It took Mersem a week to understand the difference among the several groups of people for hire popular in Zarasel and in the capital of Tiorsia and Hosten and he owed Leara for that. It had started as soon as they departed from Zarasel with the aim to reach the well-known Traders' Market halfway to the border by the next two days. Mersem was just looking to pass the time and maybe finally talk to the girl he had idolized for so long.

"So, what's a Crossar?" he had steered his horse closer to Leara's. Her porae—a breed used only by the Solon military—snorted and flicked its dark tail. A darkmare, alright.

Leara had just finished tucking her hair inside her hood to avoid the strands catching more of the air's moisture and for them to stay dry throughout the travel. "Where did you learn that?" she said.

Mersem shrugged. "I just overheard some people talking."

She hummed and looked forward, past the two men, each in a brickmare and a moonmare, making up the frontal flank. So far, nothing had come for them since they entered the thick woodland. "A Crossar is the leader of a group of mercenaries."

"How were they different from bounty hunters?"

She raised her eyes to the sky as if looking for something among the sheets of white clouds. "Unlike bounty hunters who take jobs from tracking to retrieval," she turned to him, her brown eyes glinting. "Mercenaries shed blood."

"But bounty hunters do not?" Mersem remembered how stones weighed inside his gut at the prospect of drawing blood. The memory of the men he spied on in the tavern, drinking and bantering, resurfaced in his head. To have thought those people had killed others had been a scary thought.

Leara nodded. "Guilds—the name of a group of bounty hunters—have an inbuilt code where we aren't allowed to hurt our targets unless absolutely necessary."

"So you won't hurt the thief we are tracking?" he said. Perhaps, he did join the right group, after all. "You're a bounty hunter guild, right?"

"Yes to both," Leara answered. Her fingers stayed still around the reins. Her darkmare remained docile. Then, her tone dropped a few degrees colder. "Although I wouldn't hesitate to order my men to use their weapons if need be."

Oh.

Now, as they left the woodland in favor of the cobbled roads to signal the beginning of the first city in the Capital of Hosten, Mersem had learned there was another type of group people with enough burams could hire—the private armies. Unlike the mercenaries who stood on the gray edges of the law and the market or the honorable bounty hunters who lived by their own moral Code, the private armies were people retired from the military or just there for the coin. Anyone could be in them and they worked for anyone.

Through a sliver of report he heard from a hunter in their party, Malon, it seemed the Palace was going all out to search for Silke that even a few of the private armies in the neighboring Capital of Tiorsia and in Karith have answered the notice and were now scouring the lands of their territories for a girl with pale blond hair and an impish face.

Mersem had never seen or heard of a large mobilization of forces such as this. There's something happening behind the curtains and his sister was caught in the middle of it. He had been trying to leech information from Leara as to why this was taking place but the lady knight was adamant in treating him as merely a boy who knew how to look at prints in the snow or signs of scuffle among the tree trunks.

The third town they found themselves in, Mersem had grown accustomed to the antsy feeling in his spine and the twist in his stomach every time he heard Leara and the other hunters with her describe his sister to merchants, tavern-owners, and even passing civilians. By the time they reached their fourth interviewee, the most prevailing answer was: "They went west, that way."

Then,when the faint sun was already setting, Leara called for a break and they stopped in front of the first inn they could find. Mersem kept his watch over the porae and his one and only normal-bred horse as Leara, tailed by her guild-mates, disappeared inside the inn to get them rooms for the night. He kept his eyes on the horizon, past the silhouettes of the line of trees shining in the distance—a sliver of the forest they left two days ago—and the sheet of never-ending white coating what's supposed to be dark soil.

Houses much like the inn behind him dotted the landscape, some standing on hills made by dunes of snow and some flanking the carved path through the snow down on the plains. Lamps burning with wax candles hung from the edges of roofs made from either brick eaves or logs coated with a fine layer of varnish and wood preservatives, giving off faint light and turning small patches of snow a bright amber. Apart from the few people clad in fur coats and leather boots trudging in the snow, carrying animal carcasses, bunches of cut firewood, or rolls of spun textile, the streets were empty. Quiet.

