“Watchword?”
The soldier nodded. He pulled his finger out and sniffed at something with a sour look before giving it a flick. “You know, the password. We can’t be lettin’ no spies through here. There’s a war on, after all.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing. I wasn’t informed of any password.”
“No?” The smaller soldier raised an eyebrow as he took hold of the horse’s bridle.
“I spoke to the regents themselves, and I—”
The larger of the two pulled him from his horse. He landed on his back, hitting the ground hard and banging his head. A jolt of pain momentarily blinded him. When he opened his eyes, he found the soldier straddling him with a blade to his throat.
“Who do you work for?” the large sentry growled.
“Whatcha doin’, Will?” the smaller one asked, still holding his horse.
“Tryin’ to get this spy to talk, that’s what.”
“I—I’m not a spy. I’m an imperial courier. Let me go!”
“Will, our orders says nothin’ about interrogatin’ them. If’n they don’t know the watchword, we cuts they’s throats and tosses them in the river. Sir Breckton don’t have time to deal with every fool we get on this here road. Besides, who ya think he works for? The only ones fightin’ us is Melengar, so he works for Melengar. Now slit his throat and I’ll help you drag him to the river as soon as I ties up this here horse.”
“But I am a courier!” he shouted.
“Sure ya is.”
“I can prove it. I have dispatches for Sir Breckton in the saddlebag.”
The two soldiers exchanged dubious looks. The smaller one shrugged. He reached into the horse’s bags and proceeded to search. He pulled out a leather satchel containing a wax-sealed parchment, and breaking the seal, he examined it.
“Well, if’n that don’t beat all. Looks like he’s tellin’ the truth, Will. This here looks like a real genuine dispatch for His Lordship.”
“Oh?” the other asked as worry crossed his face.
“Sure looks that way. Better let him up.”
His face downcast, the soldier sheathed his weapon and extended a hand to help the courier to his feet. “Ah—sorry about that. We were just followin’ orders, ya know?”
“When Sir Breckton sees this broken seal, he’ll have your heads!” the courier said, shoving past the large sentry and snatching the document from the other.
“Us?” The smaller one laughed. “Like Will here said, we was just followin’ his orders. You were the one who failed to get the watchword afore ridin’ here. Sir Breckton, he’s a stickler for rules. He don’t like it when his orders ain’t followed. Course ya’ll most likely only lose a hand or maybe an ear fer yer mistake. If’n I was you, I’d see if’n I could heat the wax up enough to reseal it.”
“That would ruin the impression.”
“Ya could say it was hot and, what with the sun on the pouch all day, the wax melted in the saddlebag. Better than losin’ a hand or an ear, I says. Besides, busy nobles like Breckton ain’t gonna study the seal afore openin’ an urgent dispatch, but he will notice if’n the seal is broken. That’s fer sure.”
The courier looked at the document flapping in the breeze and felt his stomach churn. He had no choice, but he would not do it here with these idiots watching. He remounted his horse.
“Clear the road!” he barked.
The two soldiers dragged the branches aside. He kicked his horse and raced her up the road.
Royce watched the courier ride out of sight before taking off his imperial uniform. Turning to face Hadrian, he said, “Well, that wasn’t so hard.”
“Will?” Hadrian asked as the two slipped into the forest.
Royce nodded. “Remember yesterday you complained that you’d rather be an actor? I was giving you a part: Will, the Imperial Checkpoint Sentry. I thought you did rather well with the role.”
“You know, you don’t need to mock all my ideas.” Hadrian frowned as he pulled his own tabard over his head. “Besides, I still think we should consider it. We could travel from town to town performing in dramatic plays, even a few comedies.” Hadrian gave his smaller partner an appraising look. “Though maybe you should stick to drama—perhaps tragedies.”
Royce glared back.
“What? I think I would make a superb actor. I see myself as a dashing leading man. We could definitely land parts in The Crown Conspiracy. I’ll play the handsome swordsman that fights the villain, and you—well, you can be the other one.”
They dodged branches while pulling off their coifs and gloves, rolling them in their tabards. Walking downhill, they reached one of the many small rivers that fed the great Galewyr. Here they found their horses still tied and enjoying the river grass. The animals lazily swished their tails, keeping the flies at bay. “You worry me sometimes, Hadrian. You really do.”