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Fronek had lit a small fire in the hearth of broken down farmhouse. It snapped and popped merrily under his expert hands, casting its light and warmth into their makeshift shelter. He was soaking the last of the dried venison they had brought with them in a pot filled with stream water and wild onion greens. He carefully sliced a handful of tubers into the mix, and then followed those with a few finely diced pearapples. Then he hung the pot on a metal hook in the back of the hearth and settled down to wait on a rough plank bench that had seen better days.

The shadows in the forest around him all ran together with the coming of dusk. The last light of the setting sun was leaving the upper peaks of the mountains to the north when Devon finally returned to the broken down farmhouse. Fronek could see that he was exhausted, dirty, and nearly frozen. Devon collapsed bonelessly to the ground opposite the mercenary, rubbing his hands briskly before the flames. Fronek retrieved his stew pot from its hook in the hearth with a notched stick and poured two thirds of its contents into a waiting bowl. Wordlessly he handed the bowl to his apprentice and watched the boy eat as he ate his portion from the cooking pot. He saw that color had returned Devon’s cheeks by the time he finished the licking the bowl clean.

“Well, scout. What do you have to report?”

Devon looked up from his slurping, startled momentarily. But he recovered quickly as he handed the empty bowl back to Fronek. “I overheard people talking at the Bazaar about a Factor named Dorian who they think is preparing to leave tomorrow morning. He has four wagons, each with a four lizard draft team waiting on the plain near the end of the village road. He usually trades in wines, but it seems like he’s been trading for different goods this ‘turn. A new wagon train just arrived as well. They sent three messengers into town to talk to Old Max. They’re from Riverton, or most of them are. But they’re not all from the same merchant or factor. There are seven wagons, but only three matched heavy haulers all decked out in blue and white. Each of the large wagons have six lizard draft teams. Then there are three smaller cargo wagons with their own four lizard teams and one really sleek looking one with a two lizard team.”

Fronek narrowed his eyes. “Sleek? How?”

Devon shrugged his shoulders. “Low profile, wide rims, spoked wheels. Looked built for sands, not like the wagons you usually see from the Fertile Plains merchants.”

Fronek nodded. “Hmm. Sounds like a Desert Tribes carrier. But why would they be travelling with the Riverton traders?” Fronek fell silent as he pondered. Then he shook his head briefly. He paused for a moment and looked intently out into the darkness beyond the reach of their small fire. Then he launched into a series of questions intended to flesh out any useful details Devon might have overlooked in his report. A small smile touched the corners of his mouth briefly when Devon described his trip through the interconnected cistern tunnels. The boy was resourceful, that much was clear.

“And did anyone see you?”

Devon hesitated only for a moment before shaking his head. “No one. I was careful.”

Fronek cocked his head to one side. “Are you certain?”

“I… thought maybe Graybeard might have seen something… but he went back into the camp just like the others, so he couldn’t have!”

“Graybeard?”

Devon blushed. “The people in the new wagon train had a raging argument, but I could only hear bits and pieces of it when the breeze came through just right. I couldn’t hear any of their names, so I made some up to remember them, one of them had bushy eyebrows and a fuzzy gray beard over his robes… so I just thought…”

But Fronek had latched onto an earlier phrase Devon had let slip. “Did you say that you heard their voices carried on the breeze?”

“No, not exactly. Well, maybe, I suppose. They were too far away for me to hear clearly, so I think I could only hear them when the breeze died down.”

“And you think this graybeard fellow saw you?”

“No. He couldn’t have. I was hidden in the shadow of a rock pile! It’s just that he hesitated before returning to the camp with everyone else. Like he thought he might have seen something. That’s all.”

“I see. But no one from the village saw you?”

Devon shook his head emphatically. “No. Definitely not.”

Fronek looked out toward the shadow cloaked forest again. “I think some might dispute that claim. Wouldn’t you agree Dirk?”

Devon’s eyes grew round as dinner plates as Dirk’s laughter rolled into their shelter from the darkness under the trees. The brawny mountaineer materialized out of the shadows into the ring of their firelight, shaking his head all the while. “Ah still canna’ catch ye’ sleepin’ Fronek.”

Fronek smiled at Devon’s slack jawed stare. “If anyone could, it would be you old friend.”

“Bah! Who are ye’ callin’ old, ye’ bandit!”

“Fair enough, fair enough. But you haven’t answered my question yet. Devon here claims that no one from the village saw him about his task today. Is he right?”

“Well I saw him, now didn’t I?”

Devon was clearly shocked. “But… how? When did he…?”

Fronek raised his index finger, forestalling any further spluttering. “Dirk spotted you because he is one of the finest scouts and trackers I’ve ever known. He was also waiting for you.”

“Aye, that I was lad. And a hard chase ye’ gave, by the stones!”

“Waiting? You were waiting for…”

Fronek stood with his hands behind his back, watching the realizations crash across Devon’s face. “I told Dirk to help you find me if you asked for help. I also told him to watch for your return to the village and follow you… if he could.”

“Aye, nearly two quints ago ye’ old goat! The lad nearly slipped past!”

“Did he now?”

“Ye’ve trained a tricksy one Fronek. Tha’ water tunnel was right clever lad. Right clever.”

Fronek shrugged. “Then he performed better than I could have hoped.”

Devon looked up at this. “I did? But you said I was not to be seen…”

“I did. But sometimes that’s just not possible. Your first lesson from this exercise: As a scout, know when subtlety will work as well as stealth. Sometimes not being noticed is just as good a not being seen. Your second lesson: As a commander, don’t ask for the flame when just the spark will suffice.”

Devon nodded. Fronek could see that his apprentice was struggling to absorb everything he could. He had learned so much so quickly. But there was much more ahead, and Fronek was running out of time to teach him. He turned to Dirk.

“What can you tell me about this factor Dorian? Is he preparing to leave tomorrow?”

“Oh, aye. He’ll be gone afore the next sundown. Loaded up wi’ wool and ore, he ‘as. An in a right hurry ta’ leave.”

Fronek pursed his lips thoughtfully. “And the new wagon train Devon mentioned? Did you notice anything about them?”

“I dinna’ see the wagons. But the messengers were at the Bazaar. Geoff said one was from a Riverton cloth factor he knew. The lead was no Riverton boy though.”

“No?”

“Too fancy, that ‘un. Could only be a Citadel lad, an’ thas’ the truth.”

Fronek had been afraid of that. The Doormaker’s witch hunt had arrived.

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