Was it because it's after sundown already? Mersem looked to his left to a building he was certain to be a tavern. Back home, in Falkmena, these places would be brimming with people in the mood for their evening drink. But here, in the urban town in Hosten, even taverns were still. Strange.

The door to the inn swung open with a creak to rival a newborn fendugin and out came Leara and the rest of her men. "They have stables inside," she ordered in a flat tone she might as well have told a servant to lick her shoes. "Lead the mares through the fence."

Mersem didn't need to be told twice. For Silke's sake, he's willing to be treated like a servant just so he might be able to get to her before any of the mercenaries, the private armies, or even Leara Madris could. As soon as he finished setting up the horses inside their individual cubicles, he dusted off the leaves of hay that clung to his trousers and his coat before heading to the door which would lead him inside the inn.

He spotted Leara and her guildmates seated on one the tables, drinking from tall, wooden cups in silence. The lady knight, herself, was merely picking at the lip of her beverage, her gaze lost somewhere in the room's wooden walls.

"Don't look so glum on such a fine day," Mersem blurted as he dropped to the only seat remaining empty to Leara's left. Maybe it's the gods' blessing? "Where are we headed next?"

Malon scratched his bushy ginger beard. "I talked to the barkeep earlier and he said the thief went to the Sleeping Giant."

Mersem raised an eyebrow. "Why would S—the thief go to a volcano?"

"Beats me," the older and gruffier hunter shrugged, the metal pads on his shoulder clinking against the straps of his breastplate. "Perhaps there's a refuge for fugitives and criminals there that we do not know of?"

"Impossible," Leara said, turning to one side and plucking a rolled up map from her traveling satchel. She spread it all over the table and the men wisely hefted their cups to make room for the brittle parchment. "I've been to the Sleeping Giant several times on assignments from the Striden Order and I can assure you, there's nothing there but snow, hot springs, and occasional geysers. It's barren that not even grass could grow properly. No one would survive there."

Mersem nodded. Leara did have a point. Hosten was known for two things—the dormant volcano whose geothermal energy leaks out into the water around it and the Sisters Springs which were known to be the paradise-like pair of connected lakes resembling a huge boiling pot of tea water. Both were huge deals to tourists but for fugitives? Not so much.

Still, it didn't hurt considering the possibility. Just that Malon's suggestion would get them nowhere and with bigger scope to scour by tomorrow. Fryth, the guild's weapons and armor master, took a swig from his cup and belched loud enough to earn a few annoyed glances from a few tables around and send a waft of alcohol-infused breath in Mersem's way.

The man leaned forward, making the table creak underneath his added weight. "You know, there's some rumors that the Fishing Lakes could have an underground criminal empire," Mersem fought the urge to gag as more of Fryth's putrid breath floated towards him. That's why he wasn't much of a drinker. "If that's where the thief was headed, there's no doubt she would have to pass the Sleeping Giant along the way."

Ah, yeah. Thinking ahead of the target. At least Fryth's got half a sense in his head even though his breath stank like a dead whale.

Leara was nodding along, a few strands of her long hair falling past the side of her head and spilling towards the map. Mersem fought the urge to reach out and tuck them behind her ear. Just to see the map! Just to see the map. "So, the information we have so far are—the Sleeping Giant, the Sister Springs, Sulovie, Cedora, and the Capital of Tiorsia." she tapped a finger in each place she mentioned. "If we're to set a course for the next week, I'd say we're about a week off and our headstart would be reduced to nothing by the time we cleared the distance from here to central Hosten."

Silence crept into their midst as no one could offer up a better option. It looked like Silke had thought this through and had outwitted them from the beginning. Mersem pursed his lips and tried to remember where Leara had pointed on the map when laying out their info. Sulovie was a rural town down south and Cedora was another rural town beside it. Tiorsia was miles west.

Something sparked in Mersem's brain. West...

"The thief couldn't be heading west," Mersem blurted, earning incredulous glances from his companions. Even Leara stared at him like he had grown horrida horns in those sweet seconds. He looked at the map again. "Think about it. Every single one of the people we happened to find...all of them said the same thing—west."

