“Look alive, Eric. We don’t want you zoning out on patrol.”

Eric snapped to attention, muttering an apology to Sergeant Moran and fixing his gaze on the side of the track. He’d been lost in his thoughts for a bit, contemplating the significance of the mysterious merchant woman knowing his name when he didn’t give it. Only two other figures in Ahya had done that. One had been a god, and one had been an all-knowing servant of that god. So where did she fit in? It was the question he’d asked himself a dozen times over the past few hours, but any possible answers eluded him.

Partly in honor of his good work on the first leg of the journey, and party because of the need to keep the guard alert and fresh, Eric was not in the advance position for the return trip. He walked alongside the first cart directly to the sergeant’s right flank, keeping his eyes peeled for trouble in the tall grass to the sides of the track. Now that he was closer to the side of the road, he could spot the sporadic pits of mud.

“What exactly are these mud pits, Sergeant?” He asked suddenly. “Are we in some kind of swamp? I thought we were in the Gorteau Plains.”

“We are,” The sergeant replied, scanning the horizon lazily as he spoke. “But we’re also in the heart of the Sinking Pits. It’s a small swampy part of the plains, stretching from the coast and leading about a mile to the south. It’s a substantial chunk of the territory in the north, and it’s what protects us from naval attacks on this section of the coast.”

“I see,” Eric said. In a sense, he did understand. “But if Sheran were to fall, then we’d be in trouble?”

“Perhaps,” The sergeant said. “But the bulk of the Tyrman navy is stationed there, so it’s rather tough to take that harbor. And any landing on another section of the northern coast can easily be defended by that same navy launching water-based attacks.”

“What of the eastern or southern coasts?”

Johan, who was a few feet behind, let out a loud laugh. “They’d have a hell of a job getting through the Dagorra Forest. They’d lose most of their army to the druids and beasts that live there.”

“Very true,” Sergeant Moran agreed. “For the western coast, there is the desert to deal with. Sure, we are more vulnerable for the south, but that’s a considerable distance to travel, and our allies would also come from that direction. It is not a wise place to stage a landing.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Eric said with a sigh. “I’m not much for tactics.”

Sergeant Moran waved a hand lazily. “That can be learned. For now, focus on what you already know.”

“Fighting?”

“Fighting.”

The rest of the trip passed without incident, and they reached the northern gate of Milagre just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. They were held up only briefly by the city guard, then escorted Master Rainhall to his proper home, a four-storied mansion placed alongside the Durmeau River, in the heart of the Market District. Such houses were normally reserved for nobles in the Royal District, but Rainhall’s wealth allowed him the exception.

Eric collected his pay from Sergeant Moran, with the promise that they would hire him for next week’s trip if he wanted the job. He agreed immediately, pleased at the idea of regular, if slight income. An agreement reached, he made his slow way through the quiet market for the Heron Tavern. A man working a food stall offered him some food at a discount, but he politely refused, sure that he’d eat better under Mandra’s care.

And eat better he did. No sooner had he entered the taproom and sat at a table than she appeared in front of him, holding a loaded plate of lamb shanks and mashed potatoes. More of his favorite strawberry tea followed it, and he tucked into the meal with gusto, praising her cooking. She smiled widely at him and pinched his cheek, an oddly mother-like action despite the relatively small difference in their ages. He ignored the oddity, too focused on the succulent meat of the lamb.

“Well, you’re alive,” A familiar voice said behind him. Looking up, he somehow wasn’t surprised to see Emma sitting down at the table across from him. “So I hear you joined a guard caravan to Sheran. How’d that go?’

His mouth bulging with mashed potatoes, he offered a slight shrug. She seemed to understand and didn’t question further. She flagged Mandra down and ordered a cup of coffee, then sat watching him eat his dinner. After a few minutes, when the plate was nearly empty, he began to feel a little uncomfortable with the intensity of her stare. Finally beginning to realize that she had something she wanted to discuss, he swallowed the last piece of lamb and wiped his mouth clean.

“Is everything okay?” He asked. “You seem… tense.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve just had a long day is all.”

