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  was even smaller than the niche beneath the soap shop’s counter. Worse, Lev had to share the already cramped compartment with a cinched leather knapsack the size of his torso. Somehow, though, he squeezed himself into the cubby and locked the panel into place, hopefully hiding him from prying eyes.

  He barely had enough room to breathe but was too worried about the journey ahead of him to care about comfort. Yudi hadn’t provided any details about his plan for Lev—just that he’d be a stranger in a strange land. Whatever that meant, it sounded troubling. Of course, the alternative was even worse. If he stayed here in D’Win, he knew how would end ... probably in a week or less.

  He’d be dead.

  As he winced at the morbid thought, the wagon wobbled. Yudi had climbed aboard. After a soft snap of the reins, the wagon lurched, and beneath Lev, D’Win’s cobbled streets clattered against the wagon’s wheels. Occasionally, above him, Yudi would click his tongue or whisper encouragement to his mule. But those were the only sounds to reach Lev’s ears. Apparently, the rest of D’Win had yet to wake up.

  While they rumbled through the silent city, Lev clutched his blanket and clenched his jaws, expecting any second to hear Tolian soldiers yelling, “Stop them! Stop that wagon!” So when something rapped hard on the wagon seat, he jerked upward and banged his head yet again. He froze in place while his heart hammered against his ribs.

  Above him, Yudi laughed. “Sorry, down there,” he said. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to get your attention. We’re about to approach the gates, Lad. We’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Once we stop, you need to do two things. First, remain absolutely—I mean, —quiet, no matter what happens. And second, lean your weight against the panel that’s hiding you. Occasionally, the guards like to hassle me and search the wagon. But if you brace yourself against the panel, it will feel and sound solid to them. Now, if you heard me, let me know by knocking twice.”

  Lev swallowed and rapped his acknowledgement on the wooden board above him. As he slouched back into place, he considered what their upcoming encounter with the Tolian guards might be like, recalling how the soldiers at the gate had treated the merchant yesterday. The festival was over, but would they have a different reason to keep Yudi from leaving? And if the Tolians searched the wagon—

  Another knock on the seat again interrupted Lev’s thoughts. “If they do search us, Lev, don’t fret,” Yudi said, as if he could read Lev’s mind. “It’s nothing new. Just stay calm and quiet with your back against that panel. Here we go!”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  A louder snap of the reins punctuated Yudi’s comment, and the wagon lurched ahead again. Lev used the motion to shift his body weight and wedge himself against the panel. Please, Pashtar, he prayed, if you are truly our Guardian, please let this work.

  A hundred heartbeats later, a distant voice shouted, “Halt!”

  Yudi responded with a “Whoa, girl,” and slowly, the wagon rolled to a stop—only for Lev to begin trembling.

  “What’s your business, Hyasan?” the gruff voice asked. “Where are you going so early and why?”

  Yudi cleared his throat. “Morning, sir. Morning. Just heading out to the highland plains for the day. I have a sudden need to gather fresh materials for my shop.”

  Armor jangled as the guard stepped closer. “Materials? What sort of materials?”

  “Herbs, roots, wildflowers,” Yudi said in his usual affable tone. “You see, I’m a soap and perfume maker.”

  The guard grunted. “Well, soap maker, today’s not a good day for traveling the road. Another two legions of the Imperator’s finest are on their way to D’Win. Could well be clogging the road by the time you return, and that would prove rather problematic for you.”

  “But, sir,” Yudi pleaded. “I—I must have fresh materials, sir. My shop’s run into some recent trouble. And if I don’t start drying new plants as soon as possible, I’ll be out of business.”

  Again, the guard stepped closer. “As I said, not a good—”

  “What’s going on here?” a new voice barked from further off. “What’s the hold up?”

  “Captain, this soap maker says he desperately needs to get new plants and such for his shop. He claims he had some trouble of some sort. But what problems could a soap maker have? Surely, he can wait until later in the week.”

  The captain chuckled. “Did you say, ?”

  “Yes,” the guard said. “Why?”

  “You haven’t heard then? From what the lads say, Sicarius and his squad tore up a soap shop last night. Made quite the mess of it. So, yes, I’d say the man needs to go pick some flowers. After all, we wouldn’t want this filthy city smelling any worse than it already does. Would we?” The captain paused to laugh some more. “Search the wagon and let him go on his way. From what I hear, he’s no cause for concern.”

  Moments later, the rustle of the tarp being shifted behind Lev sent a jolt of fear up his spine. He locked his knees against the compartment’s front wall and jammed his body against the false panel. Then something heavy struck the panel with a dull thump. Most likely, a guard’s spear. Lev winced, expecting any moment for its blade to puncture the wood and pierce his heart.

  Instead, more rustling of the tarp followed.

  “He’s clear, sir!” the guard shouted.

  “Of course, he is,” the captain said from the front of the wagon. “You’re free to go, soap maker. But a word of warning. Get your plants and hurry back. Remember your governor’s new decree. Anyone trying to enter the city after sunset won’t be let through the gate. Won’t be turned away, neither. You’ll just be considered a threat, and the archers above will end your miserable little life.”