Malon knitted his eyebrows and frowned. "Get to the point, kid."

Mersem bobbed his head. "I am. Hold your porae," he said. "So, what has Leara said earlier? Cedora. Sulovie. Tiorsia. All west. It's like these people were trained to say the same direction to anyone who might ask. It's like..."

"They're conditioned," Leara breathed, a look of realization passing across her face. The fact that she finished Mersem's sentence off didn't sound too bad, either.

"Yeah," Mersem focused back on the yellowing parchment lined by ink and colored with pigments. "So forget the west. What are the places these people aren't pointing us to?"

Malon's eyes lit up. "East," he said. "The thief came from the Imperial City in Zarasel so the easiest way to hide could have been to the thick forests of Xalcor. How come we missed that?"

"But what would the thief be doing in Xalcor?" Fryth reasoned, giving another loud belch. "There's nothing but timber and moose there."

Mersem rolled his eyes at that comment. He was from a rural town and even wee Falkmena had more to offer than just timber and moose. He did have a point, though. "Why go east when hiding out in the large Capitals like Tiorsia or Karith could have been better options if she was attempting to lose her tails?"

"Maybe losing tails wasn't her intention all along," Leara said, her tone sharp and deadly. She traced a finger, circling the areas on the eastside of the map. Then, she cursed. "Lotherne. She's heading towards the rival kingdom."

He could have spat his drink if he was drinking one. At best, only his saliva succeeded in going back down his throat the wrong way. He gripped the table's rim as he hacked, trying to clear his airways of the painful twinge. When he righted himself, he turned to Leara. "Why would she go to Lotherne?"

"She raided the armory," Leara reminded Mersem. Maybe she wasn't aware he was there with the thief when it all happened? Yeah, he'd go with that. "She probably stole something of value there. If her goal was to make sure none of the citizens of Solon could catch her, she'd go to Lotherne."

Mersem tapped his chin. "And going to Karith to catch a ship departing to other continents sounds like a trip to the mouth of the Sleeping Giant—dangerous and quite pointless."

"Exactly," was Leara's only reply.

Mersem mussed his damp hair. Long strands danced in front of his eyes. He really needed to trim those ends when he had the time. "So, now that we've narrowed it down, where would we be heading tomorrow?"

Leara jerked her chin towards the map. "It's lucky we're only halfway through Hosten. We will catch the earliest road towards Krigisa. Let's use the main trade route so travel would be faster. We'd figure out how to get to the neutral lands when we cleared the rural borders."

"Neutral lands?" Mersem knitted his eyebrows. "What's that?"

She blew a breath. "It's an entry point through the continent's four kingdoms. It's the center so naturally, these kingdoms would be fighting all over it. Then, after a Treaty between the Royal Families, they agreed that the neutral borders would be free of any control from any kingdom. Since then, it's been treated as a non-military zone and a great way to cross kingdom borders without dealing with immigration processes."

Mersem let his lips form a circle. So that's what it was. He had been spending so much time in the forests he forgot certain places existed. He really should get out more often.

"Great job on seeing through the thief's plan, Mersem," Leara's gentle voice made him snap his head up. He ended up staring right through her eyes. He didn't know she had beige flecks in her pupils until today. "Thanks to you, we wouldn't have to waste time in the west."

Heat rushed to Mersem's cheeks and made his heartbeat erratic and loud in his ears. "N-no problem," he blurted. His hand involuntarily went to the back of his neck and began rubbing the skin underneath his scarf. "It's my job as the team's tracker, anyway."

Malon and Fryth snorted as one. "Well, that's it for today," Malon said, shooting up from his seat and fixing his belt which had become lopsided from sitting. "Shall we meet at the first light down here?"

Leara nodded, gathering up her map and shoving it back to her satchel in a loud crinkle. "See you," she said.

Then, like the usual arrangement in inns since Mersem joined the hunters, Leara stood up and went to a separate room she rented for herself, leaving him stuck with two burly men who could wring his neck in his sleep.

What's to go wrong, eh?