They entered Wartle on the third day of travel.

  Wheels sank in the muddy road. It was only due to the Lighten Object enchantment that the wagon didn’t get mired down. To the south, the Mushfens sprawled beyond the Yondabakari River. To the north, a separate river drained Ember Lake into the Yondabakari, with the result that much of Wartle was built on stilts.

  Passing through the town, such as it was, Arlo found himself grateful for what little comfort they could provide. The last three days had been nothing but nonstop rain — even with his Cloak of Resistance, the amurrun felt he’d never be dry again.

  His body morphed as they approached the town. Taking the form of an aiuvarin similar in appearance to Coradiel, Arlo relaxed into the agreed upon role of Coradiel’s brother. He wasn’t planning on having sex with Coradiel — in fact, the two had been hands off since the first morning after leaving Magnimar. Playing up being Coradiel’s brother wouldn’t be too difficult.

  The cart clattered over dirt-covered cobblestones. Stopping for directions, Coradiel led the horses toward a ramshackle tavern that looked like it could fall over any day. Arlo wasn’t too sure about staying here, but they had little choice — even Shalelu had threatened to riot if they had to stay in the hut one more night.

  Arlo hopped out of the wagon as they came to a stop. He left Coradiel to handle the details of their lodging while he wandered off to find a market.

  Pickings were slim. Tubers, cattails, seeds — he did find a few pieces of salted goat meat, but the owner of the store he visited warned that most meat coming up from Magnimar was stored for winter and rarely sold. Arlo bought what he could, picking up a few cattails as well. He well remembered the nutty cucumber-like taste of cattails. Unless…

  “[Prestidigitation].”

  Arlo bit into the stalk of a cattail. Instead of cucumber, his mouth flooded with the taste of melted ice cream. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he almost collapsed to his knees at the blessed taste, a taste he hadn’t had in years. There’d never been money for the dessert, and even when there had, he hadn’t been allowed more than a spoonful.

  Now he could have as much as he wanted, and it would be healthy too. No one could stop him from [Prestidigitating] every bit of food he came across.

  Gulping down the stalk, Arlo turned to the fluff. A quick [Spark] spell burned the fluff away, and the amurrun turned on the seeds hidden within. By the time he reached the Lean-To Tavern, the first cattail was gone, and he had to restrain himself from eating a second.

  Arlo dropped the produce into their wagon, storing it in the small barrel that held the rest of their foodstuffs. Stepping back, the amurrun set a tiny bell on the wagon, threading a silver wire through it.

  “[Alarm].” He cast the spell, mentally fixing a password in his mind. Secure in the knowledge that Tsuto would not be able to steal their food tonight — and he was ninety percent positive the archer would try something tonight — Arlo headed into the tavern, sighing in relief at the warm, dry interior.

  The smells hit him all at once. Someone was cooking something freshly caught. Blood and offal filled the air, mixing with the smoke of a hearthfire in the corner of the small tavern. Dim candlelight fought a losing battle against the darkness. In the middle of the room, along a trestle table, the four members of his group sat waiting for him.

  “Food’s taken care of,” Arlo muttered, dropping into a seat.

  He saw an unstrung bow in a quiver on Tsuto’s back. Now that he was armed, Arlo didn’t doubt he’d be trying to break free. If not now, sometime shortly in the future.

  “The horses are stabled for the night,” Shalelu added, “and we’ve replenished our other supplies.”

  Like supplies for a convict. Not that Coradiel hadn’t done the same with Orik. Arlo shrugged, looking around the room. He could hear the quiet patter of rain on the roof, just barely drowning out the hiss of wood in the fireplace. A set of bedrolls lay beside the hearth, warming up. Arlo counted one for each of them. A small scoff escaped him — how was this better than their hut?

  Through a doorway, light flickered and broth bubbled. The smell of blood faded, replaced with boiling vegetables and meat. Arlo sniffed the air — some kind of shrew? Maybe a muskrat? He couldn’t tell for sure, but it didn’t sound appetising. It was food, he’d eat it, probably flavour it to something else. But he didn’t have to be happy about it.

