Beneath her cloak, Talia once again placed her hand over one of the daggers. It gave her a sense of security. Already, she was receiving suspicious looks. No one wore a hood so low across their face in Pirchburg.
At least she had foresight enough to ask the maid to borrow her cloak. Ilya had walked her through the entire town, and her own cloak might have been recognized. However, if she had really been clever, she would have had the maid fetch some boys' clothing. Talia had forgotten that in Unaria, women seldom left their houses alone.
She also couldn't risk hiring a horse from the livery. There was too great a chance someone would remember her face. Fortunately, the servant girl had been prevailed upon to secure a horse and to meet her outside of town at the first branch of the southern road.
She waited in a shadowy alcove just beyond the market square. Just before noon, two carts from the foundry would roll through on their way to the city gates. The guards were not likely to pay too much attention to something they saw every day. If she was quick and lucky, she would be able to make it through unnoticed.
She had positioned herself quite well. The wagons would pass close to the alcove. She only had to wait and not draw attention to herself.
Time passed, and from high above the square came the slow clang of the noon bell. Talia shifted on her feet uncomfortably. The wagons from the foundry were running late. Perhaps they weren't making a trip at all today. Perhaps she would have to find another way to--
"... Are you saying you don't believe him then?" The voice of a burly man rolling a large barrel echoed from across the street.
Talia looked up surprised at the question, but realized that the man was talking to another fellow beside him. The two appeared to be cellarmen of some sort. One rolled a large oak barrel, and the other carried a short round keg on his back.
"It's not that I don't believe him. He saw something odd, certain enough, but once he gets five or six glasses in, I think the difference between what he actually saw and what he thinks he saw gets a lot larger."
"Yes, but it's not the first time I've heard a story about monsters in the bladehills."
"Oh, you're as batty as that old fellow, Larkwell. Monsters, bah. Don't we have enough to worry about without made-up creatures on top of it?"
"OY! Oy, you!" The first men yelled.
Talia winced and glanced up again. This time, he was addressing her.
"That's our spot! You're in our spot! Move along with you!" he barked.
"Any other person," the other man continued his argument, "and I'd say the same as you! But Dahlman is a solid fellow, even drunk. He's done the Chelblade run every week for seventeen years, and he ain't never come back with a story like this before. I'm telling you..."
The conversation was drowned out by bell ringing quarter past noon, and at that exact moment, the first of the foundry wagons rolled into the square.
Talia pulled her hood lower, and adjusted her backpack, ignoring the glare of the man rolling the barrel, and stepped into the street. She began to walk toward the approaching wagons, keeping her head down.
The first wagon rolled past. She took a deep breath, and just as she reached the second wagon, in one swift movement, she dropped down and rolled between the wheels.
Quickly, she jammed her fingers between the floorboards and then jumped, bracing both of her feet against the axle.
Hanging from the bottom of the cart was not as easy as she had assumed it would be. After only a few minutes, her shoulders were sore, and her fingers numb. The pack on her pack seemed to grow heavier with every passing second. When the cart stopped in the line of merchants at the gates, she let go and crouched behind the wheel, rubbing the feeling back into her fingers. It was amazing that even in the cold weather, she could feel sweat beading on her forehead.
When the foundry carts reached the front of the line, she again plastered herself against the bottom of the cart.
She could hear men talking but could not make out their words. It seemed an eternity that she held on there, sweating and hoping that her strength wouldn't give out.
At last, the wagons began to move again, and the smell of horse droppings and woodsmoke was swept away by clean, fresh air. She had made it out of Pirchburg.
Talia let go of the floorboards, though she continued to walk crouched beneath the wagon until she was some ways from Pirchburg.
When she finally lay down and let the wagon pass over her, they had reached a wooded area, and she quickly stood and raced off the road and into the trees, lest either of the drivers should turn around.
When both wagons disappeared beyond a distant bend in the road, she let out a long, slow breath.
So far, everything had gone according to plan. One of the cellarmen had definitely seen her face and might remember her, but he surely hadn't seen her go under the wagon. With any luck, Melinda, the servant girl, would already be waiting at the first branch in the southern road. Talia had not expected to take so long a time leaving Pirchburg, but surely the girl would wait.
She hefted her bag higher on her shoulder, felt again for the dagger at her waist, and set out on the road on foot.
It was much colder outside of the walled city, and though the trees blocked most of the wind, and she was able to walk easily in the ruts left in the snow by the wagon wheels, her feet soon began to feel numb.
It took just over an hour to reach the first distance marker from the city and longer still to reach the second. She realized then that she had slowed down too much and forced herself to walk faster.
The sun hung low in the sky as she approached the first branch in the road. Though she had seen no one the entire distance between the branch and Pirchburg, there were several riders on horseback stopped beside the lean-to that marked the first crossing. She was too far distant to be able to discern if any of the riders were female.
As she approached, and the figures became clearer, she realized that Melinda was not among them. They were all men, rough-looking men at that, and from their posture and the way they interacted with one another, they all seemed to be part of the same traveling group.
Her hand moved nervously to check her dagger once again. However, there was little she could do but to keep walking. They had already spotted her, and though they did not come towards her, they were watching.
Perhaps Melinda had been caught, or perhaps she was only running behind and would still come. Perhaps if Melinda did not come, she could speak with the riders and either try to buy a horse or pay for a ride to the next town.
"Good day, gentlemen," she called as soon as she was within earshot. "Are you fellows heading to Pirchburg or leaving it?"
There were five of them, three of them middle-aged with faces that gave little away beyond the fact that they had all spent a good deal of time outside, sleeping rough. Two of the men were younger, though they did not have a kindly air about them either. She swallowed nervously.
"Is that her then?" One of the older men asked the other.
"Has to be. Look at the eyes. Eyes like one of those southern brothel girls. Creepy, if you ask me. They have eyes like that because their ancestors were sea demons," another of the men scoffed.
"At any rate, the message said the girl is armed, be careful now," a third man warned.
Talia froze in her tracks as all five of them looked her over appraisingly.
"You gentlemen seem to have mistaken me for someone else," she began nervously.
"Princess Talia of Vezda, aren't you? No mistake, girl," The second man chuckled.
"Again, I say you have mistaken me. I am Fioria of Vezda, a humble slave of the House of Prince Mikhail," Talia bowed. "I have been sent by my master to deliver a message to his men at Bludston. Please do not allow me to keep you from your travels any longer."
"Get her!" the first man ordered. The other four leapt down from their horses on his command and began to slowly approach her.
Talia took a few steps back and glanced around nervously. The road was completely abandoned. There was no one to save her. She could not fight all five men, and if she ran, they would quickly overtake her. She would have to rely on her wits.
"I am but a slave!" she insisted, her voice raising theatrically in fear. "I have done you gentlemen no harm! You will make my master, Prince Mikhail, very angry if you do this!"
"And our master will be even angrier if we let you slip through our fingers," their leader chuckled.
Talia drew a deep shuddery breath, and made her eyes as wide as possible.
"Very well. If you mean to take me captive, I am just a woman and certainly can not fight you, but I warn you that I speak the truth about my identity. My master follows a day behind me on the road. I pray that you ride faster than he does, for he will not take kindly to your interfering in his affairs," she said and held her arms out in surrender.
One of the younger men frowned and glanced back at his leader for reassurance.
"She lies!" the man hissed. "Bind her hands and search her!"
Talia cried out as one of the men forced her down into the snow and another twisted her arms behind her back.