Mazzy returned to her room at the lodge, parting from the others without a word. To her relief, the door was still locked.
She pulled out her key from her pack and turned it in the lock. She was well-acquainted with moving in the world of taller folk, but it was always an annoyance to raise her arms to turn a simple doorknob.
She opened the door and went inside. The room was exactly as she and Patrick had left it: tidy, the bulk of their possessions still inside the footlockers, the bedsheets slightly ruffled.
Not bothering to close the door behind her, she briskly walked in, setting her weapons and her pack atop the footlocker on the end of the single wide bed, and lit the lantern on a side table. As the flame grew, the room filled with a faint golden light.
She opened the footlocker and pulled out a small silver ring, clasping it in her tanned fingers. She shut her eyes, and tears filled her throat. Picturing Patrick's face now was like staring at the sun; it almost was too painful for her to see him now, even in her mind's eye. She remembered different pieces of him instead: his infectious laugh, the merriment in his brown eyes, his mellow baritone singing a song half carried away by the wind…
Several tears squeezed from her eyes, and she just as quickly brushed them away again, rapidly blinking, leaning against the bed in the empty room.
She heard footsteps and immediately turned to the door, half-expecting Patrick to walk through. But she paid closer attention, and her heart sank; the steps' cadence was all wrong and much too heavy.
She thought she saw something move in the doorway and called out: "Hello?"
Valygar appeared in the doorway, a framed silhouette; the hood of his deep blue cloak was still pulled over his head.
Mazzy rubbed her face roughly upon her sleeve and put on an amiable face. "Goodman Valygar. I had thought you would return to your home."
"I considered it, then turned around," he said. "Hard for me to rest while these guards are prowling about the town. I can almost sense the trouble under the surface."
"How do you suggest we remedy that?" Mazzy asked.
"I don't know. I thought I'd go and see. I admit I could use another hand with a lighter touch."
Mazzy adjusted her shortsword in its sheath, then reached for her bow. "If that is what you wish, I will join you. I doubt that the Baron's guards are here for anything other than a nefarious purpose."
They left the room, taking care not to disturb the others, practically tiptoeing down the hallway and the stairs, then slipping out the back door while the innkeeper was still checking through his stores in a room away from the bar.
As they gently shut the door behind them, Mazzy turned behind her for a moment, sniffing the air above the threshold. "Call me a halfling if you must," she said, nearly whispering, "but the smell from the kitchen is making me ravenously hungry."
"My brave lass, how could one forget the most charming thing about you?"
The voice belonged to Yoshimo. He had been sitting outside, gazing at the star-filled night sky above them, and he quickly rose to his feet when he saw Valygar and Mazzy.
"Might I ask what such worthy stalwarts are doing, sneaking out armed into a town crawling with guards?" he said.
"If you've got a weapon on you," Valygar replied, "you're welcome to come with us and find out."
Yoshimo reached inside his coat and presented a couple of throwing daggers gleaming in the faint light. "As you say. I never go without."
They retreated into the forest again, the night deepening under the tree boughs. But in comparison to the smothering dark that they had just escaped, the moon and stars made this night seem like only a thin cloak over the day. They wove their way effortlessly through the path that Valygar followed, again ringing around the barely-stirring village.
But after they turned off the path and took several turns, Valygar slowed, then stopped. His ears perked up, and the others remained still, straining to listen to what he heard.
From a distance came the sound of shouts filtered through the budding trees.
Valygar turned aside to a different path, picking up his pace. The others followed behind him without a word.
The three of them wove their way through the woods until they saw a faint golden light glow from a distance.
Here they slowed down, hunching over and staying close to the ground, creeping closer to the edge of a clearing in the forest, where they could observe without being seen.
They came upon what could be best described as an impromptu torchlit trial. One of the guards, a hard-faced man of about forty, was tied to a nearby tree. His halberd and helmet lay broken upon the ground; his blue tabard bearing the Baron's heraldry had nearly been torn from his shoulders; he was bloodied. A ring of angry villagers stood at a distance, shouting accusations and abuse. Yoshimo recognized their leader, who stood as judge — he was the same broad-shouldered young man that had led the mob to the lodge's door — but his name escaped Yoshimo's memory at the moment.
Eina was there, too, practically at the man's elbow, holding a massive hammer. Though this hammer was meant to drive in nails, the stout woman had a look that suggested she'd rather use it on the guard's skull.
The leader turned to the band of a dozen or so ragged people. With a raised voice, he called to them: "What say you?"
The small crowd shouted back an incoherent, angry roar.
Before any members of the Company could react, Moreno's arm darted, and a knife flashed, silver in the golden light.
The guard's head slumped forward, bathing itself in a fountain of blood pouring from his throat.