Shouts echoed faintly in the distance as Lara neared the inn, mingling with the panicked whinnies of horses and the rustle of boots on gravel. A prickling sense of urgency crept up her spine. As she crossed into the inn’s perimeter, her brothers finally appeared, stumbling from the doorway, both hunched over and clutching their stomachs like men pierced by invisible daggers.
"Sis, is Sandoz alright?" Bener asked. "He seemed to be still in shock."
"Damn it! My stomach hurts again." He ran in the direction of the outhouse.
Lara’s eyes narrowed. Only then did she notice the growing line at the back of the inn — guests and soldiers alike queued up impatiently outside the outhouse, one of them banging on the wooden door and shouting at the unfortunate soul trapped inside to hurry it up.
Grimacing, she looked down at the boy in her arms, who looked pale and half-conscious, and carried him back to their room. He groaned softly in her arms, his skin clammy.
Once inside, Lara reached into her travel pack and pulled out a tightly bound pouch of herbs, their scent sharp and earthy. Without wasting a second, she descended to the ground floor and made her way into the inn’s kitchen. To her mild surprise, the place was bustling — several other travelers had already gathered, their faces drawn, each clutching an empty cup, begging for hot water.
Minutes later, Lara emerged with the kettle cradled in her arms, steam rising in lazy curls, and five ceramic cups clinking softly against each other on a tray. She returned to her brothers’ room and wordlessly began pouring out doses of her herbal remedy, the bitter scent of the concoction filling the space.
"Brother, there must be something wrong with the food. Why are many of us having a sick stomach?" Gideon grumbled as he took a cup of the medicinal herb. The water was hot but not scalding hot. It warmed his stomach and comforted him.
"Do you really need to ask that?" Bener, who had come back after relieving himself, snapped, eyes sunken and voice taut with frustration. His tone was harsher than usual — the sting of illness scraping away what little patience he had left. His hands trembled as he held the cup. "It’s the damn food."
He felt a weakness and heaviness settle within him, a creeping sense of disinterest that made his limbs feel leaden and his spirit listless. The food he had eaten before, once a source of comfort, now seemed to radiate something unsettling, an unmistakable sign that all was not well.
"Sis, how come you’re not feeling a thing? Didn’t we eat the exact same meal?" Percival questioned, a hint of envy flickering as he watched her, still looking cool.
"I did not drink the water served at the restaurant. I drank the one that I had brought. It was an herbal concoction." Lara took the kettle and prepared to leave the room. She needed to give the remaining medicine to Reya and Sandoz.
"So, it’s the water," Percival exclaimed, his voice laced with disbelief. "Damn it! This has to be a conspiracy." His eyes widened with a mix of realization and urgency, and instantly, he sprang to his feet. With a burst of energy, he bolted from the room, his heart pounding as he raced to uncover the truth.
"Isn’t his reaction just a tad delayed?" Gideon sighed, his eyes rolling dramatically as he watched his brother hastily leave. The corners of his mouth twitched as his gaze trailed after him.
Lara left her two brothers and went to her room, where she served Reya and Sandoz a cup of the medicinal brew. She was calm and collected as she watched the two finish the cup. Both were spent, and after drinking, they lay sprawled on the bed, giving Lara no space.
Lara could only sigh.
She was lost in thought for some time as if contemplating something important.
Whoever was the brain behind the prisoner’s rescue was very cunning. She admired his intelligence. To harm even the innocent guests who happened to be at the wrong place at that time was a cruel act, a terrorist’s mindset.
Lara pondered deeply as a question crept into her mind: So even in the old era, terrorism was also rampant? Lara asked herself.
She went to the room across theirs and knocked.
She knocked again, but it was the same silence that greeted her.
With the kettle clutched tightly in one hand and several mismatched mugs balanced precariously in the other, she descended the creaking wooden stairs and returned the tray to the kitchen.
She prepared another kettle of her medicinal brew and carried it while holding the flickering torch that illuminated her path in her free hand, casting dancing shadows on the ground. The glow guided her through the chilly night air as she ventured toward the camp, where sick soldiers huddled beneath the starlit sky, pressing their stomachs, trying to ease the pain.
She passed the kettle to one of the soldiers and advised him to pass it around, and everyone should drink a cup. Each soldier carried a wooden cup, a wooden bowl, and a wooden spoon with them, as they were convenient because of their light weight.
Lara mounted a horse.
"Sis, where are you going? It is dangerous out there. You might have heard it earlier because you went after Sandoz." Bener fell in step beside her steed. "The bandits came and rescued the mayor. The soldiers were out somewhere, relieving themselves, so there was no one to resist them."
Now, Lara understood why the man who caught Sandoz, when he felt he was in danger, just left like that. Sandoz was just a diversion. He wanted to distract the soldiers to make it easier for the prisoners to escape. But even without doing so, it looked like they had succeeded.
"Where is Prince Alaric?" She asked while surveying the camp. Only a few soldiers remained guarding the remaining windowless carriage.
"He came after them with the remaining soldiers who were not afflicted with stomach sickness," Percival explained.
Lara looked up at the dark sky. The stars and the moon provided little light, and chasing after those who had escaped would be very dangerous.
"Brothers, I will ride into the night and find the Prince and his men. "They might need our help," Lara said.
"But it’s dangerous..." Bener protested.
Doesn’t she love danger? Her hands were itching. It has been a long time.