Brightly Woven

reached the base of a mountain. With the air suddenly much colder and the now recognizable scent of snow in the air, I realized what a mistake it had been to leave North’s blanket behind and how hard it was to carry my loom myself.
    A hush had fallen over the countryside. I thought of Henry and his father, driving their rickety old cart up the same road I was walking on. I would need to find Owain first, to make sure that he had gotten through to the wizard leaders.
    And then, would I find Henry? A week ago, the prospect would have thrilled me no end, but now the thought of seeing him only brought dread. I wasn’t sure what I would say to him, but I certainly couldn’t tell him about coming to Provincia alone. He wouldn’t understand why I had putmyself in danger, and if I knew Henry, he wouldn’t let me out of his sight again. It would be back to Cliffton and the old way of life, and I wouldn’t be able to get in a word of protest.
    Somehow, it had come down to a choice between the two, and I wasn’t ready to make that decision.
    Over the next four days, more men and even a few families began to appear along the road, passing me in long wagon caravans. I tried vainly to keep up with some of the friendly-looking groups, but after nearly four days of walking, my body refused to let me. I had stopped for a moment, just to catch my breath, when someone shouted from behind me.
    “Well, whadda we have here? A lad on his own, and with a bag full of food?” an older man asked, his head crowned with gray. Behind him were two stocky boys—his sons, most likely—and behind them was a cart loaded down with bags and weapons. The younger son seemed to be pulling it along single-handedly.
    My stomach flipped in panic. I pulled my hat down farther over my head.
    “Walk with us fer a bit,” one of the sons said. “I’m thinking we’re gonna be fast ol’ friends.”
    The father laughed heartily, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Came up from Mariton fer the war; gotta help build trenches and the like. You gonna go, too?”
    I nodded again, wondering how long I could go without having to say a single word.
    “Then we’re gonna get there together,” the first son said. “Fast friends, it’s like I was saying.”
    We walked in uncomfortable silence, the father never once removing his arm from around my shoulder. He knows , I thought, and the fear shredded my insides. He knows .
    But if that was the truth, he didn’t show any other indication of it, and his hands didn’t wander anyplace they didn’t belong. If anything, he was more interested in sneaking glances into my bag, and it was with a horrible start that I realized the numerous bags weighing down their cart had probably not belonged to them.
    I focused my eyes firmly on the wild grass along the road. Think , I told myself, think . I could run—I was fast when I needed to be—but the father’s grip on my shoulder was unyielding, and a small knife had appeared in the younger son’s hand. He gave a nod to his brother, who circled back around me. We were slowly moving off the road, onto the grass fields. Another hand touched my bag, began to untie the knots that held it closed—they could have the bag, they just couldn’t have North’s notebook.
    I twisted down and out of the father’s grip, but one of the sons still had a tight grip on my bag and wrenched me to my feet. The small knife was back, this time digging into my side.
    “Seems like our boy doesn’t want to be friends,” the father said. He placed a hand on my head, pulling it back to get a better look at my face. “Didn’t take you fer a fighter. So what’s hiding in that bag?”
    I watched the sons out of the corner of my eye as they tossed the books and yarn out of my bag. North’s notebook was thrown down carelessly into the dirt, spilling out letters and loose papers. Their hands stilled only when they touched the cool glass of my bottles.
    “Drafts?” one asked. “All you gonna give us is drafts?”
    “Not just any draft,” I said, my mind working fast. “Special drafts—a delivery for the Wizard Guard.”
    The father’s hand relaxed slightly on my hat. If he had pulled it any harder, my hair would have come tumbling out.
    “Special draft?”
    “I’m a wizard’s assistant,” I said. “He was hired to create a strengthening potion for the wizards to use in the war.”
    “Do you take us fer fools?” a son spat. “Only four bottles fer hundreds of