Even though he feared his mother might toss him out again, Garinor decided to return home. His mother had seemed to expect the letter that had come from the king. Perhaps she would know why the archers were after him and what he should do.
Garinor propelled himself along the river’s flow to speed up the journey. The crisp, cold water felt good on his scratches and scrapes, but he couldn’t linger there for long. The sooner he unraveled this mystery the better.
Familiar cottages drifted by on the western shore and eventually he reached the town bridge. It wasn’t much of a bridge, nor was it really needed there. Even at its fiercest flow, the river was very narrow at that point and was more of a stream now than anything. Pretty much anyone could leap across it if he or she needed to.
Building the bridge, however, had been a village-wide event, in which everyone had contributed in some way. The strongest lumberjacks felled the trees. The best carpenters laid out the pine and guided the others. Able men and women toiled to hammer the slats together. Others cooked meals and kept drinks flowing, so every person in the town was truthfully able to say they had helped to build the bridge. That was six years ago and Garinor had served the workers’ line by keeping their flagons full of mead and water.
He reached the bridge and grabbed onto the underside panels, then pulled himself forward to the bank. He climbed out of the water and talked himself out of stopping to wring out his nightclothes. He didn’t have time. He glanced over his shoulder, but he couldn’t see any silhouettes in the distance. Either they had lost his trail or they were coming back down the main road. He couldn’t chance it.
Padding along the dirt paths, Garinor sprinted home, passing other villagers and ignoring all their questions or shouts of annoyance. Left turn, three lanes later, right turn. Two more houses. Finally!
The front door crashed open when he reached it, panting frantically.
“Mother!” he cried out. “Mother!”
Time seemed to stop right then. He didn’t hear anything. No one stirred in the house at all. Only the pitter-patter of water falling from his clothes even marked that time was working properly. His eyes scanned around in terror, but he tried to keep his wits about him. Surely, the hunters hadn’t come here first and taken his family! His mother was only out running errands, or visiting a friend, or any number of things. His siblings were tending to their classes. They had to be.
Garinor bit his lip, trying to believe everyone was all right. He scanned the room, making himself enter it fully at last. The table and chairs were upright. The breakfast dishes had been cleared away. There was no sign of any struggle.
With a sigh of relief, Garinor closed the door behind him and strode inside feeling much calmer. It was only then he noted the beige parchment, crumpled up and resting casually on the floor. It still boasted a bit of the purple wax that had sealed it.
Curiosity overpowered him. He didn’t even notice he was shivering from standing in his wet nightclothes. He didn’t feel any of his cuts or scrapes. He needed to know what the letter said.
He stepped forward and bent down to take the parchment.
It was at that moment the door flew open and a cry of triumph shrieked from behind him. One of the hunters stood in the doorway.
Garinor should still reach for the letter.