a mile or two to keep my muscles supple. After we pass through Toman, I stop seeing soldiers, and even the ones there don’t demand to see my papers. The hamlets beyond Toman become progressively smaller, housing fifty, sixty souls, almost all farmers, not large enough to appear on my map. I ignore the curious stares of the villagers as I ride through. They seem unworried, untouched by what’s happening to the south and east. I keep my eyes peeled for any sign of the army, but as in Tremayne everyone here seems unconcerned, and for some reason it makes me angry. Not much more than a hundred miles away, young men are being shot at in the woods. Refugees are being run off the roads, rounded up and dumped in hellish encampments. And war hasn’t even truly begun. How can the people here stand it? Don’t they know?
The edges of the sky turn gold, clouds like bruises against it, then the sky begins to darken. I dismount, walking slowly ahead of the horse, keeping us on the road. A few lights appear in the far distance and we plod towards them as the world turns blue, then purple, then black around us.
By the time we reach the outskirts of Scarron most of the lights have gone out and the hamlet is quiet. As in all fishing towns, most folk are in bed now, to be up in the very early hours to take their boats out to sea. With fear nibbling away at my confidence, I dismount and lead the horse through the small circle of cottages, the clopping of hooves the only sound in the night.
No, not the only sound. It’s so natural I hadn’t noticed as we’d approached, but all at once I can smell it, and then hear it. The sea: a distant rushing roar. Something in me fills with longing and I want to run to it. But I don’t. I continue to walk, reasoning there will be time, not tonight but maybe in the days and weeks to come. With luck. With a lot of luck.
I don’t know this girl’s name. I don’t know how old she is, or whether she’s alone. I didn’t think about whether there was an inn here; I didn’t plan to need one, and I can see no one to ask. I can’t even smell a tavern. It’s as if the whole village has gone to sleep.
I lead the horse through the neat square, one ear cocked for sounds of life, and then I hear something much sweeter to me: the familiar deep ring of iron meeting iron. I head towards it, a small shed near a tiny, leaning cottage a little way away from the rest, and tie the horse to the fence outside it. I knock on the door and then wait. The clanging continues. When it stops I knock again and then push the door open, to find myself staring into the twinkling eyes of a man whose face is entirely wrinkled. In one hand he holds a hammer, in the other a bent, rusty hook.
“You’re not from here,” he says, looking me up and down.
“No. I’m not. I’m looking for someone. She’s—”
“The Lormerian girl?” he interrupts. “Dimia?”
The name sounds familiar. I bite back a smile of relief. “Yes. Dimia. Could you tell me where I might find her?”
He gives me a shrewd look. “You a relative?”
“Friend.” It’s not wholly a lie.
He looks me up and down, then shrugs. “She expecting you, then?”
“No.”
“It’s very late, dear. I don’t reckon she’ll want callers at this hour, and besides that, I can smell a storm brewing. Why don’t you get along to the tavern and get yourself a room.”
“I can’t stay. I need to see her tonight. It’s very important. It’s about the war.”
“The war?”
I stare at him. “In Lormere.”
“I thought that ended years back.”
“No, there’s a new one. With the Sleeping Prince.”
He shrugs again. “We don’t know nothing about a war here, love.”
“That’s impossible,” I say. “The Council have mustered an army; surely some of the men here have been drafted? There are checkpoints all along the King’s Road, refugees, the city gates are closed at night in Tressalyn and Tremayne. Everyone in the east is in upheaval; there are soldiers everywhere. The Council must have sent word?”
“Ah, we don’t bother that lot, and they don’t bother us.”
“But … what about when you take your fish to market? What about people who come here?”