The farther Liam traveled toward Glessic, the more his stomach filled with dread. Shouldn’t he at least try first to find some evidence on his behalf that he was innocent? He slowed his pace, sighing. He would have to turn back.
Liam made his camp outside of Chenalieu. The area hadn’t changed much since he had last been there, and the horrors he had seen and done haunted him still. They would always haunt him, he suspected. He found himself unconsciously looking for Jorren in the surrounding area.
Rubbing the scar on his chest, Liam looked away. Jorren wasn’t there—he wouldn’t be there. Even if he had somehow survived that battle, nearly everyone except some of the noblemen in his unit had been killed. It pained him, knowing Jorren had gotten them both assigned to the lord general’s unit only to have both of their lives cut short. Liam hadn’t lost his, but his life would never be the same.
Once his camp was set up, Liam went in search of his dinner. He could find fish in one of the streams easily enough. He pulled out his small rod, which was simply a stick with a line and a hook tied to it. He didn’t need much more for the type of fishing he would do.
He let his mind wander as he waited. Was he doing the right thing, going straight in and looking for evidence? For all he knew, he’d be captured here and returned to Anatalia for his execution.
He sighed heavily. He could start a new life somewhere else with a new name and a new background. He could be a farmer like his father. That had been enough for him—why couldn’t it be enough for Liam?
But he knew.
He knew why it wasn’t enough. Liam’s name and reputation were everything to him, and he couldn’t live with himself without clearing it. And he couldn’t live with himself killing his guards to escape if he wasn’t going to do anything with his second chance.
Liam approached the city of Chenalieau cautiously. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with most people. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing or where he’d find information, but he would still try. He searched for the nearest pub and looked for the area with the most men. He’d found that all military men liked to commiserate with each other over a drink or two.
He let out a single laugh when he saw a group of five men in the corner, with several empty pints between them. There was an empty seat close to the bar that Liam took up. He didn’t want to go straight to their table; that would be suspicious. Liam couldn’t afford suspicious. Not now, not for the rest of his life.
Liam lifted a finger at the barkeep and waited for his pint. He inhaled deeply, rubbing his eyes.
“Ye all right, son?”
Liam looked around, expecting the barkeep to have spoken. When the barkeep pointed behind Liam, he turned around. It was one of the men at the table.
“I’m all right, thanks.”
“D’ye serve?” the bulkiest of the men asked.
“I did,” Liam said hesitantly.
He waved Liam over. “Come sit with us old folk an’ tell us about yer time.”
Liam smiled slightly. He could always depend on old military men wanting to talk. He grabbed his pint and pulled up a chair to his table. “I did like the rest of my countrymen and fought. I can’t say I was too happy with the outcome.”
“None of us were, son,” the eldest said, “none of us were.”
Liam raised his glass. “To the fallen.”
The other men raised theirs as well before taking long drinks. If there was anything that either side could agree on, the loss of life was to be grieved. By the look on the men’s faces, they had lost an equal amount to Liam.
“Where’d’ye serve?”
“I was lucky to be further north, by the river.” Liam hadn’t gotten many reports in his cell, but he had heard that a group had broken through the border in the north, over the Frasiscan River, near the end of the war. They had occupied a town and, at the end of the war, left at the first request and without bloodshed.
The eldest grunted and crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. “Buncha lily-livers that lot.”
Liam smiled and took a long drink. “But living lily-livers.”
The bulky one laughed, slapping Liam on the shoulder. “That ye are. What brings ye here?”
“I’m going to see my sister,” Liam lied. He thought about adding more detail, but keeping it simpler was better. “Did you serve here?”
“Aye.” The bulky man leaned back. “We got lucky too. Weren’t for the Hero of Chenalieu, we’d’ve had much worse.”
Liam furrowed his brow. ‘The Hero of Chenalieu’? “Who’s that?”
“That Anatalian who fought with Lord General Crompton.” The elder man looked incredulously at Liam. “Without ’im, we’d’ve been slaughtered. They stopped the fightin’ after that to deal with ’im, and we were able to use the information he gave Lord General Baur to kill every Anatalian here.”
So it was him. He was the hero for betraying his people in their eyes. The ale in his stomach turned sour. He forced himself to finish his pint and stood. “As much as I’d like to stay and talk more about the war, I should be on my way.”
Liam left, sick to his stomach. Clearly, getting help to clear his name in Salatia was going to be much harder than he thought.
Liam pulled his hood further down his face to obscure his identity. He wasn’t sure why he’d returned to Anatalia. He knew his return could mean his death. After a year of being gone, the siren call of his homeland had been too much for him, and he’d crossed over the border a few weeks ago. He’d stopped in a few of the smaller villages to beg for food and had been fairly successful in getting it, even if it was just a loaf of bread shoved through the cracked door.
