They remained with the free traders until the wagons rolled up to the market square of Wellspring Holt. A thriving town populated by merchant farmers who dealt mostly in produce and livestock, it welcomed the caravan with its stock of unique goods obtained from the hinterland garrisons where free traders met and traded with each other in spices and dyes, wool and silk thread, copper jewelry and painted pottery. All of it was paid for via barter or the exchange of silver from the Savatar silver mines protected behind the legendary Fire Veil.
They had arrived during the height of the weekly market day, and people crowded the streets. Vendor stalls lined the main avenue and stretched into the side lanes radiating from the town square like the spokes of a wheel. Judging by the numerous shouted greetings and the large group of townspeople surrounding the wagons, Hamod and his folk were popular in Wellspring Holt.
Azarion walked next to one of the slow-rolling wagons, Gilene beside him. He held her hand, and to any who glanced their way, the two seemed like nothing more than an affectionate couple. None could see her fingers curled like a fist in his palm or that her nails carved half-moons into the skin there.
“You may as well give up,” he said close to her ear. “I’m not letting you walk freely. Not in this crowd.” She hissed at him and carved deeper.
He’d be a fool to take his hand off her; she would bolt the second he did. When she wasn’t throwing glares that threatened to flay him, her eyes traveled over the crowd, pausing to stare at the various gates leading into and out of the town, the small alleyways that disappeared into the cluster of buildings away from the teeming town square. She watched, noted, measured—hunting for the best avenue of escape, waiting for the right moment to take it.
He lengthened his stride, tugging her with him as they shouldered through the crowd to reach the lead wagon. Hamod rode as passenger, calling out greetings to various vendors as his driver, a woman named Ona, guided the oxen pulling the wagon through the street.
The caravan leader glanced down from his high perch, his stern features for once almost jolly. “Valdan, you’re welcome to camp with us another night.”
As much as Azarion wanted to say yes, it wasn’t to be. The free traders had been generous with him and Gilene, offering food, shelter, and nursing. The knife and crossbow Hamod took in trade paid for Halani’s care of Gilene but not much else. Azarion made certain his hunting skills and help with the wagons took care of the difference and bought both time to recover from injuries and distance from the Empire. They hadn’t come across any more tracking parties while they traveled. Such might have been luck, Agna’s blessing, or Hamod’s own wish not to be noticed by scouts working on the Empire’s behalf. He had his own secrets to keep, and that need for covertness played into Azarion’s wish to remain hidden.
He shook his head. “Our thanks, but we’re off to find lodgings with a cousin.” The lie fell as smoothly from his lips as all the others before it. “Gilene and I are grateful for your help. May the knife stay sharp and bow shoot true.”
Hamod and Asil each raised a hand in farewell. Gilene dragged her feet as Azarion guided her away from the wagon and into the crowd. “I want to tell Halani and Asil goodbye!”
A troop of Kraelian soldiers marched toward the square from one of the offshoot streets. Azarion hunched to make himself smaller and bowed his head. The beard he let grow over the past week obscured half his face, but he was a tall man, taller than most, and men of great height were always noticed by others.
“You said your goodbyes yesterday,” he muttered, and yanked her into a doorway. The troop marched ever closer. Azarion crammed himself and Gilene into the shallow space, positioning them in such a way that his back was mostly to the street while Gilene faced it. He cupped her face between his hands, glimpsed the shocked expression that widened her eyes and made her lips part, and kissed her.
As kisses went, this was a shambles of one—nothing more than the pressing of lips back against teeth. Azarion trapped Gilene in the unyielding cage of his arms and watched the soldiers from the corner of one slitted eye. Except for a few amused snorts, they ignored the passionately entwined pair in the doorway and continued their way through the square toward the main gate.
The moment they were out of sight, Azarion broke the kiss and dodged the slap Gilene attempted to deliver.
“I don’t care that there are Kraelian troops prowling the streets. Never do that again,” she said, the words almost garbled by the snarling fury in her voice. Had he still carried his knife, no doubt she would have tried to use it against him.
He kept a wary eye on her hands. “Woman, your value to me doesn’t sit behind your lips or between your legs.” Her fury lessened a fraction at his words. “We need to get out of Wellspring Holt with two horses and a day’s worth of supplies. Horses withoutarmy brands on their hindquarters. There’s bound to be a nearby stable with the like for the taking.”
Gilene’s gaze lit with another fire, one of calculation. “Take one horse and go your way. Whether or not the Empire gets you back is of no concern to me. You’ll reach the Stara Dragana a lot faster if you go alone.”
He shook his head, amusement blending with his exasperation. “You’re valuable enough to make it worth the effort and the delay,Agacin.”
“If you’re caught because you’re too slow, all your plans with me at their center will be for nothing.”
“We won’t get caught.”
Her upper lip lifted the tiniest fraction in a faint sneer. “Iwon’t.I’mnot the one running from the Empire.”
With the threat of killing the caravan folk no longer an issue once they had parted ways, she was back to fighting him and doing so even harder now that her burns were healed and she felt better. Azarion scowled. “You think so? You, more than many, know of the Empire’s mercies. Do you really think they’ll believe their Gladius Prime decided to take a woman on a whim during his escape? They’ll think you helped me.I will tell them you helped me.”
She paled at his words, the rebellion that flared in her eyes burning out. Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned back against the sliver of wall where it edged the closed door behind her back. “Let me go.”
“Not yet.”
With the most fragile of truces between them, they left the shelter of the doorway to merge once more with the milling crowd. Azarion kept a grip on Gilene’s arm, though she offered no resistance to his touch this time. Her head was bowed, shouldersslumped. Hamod’s caravan was nowhere to be seen, but it wasn’t the traders Azarion searched for as he and Gilene navigated their way through a sea of people.
Every town the size of Wellspring Holt had a public stable yard—a place where visitors to the town could leave their horses for a few hours or a night while they visited or shopped or did business. The stable offered a variety of services at escalating prices, from a spot at a hitching post to a full grooming by a team of stableboys.
He spotted a group of a half dozen mounted men—scholars and monks instead of soldiers—and followed them as they rode through the town at a casual pace. Gilene remained silent, even when Azarion picked up their pace to keep up. He paused when the stable yard came into view around the corner of a bustling tavern.
Horses crowded the space, tied to hitches or placed in stalls, depending on their owners’ means. Grooms wove in and out of the lines of their equine charges, some hauling water, others hay or feed, and still others carrying saddles and tack or grooming tools.
From his vantage point, Azarion had a clear view of several of the animals, many of them lacking the brand that marked them as army ponies. There were a number to choose from, but his gaze settled on two that looked sturdy and quick.
He pulled the silent Gilene along with him, circling the perimeter of the yard in a meandering path, pretending to find the contents of some of the vendor stalls nearby interesting enough to stop and take a look. Always his eyes shifted back to the yard, noting the entrance in one corner, the two exits at opposite ends, and the door by which the grooms came and went to the stable and where the three guards who were paid to watch that no one made off with the horseflesh had set up their sentry.
