Garinor wished he wasn’t the one who needed to make the decision. He kept quiet after an initial grunt, but the driver asked him again. It was horrible leaving the boy to his fate, but Garinor felt like if they interfered, then his own cover would be blown. Was his life worth the exchange of the unknown boy’s?
His hesitation was taken by the others as a decision not to help and this led to some angry shouts. “You beast!” cried one man, who turned in his seat and fisted Garinor in the head. “You’d let the boy die?”
Two of the men hopped off the caravan and flagged the boy down in his panic, but he ignored them and raced onward. The one who was furious with Bogren grabbed him and bodily threw him to the dirt. “Rotten scum!” He then leaped off he caravan and hammered his fists into the overly padded warrior.
Another member of the crew pulled on his companion to stop the beating of Bogren. “We was paid to bring ‘im,” he said.
But as the man gave one more kick to Garinor’s ribs, he flipped over and the hasty stitching in the cloak ripped and the fabric pulled away. The two men could see at once that Bogren was no warrior. He was a boy, just the same as the one they tried to rescue.
“What the—?”
“Come on!” the driver screamed at them. The two pursuing horsemen drew closer and the caravan was caught at a dead stop.
“Wot this?” yelled one of the men on horseback. “Why yer stopped?”
The driver tried to draw their attention while the others grabbed Bogren’s dazed and beaten body and dragged him toward the caravan, but the newcomers weren’t fooled.
“Wot that?” said the man, pointing to the others.
“Jus’ our friend got ‘imself a li’l liquored up is all. Fell right off,” the driver covered deftly.
The other horseman spoke up then. “Did yer see some’un come this way?”
“Fast as wind, yeh, but couldna describe who it were if you asked.”
“Dascal, le’s ‘urry!” he replied and kicked his horse into gear.
The one called Dascal snapped on the reins of his horse and was ready to follow, but out of the corner of his eye he spotted Garinor’s young face and he called a halt, though his companion didn’t notice and kept riding. “Wot ha’ we here?”
He dismounted and pounced for the boy, grabbing his tunic and ripping him away from the other two men. Garinor fell heavily to the ground.
“Ain’ no drunk!” Dascal screeched. He withdrew his sword and slashed at the other men. “He comes wit me.”
He reached down with one hand to grab Garinor by the back of his shirt and pulled him toward the horse, all the while fending off the other men. He wasn’t paying particularly close attention, though, because a third man had dropped off the caravan and snuck behind the riderless horse. Around he went until he was almost behind Dascal.
Then he pounced and all was chaos.
The man grabbed Dascal from behind, causing him to release his grip on Garinor and simultaneously swipe with his sword. One of the others was struck on the arm while his companion pounced forward, intending to crush Dascal. He grabbed hold and punched Dascal in the face viciously while the other man kept a firm grip around Dascal’s chest. The sword flailed about, but both men were too close for it to do any good.
It was a bit of a wrestling match, but the caravan men finally subdued Dascal and bound him with some cord. They left him on the dirt for his fellow to find later. Meanwhile, the caravan was soon underway, their wishes for the other boy’s safety on their lips, and the wounded being tended to.
The man who had pummeled Garinor apologized profusely for the beating, but Garinor couldn’t hear him because he was apologizing for his subterfuge. The others sympathized with Garinor’s plight and promised to safely deliver him to Fellanin, but, as the seamstress had warned him, they said they couldn’t hide him beyond that.
They insisted he keep up with his Bogren façade, which, they admitted, he had been playing to idyllic proportions. They also commiserated with him and his indecision about stopping to help the other boy. No one accused him or blamed him or found fault with him.
Except Garinor himself, who was very upset he hadn’t said to save the boy. By now, the other horseman would have caught up to him. The only consolation was that he was running only from one pursuer and not two. Perhaps he would be able to escape after all.
The caravan pulled into a town where many of the homes were made of stone. It had a secure feel about it. Garinor could see patrolmen on the streets, keeping tabs on things. He tightened up his persona of Bogren while the driver guided the caravan into a storehouse on the northern edge of town.
It didn’t take long for them to unload some crates and reload others. Garinor noticed there were three other long crates, one of which had a carved insignia on it, that the townsman was trying to get the caravan to take, but the driver was adamant that they weren’t heading toward the castle on this trip and another wagon would be by in about two days for the rest of those deliveries.
At last, they were on the road again, heading northwest toward Fellanin. With his cover blown, Garinor was able to enjoy the ride much more now. He didn’t feel the need to mock the comedic stories being shared between the caravan men, and in fact he was more than happy to laugh along with them. Even the man whose arm had been slashed in the fight against Dascal was sharing other woeful tales where he was either chased out of taverns or falling down flights of stairs.
They reached Fellanin by nightfall. The caravan was settled in a locked storeroom for the night and the others split up to find places to stay or the local taverns. They each wished Garinor well on his journey, but acknowledged that they could offer him no more assistance now. If they were spotted with him, they would need to report everything they knew.
Garinor was sad to part with them, but it firmed his resolve. He found a place to shed his extra layers of clothes, but he kept the short sword with him. It felt uncomfortable in his hands, despite the countless hours he and his friends had dreamed of having their own swords one day. He wasn’t ready for this to be that day, but he couldn’t discard the weapon either.
All that remained now was for him to find a place to catch some sleep so he could continue toward the castle fully rested.