He’d seen soldiers on the road, but Liam hoped that, having grown his hair and beard out, he would be harder to identify than when he’d escaped. Especially since it seemed Lieutenant Bryant and Lord General Crompton still blamed him for their own crimes and hadn’t stopped since Liam’s escape a year ago. It seemed they were very well connected with the seediest people.
Another village was coming into view, and his stomach growled uproariously. Liam would stop for a bite to eat and nothing more. He didn’t want to risk bringing the wrath of the soldiers on the innocent people of the village. Since the Lord General Crompton had continued his crimes in Liam’s name, the king had updated Liam’s warrant to say that anyone found helping him would be executed right alongside him. After that, he’d avoided people as much as possible and only came close when game was sparse.
Liam went to one of the last houses he could see on the village street and knocked on the door. It opened not long after, and a burly man appeared in the doorway.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Do you have any food to spare?”
“I don’t think—”
“I don’t want much, even some spare bread would be enough,” Liam said. “I don’t even need a full loaf.”
The man sighed. “Wait here.” He disappeared from the doorway and reappeared with a quarter loaf of bread. “This is all we have to spare.”
“Thank you, truly.” Liam held the bread up with a smile. “It will be a feast.”
Liam left before the man could say anything else. He didn’t want to be seen here if soldiers were following him. There was a forested area not too far away, where he could hide and eat in peace. He stuck mostly to the forests anyway; it was an easier place to hide, especially now that he only wore earth tones and could easily blend in with the woods.
He found a nice shaded area to sit with his water skin and newly acquired meal. Liam sighed, relaxing against a wide tree trunk. It wasn’t where he’d expected to be by now, but it was better than dead. There were many times he wanted to give up and settle in another country, but he couldn’t rest until he cleared his name. His conscience wouldn’t allow it.
Liam shot from his sitting position when he heard yelling. He moved to the treeline and saw soldiers in the village.
“Where is he?” one asked.
“Who?” a villager asked.
“The traitor, Liam Fulton. We saw him enter this village less than an hour ago.”
“No one new’s been here all day.”
“Get everyone out here,” the soldier commanded. “We want to talk to everyone. Someone must have seen him and where he went.”
Liam climbed up a tree to get a better view of the village and to keep out of the soldier’s eyeline in case they searched the forest. The three other soldiers began beating on doors and pulling people out of their homes, pushing them toward the center road. The first soldier waited until everyone was gathered before holding up a parchment. Liam felt sick to his stomach. He shouldn’t have gone into the village when he saw the soldiers. He should have stayed in the forests and tried harder for game.
“This man was seen less than an hour ago, entering this village. He is wanted by the king for treason and the murder of two men,” the soldier said. “His appearance will have changed—we believe he now sports a beard and longer hair. Have any of you seen him?”
The villagers remained silent, looking between each other, waiting for someone to speak up. Liam hoped when no one did, the soldiers would leave them alone. Only one person had seen him, he thought, and that was the man he’d asked for bread.
The soldier walked down the line. “Any person found helping the traitor will also be executed, but we don’t think that’s fair. You might not know it’s him. If you have helped him, we won’t follow that order. Have you seen this man?”
The man in front of the soldier shook his head.
The soldier moved to the next man, and the next, and the next, with similar results. The longer this went on, the sicker Liam felt. He shouldn’t have pushed his luck.
Finally, the man who gave him bread spoke up. “I gave a man some bread when he came to the door. He looked like a beggar, not a traitor.”
Liam’s stomach tightened. He hoped the soldiers would keep good on their promise of leniency.
“That’s more like it,” the soldier said. “Now where did he go?”
The burly man shrugged. “I didn’t pay attention past him leaving my front door.”
The soldier hit him in the gut, doubling him over. “That’s not good enough. You know where he went, and you’re going to tell us.”
Once he’d gotten his breath back, the burly man said, “I don’t know where he went, and I don’t care where he went.”
The soldier hit him again. “Wrong answer.”
Liam felt sick with each wrong answer the burly man gave the soldier, who in turn hit him again. He didn’t want to watch any longer, but he couldn’t stop. He needed to know what happened.
The burly man was now lying on the ground, face bloodied. “I don’t know where he is.” He struggled with each word.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself.” The soldier kicked him in the face. “You’re just going to get yourself hurt.” The soldier kicked him again. “And I’m real tired of you lying to me, because I know you know where he is.”
Liam watched in horror as the soldier kicked the man until he no longer moved.
“Take this as an example,” the soldier said to the remaining villagers. “If we come to you again asking about a traitor, you will tell us the information we want, or this is what will happen to you.”
It was time to go back to Salatia and onward to another country from there. Liam waited until it was dark before he came down from his perch. He would be hunting for his food from now on—or just go hungry.