The Colorless Land

Chapter 13: A Boat Full of Outlaws

"There, lady," said the man in the middle, struggling feebly against his ropes. "We did it all as you pleased, ma'am. Now will ya keep yer promise and let us free?"

Saryana pointed her sword at the ropes, as if trying to cut them with it, and the men flinched. She smiled and sheathed the blade. "That's right," she said. "Remember, pull any stunts and you'll be happy to just land in the water."

They nodded again, and she pulled out a small knife from her pack and began to cut the ropes. Jolette sat at the back of the boat and observed them closely. All three men were visibly of Firlandic origin; and all three seemed very poor, if their tattered, patchy clothes were of any indication. One had a bandage over his left eye. One was very old, only a few thin strands of white hair left on his head and most of his teeth missing. The third was middle-aged; he seemed to be in a better state than the others, of stronger build and healthier, as if he had only recently fallen from grace.

"I have to say," Aithal remarked as the men began rowing the boat back across the lake, "it's a very effective strategy, though I wouldn't have made it quite as...drastic."

Jolette's head snapped around, remembering their first encounter. "Are you serious right now?"

"Mostly." The corners of his mouth twitched. "Gentlemen, how much to make you forget that you ever saw us?"

The three exchanged a glance, then the old one signed with his hands and whispered something to the bandaged one, who was just about to speak when the strongest one lifted his hand. "Just a moment," he said. "Why should we forget about this encounter, I wonder? If you are hiding from someone, we may get more for your heads than we can get from you."

Jolette winced and moved in front of Edmian, who was still hiding low under his hood. Aithal, however, appeared unfazed. "Rest assured, I have as much as anyone could possibly request."

"That still doesn't answer my question." The stranger rested his paddle, fixing Aithal with bright, keen eyes. "You look decent, and not at all like outlaws. So what crime are you hiding for, I wonder? If we let you go, will we support the escape of felons?"

Aithal raised an eyebrow. "Since when do outlaws care about the crimes of strangers?"

"Who claimed we were outlaws?"

"No one," said Aithal, "except for your appearance, and the circumstances. Why else would three visibly poor, disheveled men row across the lake to a deserted town in the middle of the night, if not to scavenge for food and treasure? Does that not sound like the work of outlaws?"

The man narrowed his eyes. "We could be very poor."

"Except the towns along this river are not poor, and neither are their citizens." Aithal smiled. "Unless they are outcasts and outlaws."

"'E's got a point," muttered the one with the eyepatch.

"And besides," Aithal added, visibly enjoying the strong one's reaction, "you speak like a man of education. Am I wrong to assume that you came from a good family and, until recently, had no reason to go scavenging at all?"

"Perhaps," the man snapped, making it glaringly obvious that Aithal's guess had hit the mark. "What business is it of yours? You still haven't answered my question, and distract not again from the topic."

Aithal looked at the group, then at the strangers, as if wondering how much to reveal. "We are on the run from the Colorless Army," he said at last, "and those they may already have in their grasp. Our experience has shown us that we are no longer safe among the people of Firland. Our errand is our own."