Jarek handed Satchel a heavy parcel.

  “Food,” he said. He then gave him a cloth roll tied in the middle with a leather strap. “Bedroll.”

  The old thief had been busy ever since their encounter with the bard the previous day. Satchel was certain Jarek had gotten no sleep.

  After Jarek gave Addie similar packages, he started lecturing his pupils about the importance of proper knife care and maintaining physical fitness on the road. Addie complained that she had heard all this before. Jarek’s face reddened and he unleashed more lecturing. At one point, she started complaining again, but a covert nudge from Satchel stopped her.

  Jarek finally finished and said, “Now, the food is divided evenly between us, so be sure to mind your pack. You’ll each need clothes, something for water, and your knives. Anything else is up to you but keep it light. Now, get to it.”

  Satchel went to his room and set about preparing the items he needed. He pulled out an old metal bottle of Jarek’s and knocked the dust off it. It would fit nicely in the side pocket of his pack. The extra set of clothes he found needed mending and washing, but they were in better shape than anything else he had.

  He had woken up twice during the night. The second time, it was from a terrible nightmare involving mandolins and men dressed in white. To push it from his mind, he had started sharpening his knife until fatigue came on once more. He now stared at the knife, feeling its weight in his hand. He remembered when Jarek had given it to him, and the ensuing lecture about taking care of it. He slipped the blade into its sheath, laid it on the bed and resumed packing.

  As he tied the bedroll to the side of the pack, his mind drifted to the events of the previous day. The fight with the bard had been short and intense. He had tried to take the scroll, but why? The stranger in black was another mystery. What stake did he have in this?

  When Jarek returned home in the wee hours of the morning, he hadn’t found any answers to these questions. But, the night had still been productive. Through one of his information channels, he learned of an old contact residing in Leona that might shed some light on the scroll. Leona, as it turned out, was not far out of their way on the road to Brunland. The contact was a man of some means named Basco.

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  A rap at the door interrupted Satchel’s thoughts.

  “Come in,” he said.

  Jarek stepped in, closed the door, and pressed an ear to the wood, listening.

  Satisfied, he turned to Satchel and said, “Listen, boy. If something happens to me, do not let Addie take charge. Get the items to Basco as soon as you can. The girl tends to push you around, but don’t take any of it.”

  “You mean leave her behind?”

  Jarek shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I don’t want her to try to sell them, or worse, take them to the Knight.”

  Satchel was taken aback by Jarek’s words. Sure, Addie could be selfish, but what the old man insinuated was tantamount to betrayal.

  “If you don’t trust her, then why is she coming?”

  “Because she’d follow us on her own anyway. This way I can keep tabs on her.” He leaned closer. “You have to promise me, boy.”

  Satchel chewed his lip for a moment. He then said, “I promise.”

  Jarek’s voice returned to its normal volume and tone as he said, “I see you’re taking good care of your blade.” He picked up Satchel’s knife and twirled it between his long fingers. “Still has good balance.”

  Satchel nodded proudly, surprised by the sudden praise. “Thanks. I just hope it will serve me a long time like yours has.”

  Jarek grabbed the hilt of his knife and looked down at it. “Yes,” he said, “I’ve had this blade for many years. Did I ever tell you how I got this knife?”

  Satchel shook his head.

  “I’ll have to tell you at some point.” Jarek’s eyes seemed to look past his hand as if remembering. Breaking his stare, he said, “Before I forget, here’s your pass for the checkpoint. When we get into Upper Ire, stay close and don’t say a word to anyone, understand? The guards there are little better than the ones here. I’ll let you finish your packing.”

  With that, Jarek left the room. Satchel sheathed his knife, strapped it to his waist, and finished packing his bag. Jarek and Addie awaited him in the kitchen, packs already shouldered.

  After looking over each of them in turn, Jarek nodded, satisfied, and said, “I need to make a few stops on the way out.”

  He opened the front door and Addie and Satchel followed behind. They stopped at different points so that Jarek could clear business and get information from various people. Addie began to grumble until Jarek shot her a nasty look. She stayed quiet and kept on frowning until they finally passed through the checkpoint that led into Upper Ire. As soon as they did, she seemed to lighten up. When Satchel followed in behind her, he saw why.

  He gazed in wonder as he took in the grandeur of the buildings. The sturdy architecture of the houses and guardrooms, the lush plants and flowers of the plazas and courtyards, and the fragrance of expensive herbs and spices were almost too much for him to take in. What astonished Satchel most was that not so much as a discarded paper wrapper or piece of rotted fruit could be seen anywhere.

  Then he noticed that they were getting looks from Upper Ire’s well-dressed citizens. He suddenly became self-conscious of his drab attire. Jarek muttered something to him about not drawing attention, so Satchel kept his head down the rest of the way to the city gates.