a bit, and Hiram became distracted by a puppet show being put on down the way. It was a small little production, the theater set up on the back of a wagon. Children gathered in front of it and watched avidly as the players behind the tattered curtain acted out what looked to be a ferocious battle. One of the characters suddenly hoisted a flaming sparkler, and the monster it was squaring up against cried out piteously as the puppet thrust the sparkler into its scaly chest.

“Is that…”

The Princess and the Dragon. It was a puppet version of Misha’s famous proving quest, the ridiculously old-fashioned rigamarole that Andy had insisted she participate in despite the fact that she was his only child and heir. Hiram had argued against it, but Andy had insisted. After all, “I did it myself,” he’d said after one particularly vociferous exchange, a look of tenderness coming across his face. “And I found you, remember?”

Hiram had backed down, but made sure to give Misha a weapon worthy of the opponent her father had sent her after. The dragon had been menacing the foothills of the Elasgus Mountains for months, eating up entire flocks of sheep and several shepherds as well. Various bands of heroes had tried to handle it with no success; the beast was too clever and knew how to evade people of power, vanishing into a series of tunnels that dated back to when the Elasgus Mountains had flowed with fire.

Misha had taken her father’s command with equanimity, and even tried to refuse the flaming sword Hiram had made for her. “It wouldn’t be fair,” she tried to say. “I’m—”

“Your father had boots of speed, a helm of invisibility, and arrows of true flying on his proving quest,” Hiram had replied flatly. “This is the absolute minimum I’ll accept if you won’t let me come with you.”

“I can’t,” she’d said regretfully, and accepted the sword along with a kiss and hug. She’d gone off to do her duty and she’d done it well, returning in triumph. Only Hiram knew how she’d sought him out later, tears streaming down her thin cheeks as she’d cried for the dragon she’d killed, blind and starving but still so clever, a font of ancient knowledge it had tried to bargain with in exchange for its life.

Hiram watched the celebration of the dragon’s death play out and swallowed against the lump in his throat. Misha…he tried not to think about her, because if he let himself do that for too long his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He hoped she was all right. He hoped he’d drawn enough of her father’s ire that she was well and truly safe. His darling girl…

“Your food, sir.”

He blinked and turned back to the dwarf, who was setting a plate and tankard down on the little table. “Thank you.” Hiram ate mechanically, pausing to wipe his nose with his handkerchief every now and then, and by the time he was done he was ready to move on once more. He paid up and headed back into the crowd, this time looking for Lancre silk.

None of the stalls in the plaza were going to carry something so specific and rare. However, a few pointed questions led Hiram to a shop two streets away, run by a woman who’d clearly been a rogue in her early days if the quickness of her hands and the multiple, very sharp pairs of scissors attached to her person were any indicator.

“Black Lancre silk?” She stroked a hand over the shaved side of her head as she considered it. “I’ve got a few lengths of it, but it’s dear. The purple is much easier to come by.”

“I’m afraid it has to be black,” Hiram said. “One bolt should be sufficient.”

“Hmm.” She looked him up and down. “Planning an infiltration, are we?”

“Merely doing a favor for an acquaintance,” he replied blandly. To her credit, she didn’t press, just pulled out a few lengths of silk for him to inspect before charging him an eye-watering amount of money for a bolt of the darkest shade. Hopefully Master Spindlestep was good for it, because otherwise Hiram would have to put on quite the show over what he could and couldn’t afford, and that would be tedious.

“Can you recommend a decent inn for the night?” Hiram asked once their transaction was done. “Somewhere near the city center, but not likely to be too crowded.”

She nodded briskly. “You want The Raring Rooster. The owner’s wife breeds rare chickens, which means it’s the loudest place for five blocks in the morning, but the prices are good and there’s always rooms available.”

Hiram smiled. “That sounds perfect.” She directed him to a spot on the other side of the plaza, and Hiram set out ready to settle into a room for the rest of the afternoon and nap and recover.

Naturally, it didn’t work out that way.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 12 Pt. 2

 Notes: I got sick while writing this. You'll be able to tell, I'm not subtle about real life influencing my work. Speaking of, HAPPY THANKSGIVING to those who celebrate, I'm very thankful to have you in my life :)

 Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 12 Pt. 2

***

Chapter Twelve Part Two

 

 

Photo by Frederike

A Rough Night

 

Hiram woke with a sneeze. “Ugh,” he muttered as he rolled over on the straw tick mattress, grimacing as several sharp ends poked up through the loose weave of the sheet and scratched his skin. Straw was a common filler for mattresses, and it did all right for a season, but if it wasn’t replaced regularly it turned into a moldering mess. He wasn’t sure if it was the dankness of the mattress or a result of his thorough drenching from the rain last night, but his nose was thoroughly stuffed up.

“You sound sick.”

“I’m not sick,” Hiram said, wearily pressing up into a sitting position. He’d made it to Garrison last night after leaving the gnolls bound together with their own wires in the middle of the road. Mule had refrained from removing any of their limbs, the dear thing, but she had run each of them through in several places. It was a toss-up as to whether or not they’d survive the blood loss. Hiram didn’t feel much remorse about that. If they’d happened upon someone less prepared than him, perhaps someone with a family or a young apprentice in tow…

No. They got whatever they got at this point.

“You sound rather sick for a healthy person.”

“What would you know about it? You never get sick.”

“Neither do you.”

“There you have it, then.” Hiram got to his feet and went over to his rucksack. Several cockroaches scuttled out from beneath it, and he took a moment to be grateful for the sigils worked into the cloth that rendered it inviolate to any hands—or legs—but his. “I never get sick, therefore I’m not.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“It’s just the mattress. It’s full of mildew. I’ll clear out my sinuses and be right as rain in a moment.”