  Conversation lulled. Arlo wondered if he hadn’t killed it. Was he supposed to say something? They’d not been exactly quiet on the road; what more was there to talk about?

  “I hope you were able to get some meats,” Orik said suddenly. “It’s been too long since I’ve had a proper roast.”

  “It’s going to be longer,” Arlo said. “Their meat comes from Magnimar. Best I could do was a few tough pieces of goat.”

  Even that had been picked over. Maybe if they’d gotten to town earlier in the day it would have been better, but somehow Arlo doubted that. Winter was always the time people tightened their belts. He doubted even a world where the wealthy could just summon food on demand would be any different for the poor who couldn’t afford a pocket cleric. Would a town this small even have a cleric? It was smaller than Sandpoint; barely a dot on the map.

  Speaking of maps….

  Arlo pulled out an old map of Varisia. He found Magnimar after a few minutes’ search, then followed the Yondabakari River eastward until he found Ember Lake. Following the river further east, the amurrun stopped on another dot.

  “Whistledown is two days away,” he said, folding the map again.

  Orik groaned at the news, but no one else seemed surprised. Arlo had a sneaking suspicion the others had peeked at his map when he wasn’t looking. Not that it mattered much; they were all on the same team. Mostly.

  A large man set several wooden platters before them, filled with a stew of some sort. Arlo thanked him quietly before taking a bite. The meat was almost fishy in a way. He got a hint of metal from the soft flesh he chewed. Definitely not his favourite flavour. A quick [Prestidigitation] took care of that, giving the meat a beefy flavour instead. The tubers he bit into weren’t much better, but then he’d never been a fan of greens. Arlo doubted that would have changed any.

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  He got through dinner quickly, stacking plates as the others emptied theirs. It got some strange looks from Orik and Shalelu, but Arlo didn’t care. Retiring to his bedroll, the amurrun touched his tattoo.

  “[Keep Watch].”

  “Arlo.” He glanced up at Coradiel. The paladin knelt down, disappointment heavy in his eyes. “Sleep. You do not need to be on watch. What could harm us tonight?”

  Arlo jerked a thumb toward Tsuto, who was already tucked inside one of the bedrolls. The archer seemed soundly asleep. Arlo was convinced that could change at a moment’s notice.

  “Then let me take watch tonight,” Coradiel said. “You haven’t slept in days, Arlo. It cannot be healthy for you.”

  “I can’t cast anymore.” Arlo dragged his bed closer to the fire, giving him light to read by. His copy of Varisian Bestiary was getting a good workout; he read it night and day. There was little else to do. Not that Arlo was complaining; a nice, long wagon ride was bliss after all they’d been through.

  “If you cast, you’ll break your own spell and need to sleep,” Coradiel pointed out. “Cast it on me, and I’ll stand watch tonight. Please. I need you to sleep, Arlo.”

  Reluctantly, Arlo replaced his book with his spellbook. An ear-marked page took him to the spell he needed, and the amurrun set a hand on Coradiel.

  “[Keep Watch].”

  Instantly, fatigue washed over him. He yawned widely as he tucked his books away. Coradiel smiled at the sight and turned away.

  “[Keep Watch].”

  The spell was cast before the paladin could protest. Arlo noted with interest that casting the same spell twice in a row seemed to double the cost — only two points in this case, but he needed to be careful in the future.

  “Seriously?” Coradiel scowled at the amurrun, who shrugged.

  “Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

  Someone rustled. Arlo glanced up from his musket. The metal gleamed in the low light, made perfectly clean by three nights of polishing. Yet the amurrun rubbed on; it gave him something to do when reading became a chore.

  A candle beside him told the tale of seven hours; he still had one to go before he could work on some crafting. Beside him, Coradiel worked on a self-appointed task, trying to see if casually copying a thick tome by hand would interfere with the spell Arlo cast.

  And Tsuto was sitting up in his bedroll.

