Every muscle in Bronwyn’s body begged for rest, yet he pushed onward. He and the two privates had ridden at a lope for two hours. Along the way, they had stopped at two campsites Keiron might have made. Neither offered any clues. Because of the decoys, he figured they had added about ten hours to their travel time. It meant Keiron could be anywhere from sixteen to eighteen hours ahead of them—almost a full day.
He checked his watch: 17:12. Farlan and the others would be at Maskil by now. They’d be receiving care from professional healers and informing Sanderson of the events since leaving the castle. Their time in the saddle had passed.
He espied horse tracks leading into the trees. He hesitated to stop, thinking the site held no traces of the bandits or Isla. There’d be hundreds of similar tracks between here and Ellswire. Still, he couldn’t pass it by. He slowed his horse and signalled for Privates Garret Maltby and Rorie Critch to halt. “Third time lucky.” He managed a grin and dismounted.
“Let’s hope.” Rorie swung his leg over the rump of the horse and dropped to the ground.
Garret did the same and looped his reins around a branch to secure the animal.
Bronwyn led the way into a small clearing tucked into the forest twenty feet from the road. “It doesn’t look as if they tried to hide.”
“Probably simple travellers then,” said Rorie. He searched the right-hand side of the fire pit.
The sergeant did a half circle on the left, and Garret came up the middle.
“Look at this.” Rorie held up an empty can. “Who’d eat canned worms?” He released it as if it contained poyson.
Bronwyn scanned the rough-looking campsite. It held a crude fire pit and several patches of soft grass. He walked along the edge of the clearing, stopping at a mound of dry moss, a perfect spot for a small person to bed down. His eyes searched the perimeter. What’s this stuff? He bent down and picked up a handful. His fears proved correct; long brown hair slipped through his fingers. Glancing around, he saw it hanging from nearby branches and scattered on the forest floor. He pulled a bunch to his nose and smelt it. Isla’s hair!
“What do you have there, sir?” Rorie came beside him.
“Isla’s hair.” Bronwyn’s eyes flashed at him. “This is her hair.”
Rorie scratched his head. “Why would they cut her hair?”
The dwarf steadied his hand. They had only cut Isla’s hair. It didn’t indicate they harmed her.
Garret lifted a piece of garbage from the fire. “Beans. They must have eaten them cold because the pit hasn’t contained a fire for a long time.”
“A fire would be risky.” Bronwyn ran his fingers through the piles of soft strands and wondered what Isla looked like with short hair. Given the amount on the ground, they had cut it close to the scalp, like a boy’s cut. A boy! “They’re disguising her.”
“What do you mean?” Rorie squatted beside him.
“We’re looking for a girl.” Bronwyn grabbed a mound of hair and shook it. “With short hair, they could pass her off as a boy. She’s already wearing a shirt and trousers.”
Rorie reached out to the pile of hair in the sergeant’s hand and extracted a piece of paper. “What’s this?” He unfolded it. “A page from a book.” He handed it the sergeant.
“A Trail of Hope.” Bronwyn read the title. “It’s Isla’s book.” He turned it over in his hand, looking for a clue, anything that would help him locate her, but found nothing.
“She’s a smart girl.” Rorie rose. “She’s leaving clues they wouldn’t see in places they won’t look.”
“This tells us she’s well and is keeping her senses about her,” said Garret. “It can only work to our advantage.”
Bronwyn stared at them. Isla had given them a wise clue. The book contained many pages, more than enough to guide him to her. He folded the paper and placed it in his chest pocket. He gently picked up several long strands of hair and held them to his nose until Isla’s scent filled his senses. Tying the locks together, he tucked them into his pocket beside the book page.
An hour later, he halted the men. They had been travelling hard for two days and needed a rest. As the other two guards curled into their bedrolls, Bronwyn sat by the fire, staring at the page from the book. He had already read it twice, trying to extract further clues. Isla had given him a summary of the book about two weeks earlier as she tagged along while he inspected the castle walls. The main character had left a trail of pages for her das and brother to find after she became lost.
Finally, he decided the worrying only made him exhausted; he needed sleep. He pulled a blanket over him and lay near the fire. The burning wood snapped and sent little flairs into the darkness. The warmth and the song of the flame seduced him into dreamland where anxious dreams awaited.