Phlox snorted. “It’s the rain that got you into this position in the first place.”

Hiram tuned out his companion’s unhelpful observations and pulled off his sleep shirt, shivering in the cold. He’d taken refuge in the first inn that still had a torch lit, which turned out to be a threadbare place on the edge of town run by a rather slovenly man who’d directed him to the room in the peak of the building, with sloping walls and more than one leak. It was more important to Hiram that Mule have a decent spot in the stable, which she did, but right now, cold and undoubtedly too late rising to get the “complimentary” breakfast that came with staying here, he felt more than a little run down.

Eh, the breakfast was probably inedible anyhow. He’d pack his things and find better lodging today, then go about the business that had brought him here in the first place. Hiram dressed in one of his finer outfits, topping it off with the lovely but sedate cloak that Master Spindelstep had made him rather than his single-armed Galenish one, then brushed out his hair and cleaned his teeth.

“Master Surrus isn’t here for you to impress, you know.”

Hiram felt his cheeks heat. “I don’t dress up for him.”

“You would if you had the chance.”

Phlox had unfortunately been around long enough to see how Hiram had gone about seducing Andy on a regular basis, and it had always included dressing his best. “Well, I don’t.” With that pathetic retort, Hiram hoisted his rucksack over his shoulder and headed downstairs. There was rather a clamor going on outside, the interior of the inn almost abandoned except by the same slovenly man at the front. Even he looked more alert now.

“What’s all that?” Hiram ask as he handed the man his room key.

“Someone brought down Cletus and Clarus last night,” he grunted, small eyes bright as he stared at the door. “Patrol found ‘em on the road this morning, loaded them into a cart to face justice here. Hanging for sure,” he added, wrapping a demonstrative hand around his own throat in case Hiram was somehow confused. “They’re wanted for a bakers’ dozen of robberies and three murders. Were starting to become a real problem this last month, and no one could find ‘em.”

“Well.” Hiram felt the warm glow of a job well done. “I’m glad someone handled the problem.”

“Yeah, but no one knows who!” The innkeeper was becoming animated, his jowls swinging as he hurried to explain. “There’s a big reward on offer for whoever could finish ‘em, but they was tied up and abandoned. No note, nothing. Had to be a warrior of some kind; they got stabbed by a spear.”

Hiram nodded along. “Lovely. Now, if you could tell me—”

“The Lord Mayor’s probably going to do a seeking to find whoever it was that took ‘em out. Only way to be fair with the money, you know.” The innkeeper deflated a bit. “It’s not right, if you ask me. Using magic to figure out who did what…what if I’d come across them this morning, huh? Went to all the trouble of loading them up and bringing them in. Wouldn’t it be better to at least share the reward with me?”

Hiram groaned inwardly. A seeking, wonderful. Even when he wasn’t touching his own magic, magic still had a way of trying to find him. Of all the damn… “For the extra feed for my horse,” he said, laying down a few copper bits. The innkeeper snatched them up immediately. “I’ll be off, then.” He’d been going to ask about the layout of Garrison, but decided it was better to be gone as soon as possible.

He found Mule in perfect solitude in the stable, chewing on hay and seeming pretty damn pleased with herself after her adventure yesterday. “You had to run them through, hmm?” Hiram muttered to her as he put on her saddle. She blinked at him, then tossed her head. “What will we do if someone recognized the wounds come from a horn, not a spear?”

Not my problem, she seemed to say with a saucy whicker.

“It will become your problem if imperial soldiers try to drag us out of Lollop and back to Andy by our tails,” Hiram said.

“We’ll have to screw up rather more significantly for things to get that far.”

“One would hope,” Hiram agreed. “But for all his faults, Andy is shrewd. He’s very good at collecting vast amounts of information and sifting through it to discover the gems. That’s how he got ahead in so many battles, not to mention stayed ahead of so many assassination attempts.”

“That and the fact that you were helping him.”

True. Which Hiram wasn’t now. Still... “Can you handle an obscuration?”

He felt Phlox pulse with surprise. “Do you really think it necessary?”

“I don’t know that I want to bet on Garrison having a sloppy mage if they work some sort of seeking on those damn gnolls,” he said. He hadn’t thought they’d be that big a deal, in all honesty. No one in Lollop even mentioned them to him. Admittedly, Lollop wasn’t a cosmopolitan place, but still—

“It’s not impossible that Andurion could be checking for my magical signature as well, you know.”

Hiram sighed. “Well, it’s that or we visit a hedge witch and hope they’re trustworthy.” Which was never a given, unfortunately. And then he’d have to ensure silence with a spell of his own, which would put his magical signature on the map again, bouncing across dozens of leylines and lodestones and giving all those imperial mages something to focus on. Damn, who’d have thought hiding would be so bloody hard?

“This might be completely unnecessary,” Hiram added. “Perhaps the Lord Mayor won’t bother with a seeking at all. Why give up a reward when you don’t have to?”

“Perhaps they’re a person of integrity, unlike that fool in Lollop.”

“We’ll hope otherwise,” which was something he hadn’t anticipated saying today, “but in the meantime, just keep your obscuration ready, all right?”

“As you say, Hiram.”

Hiram chuckled at the uncharacteristic agreement, then raised his elbow to his face to stifle another sneeze. “Ugh.” His nose itched uncomfortably, his throat was sore, and he felt like he’d barely put a dent in the fatigue from yesterday’s ride.

He smiled as he remembered what he used to say to Misha when they were adventuring and she started to lose her sense of levity. Eat something. Everything looks a little better once you’ve got food in your belly. “Come on,” he said as he led Mule out of the stable and mounted up. “Let’s go see what we can find in the way of breakfast, and then we’ll see what Garrison has to offer.”

Hopefully the rest of the day would continue better than it had begun.