Sorceress Thorn looked out the carriage's windows and saw dark, twisted trees flashing by like a blur. Sunlight barely passed their twisting canopies.
Her stomach churned as the carriage made a sharp turn and she was pushed to the other end of the box. She held onto the seat and tried her best to be comfortable, but even the thick, rich velvet cushion of the seat did little to dampen the terrible rocking.
But the carriage didn't slow. The driver cracked his whip, sending the horses deeper into a gallop.
Thorn clenched at the hem of her skirt. Fear and impatience battled for supremacy inside her chest. It mixed into a nauseating feeling of anxiety. The road was unsteady, and in this time of the year the weather would wear it down further. However, she couldn't delay any further, not when she finally had a lead on her target after so long.
Damn the Inquisition. She will do it herself.
She reached for her staff leaning beside her and cradled it. She ran her fingers through the shaft all the way to the crown of thorns at its end. The soft grain of the wood and the prickle of the thorns felt familiar to her, and gazing into the glowing crystal nestled within the crown gave her focus. The staff calmed her. Anchored her. Magic, and anything associated with it, had always found a way to comfort her.
After what felt like an eternity, she noticed the trees dwindling, giving way to bushes and undergrowth until finally the trees were no more, replaced with a wide plain and rolling hills. The forest has ended, the worst is behind them.
She peered through the window and saw it. There, sprawled around the foot of that empty hill and shadowed by grey cotton-like clouds was the lonely town of Shepeste.
The carriage slowed once it passed under an archway of stone, the marking of the border of the town. On the streets of Shepeste, the carriage's well-made box, manufactured by the city's finest craftsmen, seemed foreign and rich when it rode side-by-side with old mules and makeshift carriages. Thorn's carriage drew the eyes of some, but most steered clear or only graced it with a single look before returning to their peasant duties.
The wooden cover that divided the driver and the passenger slid open, revealing the driver's bushy moustache.
"We've arrived, miss."
But she didn't need to be told that. She can recognize the tavern from a mile away.
The carriage slowed to a halt. Thorn gathered her breath. One piece. She arrived in one piece. A miracle.
She opened the door and felt the cool air of the countryside hitting her face. She let herself soak in the breeze, but then came the smell of farm animals, and she scrunched up her nose and stepped out of the carriage, intent on making haste with her business. She has forgotten about that part of Shepeste. It was definitely not one of the things she missed about the place.
She made way through the muddled road and to the tavern. Along the way, she could feel eyes turn towards her, accompanied by murmurs.
"Sorceress."
"What's one doing here?"
The apathy was gone from the people. Now they peer at her from far away and over their shoulders.
Poor people, she thought. This far away, they must rarely see a member of the Consortium, let alone be blessed by their magic. Even she rarely had the opportunity to be here and help the people whom she called neighbours growing up, let alone sorcerers in their cities and far away affairs.
She paused in front of the tavern's wooden door. The wooden sign hanging above swung with the wind, creaking like a rhythm. She gathered her breath, placed her hand on the door, and entered, her staff tapping the wooden floor as she walked.
Her eyes instantly homed into the injuries the tavern bore. There were charcoal black scorch marks around the firepit, as if a great gout of flame nearly destroyed it. The wooden pillars scored some damages. One seemed like it was hacked or pierced through by a sharp weapon, and another seemed to have a puncture hole of a ranged weapon. But there was something worse. The smell. It was faint, and it seemed long ago, but she could smell blood and death in the air.
She scanned the room, and realised how few the patrons were. She couldn't blame them, what with the state of the tavern as it is.
Some of the patrons turned and watched her. They repeat the same reaction as the people outside.
Thorn heard tiny footsteps, coming at her fast. She turned just in time to catch a girl leaping at her, squeezing her into a tight hug.
"Oh! Oof!" Thorn gasped as she tried her best not to fall on her back.
The wild hugger peeled her face from Thorn's chest and looked up to her face.
"Thorn, you're back!"
"Y-yeah, Rose. I missed you too."
Jobb's head poked out the kitchen, eyes darting around the room and ears perked. His eyes landed on Thorn, and a broad smile immediately split his face.
"Oh, Thorn!"
His smile was infectious. Thorn found herself replying back with her own. "Hey, dad."
"You said you wouldn't be back for awhile! I thought you said you had something important to work on."
Thorn's smile faltered. "I am working on it."
Jobb paused and studied the worried frown etched on his daughter's features.
She sighed and said, "I've heard the man I'm looking for appeared here."