Try as he might, Traven just couldn't get the tip of his dagger to dig deep enough into the floor so it would stick. The weapon kept tumbling over with every failed toss, creating yet one more untidy gouge in the wood. The problem, Savaran noted, was twofold.

First was the size of the weapon and the fact it wasn't weighted for use as a thrown blade. The second was the patently obvious lack of the former prince's skill at throwing it. The turn Traven placed on the dagger and the amount of force he applied as it left his hand was all wrong.

After about the thirteenth failed attempt by the former prince, Savaran snatched up the pristine weapon, turned, and hurled it into the far wall of the small room they were all sharing. It flew straight, with a neat, tight end over end turn and ended with a heavy *THUNK* as it buried itself more than deep enough to remain there.

"That," he barked at Traven, "is how you do it." Savaran returned to his seat by the window, and his whittling with his own substantially smaller knife.

Meanwhile, Traven went to retrieve his prized and only weapon. "Does Daria always do this?" he said, referring to their currently absent companion.

"You mean have jobs set up all over the damn continent?" Savaran answered his question with a question.

"Yeah," Traven grunted as he tried to remove the dagger by pulling on it, but failed to do so.

"Pretty much," the former general shrugged.

Daria had been missing in action since last night when the three of them had ridden into the small Hamlet of Gim, just outside the more bustling metropolis of Soucaro. Savaran wouldn't risk him and the prince going anywhere near a city of that size. Even coming here, he considered a gamble. There were too many people. And too many eyes. And he was getting dangerously close to territories where he was too well known to hide in crowds.

For the extra agreed upon price of one gold from the fees for the job near Masterton, Daria had graciously conceded to allow the two fugitives to stay here, in the room she paid for. A room which cost her a paltry one silver a night. And, as a bonus, Savaran and Traven also had been granted access to her stash of rations.

Considering that combined Traven and Savaran didn't have a silver to their names? Savaran considered it a bargain. All while she was off picking up another fee for another job she had arranged prior to this journey beginning.

The roadhouse wasn't luxurious; just a bunch of cobbled together plank walls to form rooms in what seemed to be a converted old longhouse, or maybe a stable. But it afforded them shelter and another respite from the elements. Even if the lone cot was Daria's and Traven and Savaran had to bunk on the floor.

"How does she do it?" Traven said, straining as he had to plant his foot in the wall to give him the leverage needed to remove the dagger.

"That woman is full of surprises," Savaran grumbled. He checked over the shape of the whistle he was roughly half done with. "Unfortunately, her skills are in high demand with way too many people. People even I don't care to associate with. Unsavory people. And I guarantee you she's got folk coming out of the woodwork to offer her opportunities for coin."

"How doesn't she get caught?" Traven asked, looking over his blade for any damage. "I mean, the law of averages and all. She seems to pull off jobs on a near continual basis. Eventually you'd think she'd make a mistake."

Savaran smiled. "She's that good," he replied, blowing a chip of wood out of the notch he was carving to perfection.

"It's just weird," the former prince retook his seat. "She's nothing like you. Yet the two of you seem inexplicably drawn together."

"Yeah," Savaran griped.  "I'm like a moth to her flame. I keep hovering around her looking to go in and get burned."

"But why?" the once prince continued trolling for a deeper explanation beyond 'just because'.

"Good question, kid." Even Savaran had to shake his head. "Goodquestion."

Savaran returned to his whittling in earnest, content to let that particular topic of conversation die the death it deserved.  For his part, Traven went back to unsuccessfully trying to get his dagger to stick in the floor. The blissful peace of metal slicing wood carried on for several minutes, interrupted only on occasion by Traven's continued failed attempts.

"Psst."

Savaran growled at Traven. "Yeah, Traven? What you want?" 

Traven, stopping what he was doing, looked at him. "Huh?"

"What do you mean 'huh?'" Savaran stopped his work. "Wasn't that you that just pssted at me?"

"No," the ex-prince replied.

