It was evening when Antony awoke.
As he made his way downstairs, he saw his men, gathered in the corner, chatting and playing cards. Kade looked up, smiled, and moved over to make a spot for him.
Soon after he had finished the meal of corn and potato chowder, Pierce entered the inn and gestured to Antony and Kade, who retreated to a far table to discuss the events that had lately been taking place around Jurmala.
"Tell us more about the times when you've sent men to pursue the enemy," said Kade, frowning.
"I don't know what else to tell you. We've sent men. They always fail to keep track of them, lose them in the woods. The ones who have been more successful have been injured, or killed. We've really no other information."
Antony frowned at his cup, trying to think through what this might mean. He finally looked up at Pierce.
"Is it too late in the evening to see the men who were injured in the most recent attempt to pursue the looters?"
"No, Sire," confirmed Pierce, and he stood, leading Antony and Kade from the inn and down the street, to the building that served as the hospital.
The stone building seemed cold from the outside, but once they had been admitted entrance, they were ushered into a long, carpeted corridor with pictures hung on either side and sitting rooms off to the side, each with a fire crackling merrily within.
A maid in a simple dress and apron appeared, suddenly, from one of the far rooms and came to stand before them.
"May I help you?" she inquired, her voice soft and somewhat shy.
"I've brought the king and his general."
"Oh..." Her gaze flicked to Antony and Kade, and she curtsied. "Of course. Follow me."
Pierce seemed to have already discussed the possibility of their visiting with the hospital personnel because the maid immediately began walking down a side hallway that Antony had not noticed before. After climbing a short staircase at the end of the hallway, the maid stopped at a wooden door and turned to face them.
"Lord King; General," she said, nodding to each of them in turn. "You'll find the leader of the group in this room."
"Thank you," said Antony, inclining his head to her. She curtsied once more and then disappeared back down the hall, looking back once over her shoulder.
Antony took a step forward and knocked, twice, on the wood surface.
"Come in," he heard a tired voice say.
He glanced at Kade, then the two of them entered.
There was a small fireplace, an armchair, and a bed. In the bed was a man, a man who looked too strong to be in a hospital bed. If it weren't for the bandage swathing his upper chest and right shoulder, he would have looked perfectly healthy.
"Sire," said the invalid, inclining his head. "I was told you might be visiting."
"What is your name?" inquired Antony.
"Butler, Sir. Sergeant Darin Butler."
"I hope we're not disturbing your rest?"
"No, General," he said, turning to answer Kade's question. "To be perfectly honest...I've been very bored, unable to do anything just because an archer's arrow got me at the base of my right shoulder. I feel fine otherwise. It's torture being cooped up here."
"We wanted to ask you what you saw the night you were shot. That is, if you're willing to tell us."
Darin looked from Antony's face to Kade's, before sighing.
"I really thought I might be the one to catch the dratted thieves. They'd robbed our barracks, see. My group of men and I, we had made it farther than anyone had before us, and we still had them in our sights. Then, suddenly...they were gone. I don't know how to explain it. One moment they were there, and the next..." He shrugged. "Then, while we were circling around, trying to find the trail again, we were ambushed. They took us completely by surprise. They had an archer. All I noticed about him was that he was thin...sort of wiry, but his aim was perfect. He killed the two men that died, and injured most of the ones that ended up here." He finished, frowning, his resentment towards the man who put him in this room showing in his eyes.
"Thank you for telling us what you know," said Antony, and Kade nodded. "We appreciate your willingness to talk to us, in hopes that we might be able to do something to quicken the ending of this trouble for Jurmala."
"Thank you, Sire," said the man. "I only hope that my town must not suffer much longer."
Kade and Antony left, Kade closing the door behind them. They stood in silence for a moment, before Kade caught Antony's eye.
"It's not much to go on, is it," said Antony.