  That was nothing new; Arlo had noticed the archer was an early riser. But things were different now. The aiuvarin had a weapon of his own. He was no longer helpless against Arlo. To complicate things even further, Coradiel had asked Arlo to enchant Tsuto’s new bow — he said the aiuvarin would need all the help he could get when going against the creatures the Black Arrows hunted. Arlo had agreed, but stipulated that he’d only start working on the enchantment when they reached Turtleback Ferry.

  He doubted the wait would faze Tsuto. The archer was probably perfectly happy to escape with a mundane bow on his back.

  Though this was about the worst place to escape to.

  “Where are you going?” Arlo demanded as the aiuvarin stood.

  “Out,” Tsuto grunted.

  “Coradiel?”

  Beside him, Coradiel sighed. He set his pen aside. Topaz eyes stared at Arlo in annoyance.

  “At some point we’ll have to start trusting him.”

  “This is not that point.”

  Tsuto drew closer to the door. Coradiel crossed his arms, daring Arlo to chase the other half-elf down.

  “Fine,” Arlo grumbled, turning back to his musket. His hand wandered to his Beneficial Bandolier, fingers tracing over a pouch. Tsuto left the building, his bow in tow. A minute later, Arlo heard a soft ping in his mind.

  Sighing, the amurrun loaded his musket.

  “What… what are you doing?!” Coradiel hissed.

  Arlo pulled the hammer back with a click.

  “Taking out the trash.”

  “What?!”

  The amurrun strode from the tavern, sweeping his musket around. He found their wagon easily — it was the one with the aiuvarin holding a flaming torch to it.

  “Smart plan,” Arlo called out. “Burn a wagon that’s been sitting in the rain for three days.”

  “Stay back!” Tsuto snapped, dropping the torch into the wagon. The aiuvarin reached around, pulling out his unstrung bow.

  “Gladly,” Arlo said, raising his musket. “There are two ways this will go. One, you put out that torch, and we continue to Fort Rannick like normal. Two, I blow out your kneecaps and you go to Fort Rannick as a cripple.”

  “Arlo!” Coradiel snapped.

  “You have to the count of three. One.”

  Tsuto stared daggers at the amurrun. But he dropped the bow and picked up the sputtering torch. Throwing it to the side, the three listened to the torch hiss in the mud.

  Arlo opened the frizzen and dumped out the priming powder. Pressing his thumb to the hammer, he pulled the trigger and slowly lowered the hammer. With the weapon half-cocked, he motioned for Tsuto to go back inside.

  “And that is why I stay awake,” the amurrun muttered at Coradiel.

  Nothing was said of the night raid the next morning. Arlo cleaned out his musket with a [Prestidigitation], ignoring the death glares from Tsuto. Round one had gone to him. The amurrun didn’t doubt there would be more attempts. He’d have to be more alert; Coradiel obviously wasn’t up to the task of guarding two convicts.

  Breakfast was rewarmed stew. Arlo ate his fill — they wouldn’t have food like this for a couple more days. It still tasted awful, but he’d learned long ago to eat what he’d been given.

  They left early. For once, the rain had stopped, giving an almost pleasant start to the day. The wagon rolled slowly behind Jack and Diane, the horses clomped down the mud-strewn street, and they left Wartle behind them.

  The Mushfens stretched out around them. Sedge seas covered the Yondabaraki from view. The only sign they were going the right way was a narrow trail of slick dirt and the compass in Arlo’s hand. Insects swarmed around them, air fogged before them, and a deep chill settled over the group the further they travelled from Wartle.

  Gone was the idle chat of the past three days. An uneasy silence took its place, leaving Arlo with too much time to think. Someday, he would have to explain to Coradiel that sleep was dangerous. That when he closed his eyes, he saw a bright green flash and then nothing. That he heard undead snarling in the night, and it kept him from sleeping at all. The tattoo on his back was the only thing keeping him sane.

  Coradiel didn’t see any of that. He’d said it himself, his god made him fearless. Did he even remember what it was like to be afraid?

  Someday, Arlo would explain everything. But not today.

  And the wagon rolled on, forging its path down the Yondabakari, sweeping through overgrown grasses. All the while, the passengers groaned and fought with insects trying to bite them.