Chapter 5

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"Karrowyn isn't at all like Quartz Hills or Chesserton."

"Elaborate," Colin said, eyes focused on the road ahead.

"Hmmm... Well, it's close to the Capital and the central provinces, but life seems to be more difficult here."

"In what way?" prompted Emalynn's mentor as he maneuvered Gertha (the mare) and the cart unsteadily around a rather large pothole.

"Well, so far all we have seen are sheep farmers and fishermen and traveling merchants. I get the feeling," Emalynn mused, "that how they get money is rather limited."

"Good observation. Anything else?"

"The people here are less friendly and a little suspicious. I guess it's because the province is less protected from any visitors who come over the sea, so they have had to be on guard for much of their lives." Emalynn's eyes roved over the grey-green hills to the north which melted slowly away into a barren scree of rock and shrubs. To the south, the dying grass ended in rocky cliffs or at the edges of stony beaches. "Father said that climate and geography can effect a culture. I suppose Karrowyn is a great example of that. Since it isn't as easy to support life in this province, the people are more careful, more guarded and more tough... Are all outer provinces like this, I wonder?"

"Deep down, the people of the outer provinces aren't so bad," Colin smiled at the young girl. "Remember your friend?"

"My friend?" Emalynn blinked confused.

"Chrystyna," Colin said.

"Oh. She's," Emalynn paused, thought for a second before admitting: "She's not my friend. Not really. Besides, I get the feeling Chrystyna isn't... well, normal."

"That," Colin agreed, "is true."

"You said we'd arrive at Tawyrs tonight?" Emalynn asked.

"Tired of haystacks and hard grass and the cart?"

"There was that one bed we got from the farmer's wife."

"You mean, 'you got'," Colin pointed out. "I wasn't allowed in the house!"

Emalynn, glancing up her mentor who looked more amused than put out, rolled her eyes. No longer the confident groomed assassin she had first met. Dirt, grime, and sweat had long since discolored his plain clothing. Colin's hair, now unbrushed for two days, looked like a tangled mane. Along his chin scruff had begun to grow longer, giving the man something almost a beard but not quite. Still, Colin Shermore carried with him a raffish, devil-may-care air which Emalynn couldn't help but admire. A peddler he may have become, Emalynn thought, but there's a reason why he is able to sell off all the merchandise we have. No farm wife is safe from him.

"Tonight, you'll have a bed," Emalynn pointed out.

"If the roads allow," Colin reminded Emalynn. "If we don't break another wheel. If the next few farms go smoothly. If the fine weather holds. There are many variables. Best not get your hope up."

"I won't."

"Hm."

With that, Colin flicked the reins again and their brown mare broke into a jog for a short while before slowing down yet again. Emalynn frowned at the back of the horse's head. We're on a mission, lazy legs, she told the horse. Get a move on already!

When the two novice peddlers arrived in Tawyrs late in the evening, it had begun to pour. As the horse made its way past the main gate and the two guards, who had only cursorily checked their papers and the cart, Emalynn felt relieved that within the half hour the two of them would be safe within an inn, warm and cozy and dry.

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