Chapter 47

It was late afternoon when they reached a road. An actual road. With wagon ruts and horse droppings. And people! Just the occasional person so far. But actual people!

“Keep your hood low,” Lilitha told Clara. Nobody could know that they were only girls so far away from town. Bandits. Rapists. Thieves. Everybody would view them as a target.

Clara drew her hood over her head.

Lilitha tried not to hobble, but she was still sore from her miscarriage—and tired. So very tired. Emotionally and physically. All she wanted to do was find a nice soft bed, collapse into it, and never wake up.

Soon, the rare person turned into the occasional person, then one of some. More were moving in groups or families. Some were pulling wagons themselves or were rich enough to have a donkey or even a horse. It was a hot, sunny day, the road hard and dry as it crunched beneath their feet.

A troupe of gypsies drew their attention. They sang and laughed and danced, their bells and chimes clashing together, their colorful caravans and donkeys carving a straight path through the crowd, forcing slower travelers out of their way. People shouted and cursed at them, but they grinned and laughed and waved their hands.

“I’ve never seen a gypsy before,” Clara said in awe.

Lilitha’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of a familiar call, “Make way for the Champions of God!”

Grabbing Clara’s wrist, Lilitha steered her toward the edge of the road, head bowed.

They were a big group, more than a dozen, resplendent in their red and gold uniforms, their scabbards gleaming in the red glow of the setting sun. Like most of the crowd, they were traveling east, toward Mainstry. Instinctively, Lilitha searched for Mandalay’s telltale golden hair. She didn’t find him, of course, having been slaughtered by Mateus or Damon on that terrible night.

“Gypsy scum,” one of the Champions spat to his companion, glaring at the wagons.

They passed through farmland. Fields of rushes and crops swayed in the breeze. The scent of livestock and freshly cut hay was thick on the air. The forest was utterly gone. It was like a new world.

It was another four hours and late into the night before they reached the outskirts of town. They were alone except for an old man pulling a cart with an injured woman moaning in the back. The rest of the travelers had pulled away long ago.

They were met by a tall stone wall encircling Mainstry’s perimeter, broken and crumbling, a remnant of a past long gone when the three great towns used to war with each other, before the Church had taken over and peace had fallen.

Beyond the wall, the town was a warren of tall stone buildings built close together and often on top of one another. The girls looked around them in wonder. It was nothing like Norfolk, which was spread out and sprawling and mostly filled with stalls and mud-brick shacks. A bright half-moon cast it all in iridescent light. Stars twinkled.

Lilitha could barely keep her eyes open, Clara holding her around the waist as they walked, careful to keep to the shadows. The roads were firm and dry and properly paved. Though still dirty, the town was a far different place to the filthy boardwalks of Norfolk.

Nevertheless, Lilitha wrinkled her nose at the stink, unused to the smell of a big settlement after so long in the forest. An occasional wagon rumbled by, and other than a man steering a disgruntled ox, few roamed. Tired buildings with their surprising number of glass windows eyed them drowsily.

They passed several inns, and Lilitha could only wonder at her stupidity. They didn’t have any money, not a single coin. What hope did they have of bedding down for the night? They began searching for some place they could sneak into and hide, a hay shed or even a stable, somewhere soft and out of sight, but everything was inhabited or locked up tight.

There was the sound of laughter and noise in the distance, and they soon came upon a district crawling with activity. They sidled along in the shadows. There were people everywhere, drunk and stumbling, their shouting and cackling echoing down the street. Taverns and brothels blazed with light.

They stepped around a comatose man lying face-down on the pavement in a pool of vomit. A drunken man and a bare-breasted woman with smeared lipstick roared with laughter as they passed the girls by. A group of men seated across the street howled and taunted them.

“That’s disgusting,” Clara said as they passed a man with his pants down, taking a dump in the middle of the street.

A man and woman were rutting up against a building ahead, his face pressed into her dark, curly hair, her red skirts bunched at her waist. Lilitha looked over at the scent of blood to find a pack of hounds eating something dead in the gutter.

She stumbled with a gasp as she tried to step out of the way of an angry-looking man marching up their route who was muttering to himself. He knocked her sideways. Slipping out of Clara’s grasp, she hit the ground and her hood fell back. There were catcalls and hooting from the group of men across the street.

“Hey, hey, hey! Look over there! It’s a copperhead!”

Lilitha yanked her hood back over her head and sprang to her feet.

“Where are you going, lovely? Don’t go! Let us sample a taste.”

She looked back, and to her horror, found them wending their way after them.

“Hurry!” Lilitha hissed.

They fled the district and entered the darkened streets at a run. They turned a corner and began pounding on every residence they passed. A door opened, and they barged inside, slamming it shut behind them. They peered through the window, ducking when the group of men appeared on the street. With a shout and a gesture, the greasy-haired leader led his friends away, and they vanished into the night.

“Ninety saffrons for one night’s lodging,” came a growl.

Lilitha drew her hood farther over her fringe. A large man with a shining bald head stood over them, a lit candle in his fist.

“I’m afraid we have no money, but—”

“No money, no stay.” He threw open the door, the candle sputtering in the wind.

“Wait!” Lilitha turned to Clara. “You still have the compass?”

She nodded and retrieved it from her cloak.

“Will this do?” Lilitha handed it over.

His eyes lit up, then dimmed as he tried to bury his surprise. “Three nights lodging.”

“Three nights? But that’s got to be worth at least a week.”

“Take it or leave it.”

Lilitha glanced through the open door and onto the darkened street. “Five nights, including breakfast every morning.”

“Done.” He tucked the compass into his pocket and slammed the door shut.