The next morning, Quinten left his home. If his father was right, there was no time to waste.
He had taken all the money he had ever earned working at his father's farm. He hadn't earned much: two gold coins, four silver, and three bronze, but it was something.
He ran as fast as he could towards the hill near the edge of the village. A few men gave him strange looks as he darted past them, swiftly dodging through stands and people alike. He made it to the hill and hiked up as fast as he could, seeing the bakery over the ridge.
From what Quinten heard from his father, most bakers lived in their own shops. His father had been a traveler, walking through many villages until he decided on Dimbonde to live and farm.
The baker, Lauren's father, was standing in front of his shop. He saw Quinten hurrying toward him, out of breath. "Are you all right, young man?" he asked.
"I'm fine," Quinten said. "May I speak to Lauren?"
"What do you need her for?" the baker asked suspiciously.
"I have a note for her," Quinten improvised. "From one of the boys in town who seems to have taken a liking to her."
The baker sighed. "Very well," he said, leading Quinten into his shop. It was a small place. The biggest thing in the shop was easily the massive oven, which towered over Quinten's head, and burned so hot he could feel it even at this distance.
Lauren was sitting on the smaller of two beds, a bow and a quiver of arrows under her bed, slightly peeking out. She was a head shorter than Quinten with warm skin and wavy dark hair. She was wearing a plain gray dress and stared up at Quinten in surprise. "Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm Quinten. A boy in the village wanted me to give this to you," he said, pretending to pull out a note: the baker was right behind him.
She knew immediately what was going on, and thankfully, she played along. "Was it Thomas?" she said, in an air of disgust just mentioning his name.
"Thankfully, no," Quinten said. "I don't know his name, but it was definitely not Thomas."
Speaking in a whisper, Quinten said, "I know what you can do."
Lauren froze. Her wide eyes told him he was right. Her hand inched toward the bow under her bed.
"I'm not here to hurt you," Quinten whispered. "Tell your father we must speak in private."
Lauren pretended to read the note, then stuffed it in her pocket. Quinten carefully moved so that the baker wouldn't see Lauren's empty hand. Turning back to her father, she said, "May I speak with him alone for a moment? About the note?"
"Of course," the baker sighed. "I think there's a customer on their way."
The baker left the house and went to the front of the shop, and Quinten no longer had to whisper.
"How long have you known?" she asked.
"My father found out from the tester. She told no one else about you, I assume?" Quinten asked.
"Of course not," Lauren said. "But why are you here?"
"Yesterday, Thomas came to my family's farm. He threatened to attack me with a sword. I ran, led him into the forest, and disarmed him. He fled into the woods, but his mother knew it was me. She's so furious, and she's a noble. The King definitely knows about me by now, which means he's going to start a search for both me and other mages in this village and neighboring villages. I had to get to you first."
"Are there any others?" Lauren asked, taking the information surprisingly well with little visible shock.
"One more, but I do not think she's in this village," Quinten said. "Her name is Kimmalyn. Do you know her?"
"You're putting me in a lot of danger," said Lauren, not answering the question. "My father's going to catch on any second. We'll talk again at noon. Meet me in the town square."
* * *
The tavern on the east side of the square wasn't a kind one. It was the only bar in the village, but according to visiting travelers, it wasn't a place that got through a day without a few fistfights, and for a tavern in Cortham, that was rare. Cortham was supposed to be a civilized island. It was huge, but civilized. Many had tried to leave Cortham, taking a boat and sailing through the ocean in hopes of a different land, perhaps even a continent. Very few returned, and those who did described the ocean as "never ending—" and "no point in trying to leave."
Quinten walked into the town square precisely at noon and was immediately beckoned frantically by Lauren, who was crouched behind a large rock. Lauren had her bow strung along her shoulder. Quinten was suddenly aware that he possessed no weapon. Considering what his father had said, he regretted not finding a knife sooner.
"The king's guards are here," Lauren said. Quinten's blood immediately chilled.
"Where?" he asked.
"All over the village. They arrived minutes ago. You would not have seen them. The local guards in the saloon have been notified. If we can get past them without any noise, we can hide there for a time. The guards will not be here forever."
"What about finding Kimmalyn?" Quinten asked.
"It's the farthest place from our homes, and we cannot leave the village, they're patrolling the entire area. The saloon is where they're not expecting us to be, which is why there's nobody but the local guards there. I've already checked. Besides, I asked my father, and he said Kimmalyn moved to Houndside many years ago."
"So we slip in the saloon, hide, and wait," Quinten understood. "And then we get to Houndside."
Lauren glanced out from behind the rock.
"Guard's turned the other way," she said. "Let's go."
They came out from behind the rock, walking along the muddy road slowly, so as to not draw attention. They kept their eyes on the distant guard, his back still turned, as they entered the saloon.
The saloon, its low ceiling and stoned walls, was busy as usual. "Hide here," Lauren whispered, pointing to the small space behind the booths. "We cannot let anyone see you."
They waited until no one was looking towards the doors, then Quinten and Lauren squeezed behind the booths. It was a cramped and small space, and they had to crawl through one at a time.
"Now we wait," Lauren said, peeking through the small gap in the separation of two booths. "If you see any guards, stay away from the cracks and do not make a sound."
They waited for what seemed like hours. Lauren stayed on the lookout, peering through the bars to ensure no guard was there. Quinten heard a group of men talking about what seemed to be a new beast—a large and strong one. The men were most likely poachers, who preyed on defenseless animals to skin and sell.
Quinten pushed himself on his knees towards the gap Lauren was looking through.
"Want me to guard?" he whispered. Lauren looked over at him and gave a tiny nod. "Not the day I was expecting," she whispered.