Kade hesitated, then shook his head. "Thin? Wiry? I'm sure there's many men in the empire who fit that description and this one obviously doesn't want to be found."
Antony sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "What next?"
"I think we'll stay here a bit...perhaps a week or so. Then we'll go back to King's City. The best we can do is send some reinforcements. Some trained spies maybe." Kade shrugged. "I don't think there's anything else we can do."
Antony was quiet for a few moments, as they started to make their way back down the staircase and to the front hallway.
"It bothers me though. Someone out there is taking great pains to hide themselves. Whatever they're up to...it can't be good."
Sawyer strode down the dirt street, kicking up dust with the toes of his boots and watching the people milling about with eyes narrowed in distaste. The "street" was little more than a lane. It served as the main thoroughfare through the "town" and to the docks, where the boats bobbed on the small waves, the shadows of their masts cast over the tents and wooden houses in sunlight or moonlight like some sort of maleficent prison bars. The "town" was a misnomer for the makeshift huts and hovels lining the lane, their rickety supports giving the impression that they might collapse at any moment. Dotted here and there between the tumbledown dwellings was the flapping white fabric of tents, the places of residence for the least of those living in this hidden island community.
A small, dirty boy ran into the lane in front of Sawyer, chasing a wooden rim, most likely the frame of an old carriage tire. Sawyer glared at the child malevolently, and he gripped the rim close to his chest before scampering away from the tall, scowling man.
"Eddie," he heard the boy's mother hiss, pulling her son close and sheltering him from Sawyer's gaze, watching the archer uneasily until he passed on.
Sawyer continued on, coming to the hut dwelling where he and Spad made their home. It was much better looking than the other dwellings, this due only to Sawyer's commandeering of the best builders on the Island, and the best materials, to build it. The only one with a more elaborate residence than they was Nathan himself.
He whipped open the curtain that served as a temporary door. He frowned. The slowness with which they were replacing the missing door was unacceptable. It wasn't his fault, after all, that were all so slow and stupid. They arroused his temper. It wasn't his fault that he had lost it and kicked in the door.
The small cabin consisted of a main room and one side room, where two small beds served as sleeping places for Sawyer and Spad.
Sawyer now entered the main room to see Spad asleep on the sofa, a makeshift monstrosity formed from old wooden pallets and multiple potato sacks and ratty cushions.
He glared, then walked around to the opposite side of the sofa and shoved Spad off onto the floor, providing the man with a rude awakening from his pleasurable slumber.
"Sawyer..." whined Spad. "I was in the middle of a really great dream..."
"Quit your whining," snapped Sawyer, spitting once onto the dirt floor and rubbing it in with the toe of his boot, thoughtfully.
"Sorry..." muttered Spad, a scowl still on his face.
"Have you heard the rumors?" said Sawyer, showing Spad a rare bit of grace. Usually, when he caught Spad napping, the consequences were much more dire. Spad still bore a black eye from the last time.
"What rumors?"
"The King is in town. Along with his top general."
Spad's eyes took on a malicious glint. "Well? Let's get 'em!"
Sawyer slammed a fist down on the small table, shaking the neatly stacked plates and glasses that Spad had stacked there earlier. "That's what's got me all in a temper this time!" spit Sawyer. "Nathan has forbid me from taking action." He paced back and forth a few times, making wild gestures with his hands. "Two arrows, Spad! One for each, and they'd be dead!"
"Why won't Nathan let you, Sawyer? I know that you wouldn't miss."
"He says we need to think this through. Even if we kill the king, there's still an heir. Isabella. He believes we need to make our move so thoroughly that they're left without an heir and without a general." He slammed his fist on the table once more, for effect.
"What are you going to do about it?" hissed Spad, warming up towards his companion's cause, as usual.
"Wait, I suppose," snapped the archer. "But when the time comes, I'll take great pleasure in putting an arrow through each of the members of the House Westerholme."
"Of course, Sawyer," said Spad. "Your time will come."