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Aric’s presence in the town went almost unnoticed—almost due to the harlots who caught sight of him, squawking from the second-story balcony at the hooded man they hoped would be hiding spoils for them to take.
For a moment it made him relax, this scenario having played out hundreds of times before. Even with the crossbow against his good shoulder, most onlookers would mistake him for a hunter and he’d be left alone, except for the harlots who didn’t care what he had as long as it was valuable. That was exactly the case as he blended in, moving with the current of the crowd. This was what he had longed for: anonymity. Of being no one, a freedom not many could savor. While he welcomed the sensation, he couldn’t fully embrace it, his chest too heavy with other burdens. It also didn’t help he was still wearing her father’s shirt and cloak.
That bloke could be anywhere, he was grumbling internally, eyeing the storefronts and pedestrians, seeing if there were any signs of his target.
Before had been easy, piecing together the potential route Joss and Henrik would have taken from Town Hall which put him a couple steps ahead of him. In their frenzy, the two had looked for the quickest way out, and he learned that morning that the main road was a straight shot to the cottage. It had given him the advantage to get into position, staying hidden in an alleyway. He would have preferred a roof to get a better aim, but his shoulder had throbbed too much after Henrik’s punch to climb anything.
Aric had to smirk, knowing that if the role was reversed he would have done the same thing.
Out of that situation, what he had to be thankful for was that the crowds had dispersed where he was waiting. There were witnesses, but not enough to make a scene that would catch attention, and the ones who stayed long enough became the tools he needed to find Joss and that princely fool.
Now, he was at a loss. After the incident with Joss, he scoured the empty street in a hurry, pushing past the numbing pain in his thigh as he hurried along, trying to retrace the man’s steps. He came immediately to a bridge that showed no signs of life while the street took him back into the city. Figuring the target might try to blend in to escape another way, Aric followed suit.
Passing through the crowds, he came to the edge of town again and found the streets becoming more and more bare, another bridge coming into view with the woods just on the other side. He noticed the rolling hills a little more clearly in this direction, green and golden against the backdrop of the puffy white and purple clouds, signs of last night’s rainstorm dispersing.
Aric felt the lump in his throat as he remembered that storm: of being in the cottage and hearing it in the background against Henrik’s lute and Joss’s soft voice as they conversed over chess. He knew deep down he wouldn’t hear the sound of rain the same way again, at least not for a while. The only reason he was even still heading towards those clouds was because he knew what was on the other side of those hills.
Aselian.
Aric readjusted the crossbow as he made his way across the bridge, eyeing the river as he went. He couldn’t stop himself from searching, wondering if she was okay and where she had ended up. Maybe she had climbed out; maybe she had been swept farther downstream. Knowing Henrik, he’d find her, and that was the only comfort Aric had. A little pang of jealousy struck him, but he brushed it off, knowing that he needed to stay focused. There were two ways of crossing the hills: the main road used for traffic, or the off-beaten path. Aric knew better than to assume the man he was tracking would go the easier route.
Setting off on the dirt road, he saw in the distance a group of men coming towards him, one of them rubbing his temple while two stayed by his side, helping him walk. As they drew closer, he could see one of them had a sharp red mark on his temple, which threatened to look like a nasty bruise later.
Curious, Aric pulled the hood back, offering a friendly look. “Morning,” he greeted them. “Having some trouble?”
“Our friend here says he got robbed of his horse,” one stated as they came to a stop, his friend swaying next to him.
“Lugged me pretty good, even with that thing in his shoulder,” the man mumbled, holding the side of his head.
Aric’s ears perked up. “Thing?”
“I don’t know, something was sticking out of his shirt,” the man continued, and by the way he swayed Aric realized he might not have been entirely sober.
His other friend shook his head, admitting, “He could have fallen off his horse for all we know. He’s just lucky we were passing through or he would have lost more.”
Aric agreed as if he understood the town’s underbelly as well as they did. Exchanging a few more words, the group and Aric eventually separated, the men off to nurse their friend back to health and Aric to track down what stood between him and his freedom.
With his prediction confirmed, he continued on the worn path, feeling the sunshine on his back and the smell of fresh air in his lungs. But every so often, he looked back, not to see if anyone was following, but wondering if the person he was leaving behind would ever forgive him.
