Heric nodded.

It was the same bag he had given Burha. The contents were intact. He felt the tension leave him. He was glad to have it back in his possession. It wasn’t crucial, but it would help alleviate some of the issues they might face. Presuming they ever reached Wombourne.

Orwic had led them down into the basement of the inn. Surprisingly despite the racket they had made. there was nobody awake. In the far corner, behind a row of large ale barrels a pile of belongings had been hastily dumped. They were odds and ends mainly, probably left behind by former guests.

It took him only a moment to find the bag. The corner peeked out from under a sack of clothing, which lay on top.

“This is it,” Heric confirmed.

“What’s in it?” Orwic asked.

“You didn’t look?” Heric asked, as he slung the strap across his shoulder.

Orwic shook his head.

Heric detected a hint of regret in Orwic’s expression. “

“Is any of this stuff Burha’s?” Heric asked.

Orwic lowered his gaze to the floor and shrugged.

“Either it is or it isn’t.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have a good look. They cleared out her room once she disappeared. Needed it for all the bargemen staying. At least they gave me a refund,” Orwic said with a nervous laugh, then continued. “I found this snooping around one night. There’s not much to do stuck in an inn.”

“But you remembered the bag?”

“Yes. It’s nice. I was thinking of nabbing it for myself,” he said with a cackle. “What’s inside? ”

“That’s none of your concern,” Heric said. “Do you wish to leave with us or stay?”

“I want to leave.”

“Then lets go.” Heric said, signalling to Ganthe. He waited near the stairs, ensuring they weren’t disturbed.

“I can’t just up and leave.”

“Why not?”

“As I said. The innkeeper is a friend. I owe him money.”

“So leave it on the bar.”

“I haven’t got it. Burha had the money. Plus all my stuff is upstairs.”

Heric thought for a moment then nodded. “Very well. Upstairs. Grab your gear and we’re gone.” Heric called across to Ganthe, “You go with him.”

“I can go by myself,” Orwic complained.

“Ganthe can help carry your stuff. Go on. Go.”

Ganthe fiddled.

Orwic was taking too long, scrabbling on the floor under the bed retrieving all his clothes. He held up a sleeveless woollen tunic that was several sizes too small for him. He glanced at Ganthe, laughing nervously again, as he tossed the tunic away, then continued his search.

Ganthe’s gaze went to the barrels in the corner.

“How’s the wine here?” he asked absently.

“Oh, marvellous,” Orwic said, sitting back on his haunches. “There’s a vineyard a few leagues north-west they get it from.”

“Less talking, more packing,” Ganthe urged, gesturing with his knife.

Orwic screwed up his face, but resumed searching. “How long have you known Heric?” he asked.

“A while.”

“The wars?” He glanced at Ganthe, “Both?”

Ganthe nodded. He saw no reason to feed him this man any information beyond what he already knew or could work out for himself.

“You look a little young. It’s hard to tell with the beard and the hair. Did you see much action?”

“Too much.”

“Really? I was lucky. I was a sailor before. We were out east, Far east. Got stuck at Taachua. You ever heard of there? No, of course not. The harbour was frozen over for nearly a year. We couldn’t move. Lucky to save the ship. By the time I got back, one war was over and another was half-way through. Ended up working for Rido. Do you know him?”

“What’s taking so long?”

“I can’t find my knife,” Orwic said.

“Forget it. You won’t need it.”

“I’ve got to have my knife,” Orwic protested. “I take it everywhere. I feel naked without it.”

“Up. Move. Or we’re leaving without you.”

“Just give me a moment,” he said, standing. He tossed a few items into the sack in the bed. “Hey, once this is over, you should come work for Rido. He’s always looking for good men that can handle themselves.”

“I’m going,” Ganthe said, and opened the door.

“Wait!” Orwic protested. “Where are we going? What’s the mission?”

“We’re on a mission from The Gods,” he said flashing Orwic a grin. “Don’t you know, we’re the Chosen Ones.“

Ganthe left, Orwic scrambling after him.

Heric heard movement on the stairs. He moved towards them, the bandit’s sword already released from its worn, leather scabbard.

As soon as he saw Ganthe, he said, “Hurry.”

“What’s wrong?” Ganthe asked, then turned to hurry Orwic along.

“Trouble.” Heric said. He had heard shouts outside, followed by running footsteps upon the dirt road. Through the window he’d seen figures approaching. “Out the back. ”

“Where are we going?” Orwic protested, but Ganthe grabbed his tunic and pushed him toward the rear of the inn.

Heric glanced once more out the window. The figures, identifiable as bandits now, were still a little way off, but if they ran, that distance would close rapidly. So far they were still striding forth with purpose. Heric didn’t want to remain around to find out what that purpose was. He turned and followed Ganthe into the kitchen area.

At the back door, Orwic had stopped, clasping his bag to his chest. He pleaded with Heric, “I don’t want to die.”

“Neither do we,” Heric said.

Ganthe smiled maliciously, gesturing with his knife at the door, “Move.” he said, lowly.

Orwic took the hint, and opened the door.

As they ran across the small courtyard behind the inn, they heard heavy boots running, off to their left. The wind was up and Heric could hear the constant drumming of heavy rain falling. Yet the sky was clear overhead.

He called for them to head right, into an arcade cutting through the northern cluster of buildings. He could see a narrow lane on the other side.

Orwic stopped within the arcade, refusing to enter the lane. He was wide-eyed, his movements agitated.

Ganthe tried to prompting him forward, but Heric pushed his way passed both of them. He peeked along both lengths. Both were empty, although he could hear the sounds of shouts from the right.

“Left. Slow and steady,” he told Orwic. “Just walk. We’re supposed to be here.”

“I’m not going out there.”

“Then we’ll leave you behind.”

“I don’t care!” he cried. “Can’t you hear it?”

A series of popping sounds echoed across the town, followed by a cheer. Down the lane, Heric saw movement in the sky. A swirl of flame suddenly erupted about it, revealing a figure flying somewhere near the northern gate. It wasn’t rain he had heard. It was fire.

“Stuska the Witch is hunting.”