“Emma.” His tone was stubborn. He hadn’t known her long, but he was good with spotting when someone wasn’t telling the truth. “What is it?”

“Well,” she said slowly, then cast a slightly nervous gaze around the taproom, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “A strange man came to my shop today.”

“Did he threaten you?” Eric’s hand drifted unconsciously toward the hilt of his sword. “Is your father okay?”

She waved both of her hands to hush him, casting another glance around the room. “Pa is fine. The man didn’t threaten me. He just seemed… strange. And he knew about you.”

A strange shiver seemed to travel down Eric’s spine. “He knew me? How?”

“I don’t know. But he came into the shop and asked if I’d seen you lately. I played dumb, as I didn’t recognize him, but he knew that I knew who you were. He asked me to send him a message when you returned to Milagre.”

“He knew that I’d left the city?” Eric asked, an uncomfortable tightness starting to form in his gut. “But how could he, unless he’s part of the Guard’s Guild or Black Hand?”

“I don’t know,” she said, almost frantic. “But he… He scared me, Eric. Not by anything he did or said. Just the… way he was. He seemed powerful, and I didn’t like the look in his eyes.”

Eric considered that quietly, casting a look around the taproom himself now. “But wait. If he wanted you to send him a message, then he must have given you a name. What was it?”

“It was a very strange one,” She said quietly, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “He said his name was Rajlen Korin. Said he had a message for you, from your home. But he didn’t look like a Welsik to me.”

Eric set down his fork with a slightly shaking hand, thinking fast. Apart from Samuel and Arcana, there was no reason for anyone to doubt that he wasn’t from Ahya. According to Samuel, he had an Ahyan body, and he’d been sure to avoid showing any ignorance about the world he inhabited. But if someone was looking for him, someone that could frighten brave Emma, this didn’t bode well.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” he said, just as quietly. “Do you think he means to attack me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” she said. “He had two nasty-looking crossbows on him, and a load of knives. I knew at once that he was a trained killer, but not from Milagre.”

Eric put his head in his hands for a moment, rubbing his eyes with his palms and thinking hard. What could some unknown warrior know about him? Worst yet, what could someone clearly geared for a fight want with him? He was too tired to think straight, he decided. There really was only one course of action that he could take.

“I have to go,” he said suddenly, rising to his feet. “I need to see a friend.”

“What friend?” Emma asked, also rising. “Eric, what are you involved in?”

“I’m not involved with this person,” he said firmly. “But I need to see Samuel and figure out who he is.”

“Samuel? You can’t possibly mean Samuel Bragg, can you?”

“That’s the one,” he said, quickly adjusting his armor to fit him more tightly. He didn’t want to take any risks. “He’ll know who that person is, I’m sure.”

“Since when are you on friendly terms with one of the Archmages?” Emma asked, following him closely as he walked out of the tavern. “I’m serious. What are you involved in?”

“Nothing!” he said, a little louder than he’d intended, making passersby stare. “Sorry. Just please, don’t follow me for now. If someone’s after me, I’m not risking you.”

Just then, a bright patch of color out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned to see what it was. Emma, a basket of herbs hanging off of one arm, was strolling down Queen’s Road, heading deeper into the city towards her shop. She stopped as she saw Eric, and a smile broke across her face. She waved cheerily at him, and started walking over. Stunned, he looked from her to the person behind him.

“Cute,” the Emma near him said. Except that her voice had changed, becoming deeper. “You go so far to protect your identity.”

“Who are you?” He asked, his hand immediately moving to draw his sword.

Before the blade had even come halfway free, the image of Emma in front of him had faded completely. In her place was a tall man with pale hair. Painfully familiar pale hair, he realized. But the last time he’d seen this person, he’d been a concerned father, begging for the safe return of his daughter. Now, he was a deadly-looking warrior, with black leather armor and two long daggers mounted on his belt. More importantly, there was a small hand crossbow held lazily in his grip, pointed at his heart. Then he felt a sharp pinch of pain, and the world faded to black.