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would be fast asleep, activity was still high in some of the more disreputable establishments. These Captain Dante immediately focused upon.
    “There! There and there!” As parties of men rushed to the various places to which he had pointed, the officer and Nermesa entered what passed for an inn but was more of a giant, precarious-looking wooden box.
    “If you please,” the Gunderman said to his companion, “I will oversee matters here.”
    “Of course.” Nermesa had no intention of usurping Dante’s authority even though he already had his doubts as to finding their quarry here.
    The interior of the inn—called The Drunken Mule—was shabby and disreputable. Yet, its clientele was a mix of every component of the social order, from richly gowned merchants to dust-covered and grimy loners who possibly could have listed thievery among their various trades. The music played by a portly woman with a flute and a graying man strumming a round lyre was tolerable at best, but it made for a background noise that likely enabled the patrons to feel as if they were home rather than in the middle of nowhere.
    The music paused as Captain Dante raised his weapon, and called, “I want order now! No one is to so much as rise from their seats or raise a hand in protest! Hear me?”
    Some of the travelers flinched, but those who appeared to be part of the establishment took the Gunderman’s command in the sort of stride that indicated that they had heard it many times before. For some reason, that did not strike Nermesa as a good thing. His suspicions that the chase would come to naught further increased.
    The remaining men with them spread out and methodically searched the premises. Dante requested that Nermesa wait by the entrance while the garrison commander questioned the proprietor, a sallow, bald individual with scars across his cheeks.
    Nermesa fought to hide his impatience as the minutes passed and nothing seemed to happen. The Gundermen soldiers searched thoroughly, but he almost felt as if they, too, did not expect any hint of where his attacker had gone, much less finding the man himself.
    Captain Dante finally returned to him. The ponytailed officer had a frustrated expression.
    “No one’s seen a thing, so they claim. I’ve spoken with Yanus, the one behind the counter, and he claims no one who looked like he might be wounded came in. You got the man pretty good, you said?”
    “Another inch, and I suspect that we would not have to be searching for him, Captain.”
    The Gunderman nodded. “Then I doubt he’s come in here. Let’s hope that the others had more results.”
    But it did not take long after their departure from The Drunken Mule for the duo to verify Nermesa’s worst beliefs. None of the search parties had come across a clue to the fleeing figure.
    Dante’s scowl deepened as he sent his men toward other possibly viable locations. Glancing over his shoulder at the Aquilonian, he admitted, “I look to be wrong. If something doesn’t come to light soon, then he’s lost to us . . . for tonight, at least. I am sorry, my lord. Rest assured, I’ll have the surrounding area swept thoroughly come first light. If he’s anywhere in the vicinity, we might still have a chance to catch him.”
    Nermesa considered the landscape around Samalara. It was not the most hospitable, but it was hardly devoid of life and places where one could hide out while dealing with a wound. Even assuming that the garrison was eventually able to catch the miscreant, it might take days . . . and Nermesa had to be on his way.
    Despite his misgivings, he nonetheless thanked Captain Dante for his efforts. The Gunderman suggested sending Nermesa back with two armed men as escort.
    “You had to carry your pouch with you. I’ll not take the chance, however slight it might be, that something happens to you on the way back .”
    While that seemed doubtful to the knight, he accepted the guards. It had been unsettling enough for someone to