By the time night fell, Marek reached a small town nestled in a valley between two hills. He had been walking for hours, leading his horse by the reins, too tired to ride. The animal was as worn out as he was, its head low, its breath fogging in the cold air.

The town was not as large as Lunareth. The street was lined with wooden buildings. Lanterns were lit along the main road, and a few houses had lights in the windows. At the far end of the road, the sound of laughter and raised voices spilled from a tavern. It was a two-story wooden building with a creaking sign.

He tied his horse to a post outside and gave it a small pat on the neck. He studied the street for a moment before crossing it to the building. The noise hit him immediately.

The tavern was large compared to most he had seen in the last few months. It had two wide doors left open to allow heat and noise to escape. A fire crackled in a large stone hearth at the end of the room. The air was heavy with the smell of roasting meat, spilled ale, sweat, and smoke. Men crowded around rough-hewn tables and shouted at each other over card games. Dice rolled across the tables. Coins clinked. Others sat in groups drinking from large horns filled with ale. A few women moved between the tables carrying trays of food and drink.

Marek stood just inside the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the light. He scanned the room slowly. He looked at every face, every pair of hands, and shadows in the corners. He looked for hunters first. Men who sat too straight. Men who did not drink but watched others. Men who kept their hands near weapons. Anyone who looked back at him too long, anyone who stood out of place.

He saw none that stood out. Men just gambled, drank, and ate. No one had noticed his entrance.

Still, he moved carefully. He moved along the wall, keeping his head down until he reached a small table in the far corner of the room. It was a table tucked away where no one would ever notice him. And from there, he could see the entire room, every door, every window, every person who came and went. He sat with his back to the wall, his face hidden under the hood of his cloak.

A woman approached him shortly afterward. She was middle-aged, with tired eyes and a stained apron tied around her thick waist. She looked at him without interest, accustomed to men who wanted to hide their faces.

"What will it be?" she asked.

"Roasted meat. Bread. Water," Marek replied. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

"No ale?"

"Water."

She shrugged. "You’ll get meat and bread. Water costs the same as ale."

"That’s fine."

She nodded and walked away without another word.

Marek waited until she disappeared through a door to the kitchen. Then he reached inside his cloak and pulled out the map Eryndor Alistair Vane had given him. He unfolded it on the table, smoothing out the creases with his palm. He pulled back his hood just enough to see clearly. He kept it close to his body so no one nearby could see it.

He studied it for a few minutes, taking note of every area he would cross and pass through to reach the witch. The maps showed the lands north of Lunareth in careful detail, rivers, forests, mountain passes, abandoned forts, old roads that no longer appeared on newer maps, and small territories known for bandits. The pinned location marked the last known position of the wanderer’s witch. The main road would be faster, but the older man had warned him to avoid it.

He traced the alternative paths with his finger. From here, he would follow the path east for two days, then cut north through the forest. If he traveled steadily and did not run into trouble, it would take at least a week to reach the witch. Possibly more if the weather turned bad or if patrols, hunters, or scouts slowed him down.

He was determined. He would make it. All he needed was enough supplies saddled with his horse to make the journey. Enough dried meat, hard bread, water skins, and a warm blanket for himself. Grain for the animal. A fresh set of horseshoes is needed, too. He would buy them in this town and be on the road again tomorrow night. He cannot afford to stop often.

The older man’s warning came back to him briefly. "What you seek will come with a price. A price you cannot repay. It will cost you more than gold. More than blood. It will cost you everything you are. Forget this quest. Go back to Lycanthria. There is still time."

Marek shrugged it off. He had heard warnings from other travelers, from loners, from people who did not understand, who could not feel what he felt. Whatever price the witch demanded, he would give it. Gold. Favors. Service. Information. Blood if she required it. None of it mattered if it led him to Rowena.

When he heard footsteps approaching, he rolled up the map quickly and tucked it back inside his cloak. Then he pulled his hood forward again. The serving woman returned, carrying a wooden plate piled with slices of dark roasted meat and a thick chunk of brown bread. She set it down in front of him alongside a cup of water.

"There you go," She said. Then she leaned closer, a sly smile on her face. "You look like you need more than food. Something warmer, maybe?" She glanced toward another part of the room.

Marek followed her gaze. Across the room on a raised bench, there was a woman. She wore a low-cut dress. She had dark hair and painted red lips. Her legs were spread out, one foot on the floor, the other hooked over the bench as she leaned back. She was rubbing her thighs slowly with one hand. When she noticed Marek looking in her direction, she lifted a finger to her mouth and bit it lightly, maintaining eye contact to seduce him.