"Psst. Savaran," the hushed call, Savaran could now tell, came from outside the window.

The onetime prince and the ex-general exchanged a glance, and Savaran looked out the window to see Daria kneeling, wedged behind a bush beneath it. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Come on," she said, continuing her hushed words, "let's go."

"Go?" Savaran raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," She glanced about with wary eyes from her hiding place. "Like right now!"

Savaran sighed, realizing something wasn't right. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Daria insisted.

Three bangs resounded down the hall. "This is Constable Ivanstone! Open up! This is a search!"

"Ok," Daria conceded. "Things sort of went sideways during the job."

"Wait," Savaran was quick to recall the name said from down the hall. "Did he just say Ivanstone?"

"Yeah." Daria sighed.

"As in Johva Ivanstone?" Savaran pried.

"Yeah," she hissed with annoyance.

"Daria!" Savaran turned to the door and drew his sword.

More pounding from down the hall. "Open up! Prepare to be searched!" he heard the familiar but now older sounding voice call out.

"What did you do?" Savaran now demanded.

"I'll tell you later," the hurry in her voice was obvious. "Now grab our stuff and come on."

"Whose Johva Ivanstone?" Traven asked.

Savaran sheathed his sword and grabbed packs and gear, chucking them out the window. "He's one person who might be an even better tracker than Daria."

"I'd say my equal," she defended herself.

"Regardless," Savaran hurled the last of their gear outside, "we've got to get going."

Savaran was first through their only means of escape besides the door, which wasn't an option. He loaded up with their possessions on the other side as the stumbling prince-no-more followed and faceplanted in the dirt.

"Bet we can't get to the stables to get the horses," Savaran observed.

"Taken care of," Daria winked, and she headed off into the woods behind the establishment. Her path led them to where three horses were tethered; their bright colored saddles, tasseled reins, and branded flanks marking them as belonging to the local constabulary. "Here we go!" she beamed.

"Where did you get these?" Savaran groaned. Daria cocked her head sideways with an are-you-seriously-asking-me-that-stupid-question look. "Ok, I mean, I know where you got them from. But -"

"I'd suggest getting saddled up and getting a move on." Daria was already up on her chosen mount. With a kick to its flanks, she turned and tore off through the woods.

"Well," Savaran sighed, "we're already horse thieves. So, what's three more?"

"I'm just glad she got me my own this time," Traven grinned.

But when he had trouble getting into the saddle, it was Savaran who had to help him up. Savaran had just finished hastily attaching the packs and securing their supplies to his and Traven's new horses when he heard the warning directed towards them.

"You there!" Savaran turned to see two official looking fellows with swords drawn stumbling through the woods at them. "Stop! Those are our horses!"

Savaran popped up into the saddle of his confiscated mount and smiled at them. With a mock salute he informed them, "Not anymore!" And with that, he followed Traven off into the woods after the former prince had already bolted at the sight of the guards.

It wasn't long before Savaran caught up to Daria and her get-out-of-town-with-all-due-haste pace. But there wasn't time for either of them to stop and have a cordial chat about recent events. Traven, despite taking off before him, was lagging far behind, his equestrian skills about on par with his ability to hurl a dagger.

After about two hours of riding, backtracking, and misdirecting, they slowed up their pace enough that Savaran could pull up alongside Daria and try once more to get an answer to his question. "So, care to fill me in?"

"Told you," Daria reiterated. "Job went sideways."

"How sideways?" Savaran wasn't taking her off-hand dismissal as good enough.

Daria frowned and looked down. "Really, really, really sideways."

"How?" Savaran was tiring of asking the same simple question over and over again and getting nowhere. He felt like a parent interrogating a naughty child.

"Hit a little snag in the attempt at a triple-cross," Daria finally confessed.

"A triple-cross?" Savaran wailed.

"Yeah, still trying to figure it out myself." Daria looked up, refocusing on the trail. "Seems to have fallen apart somewhere between me flipping the tables on the mark and trying to squeeze an extra couple gold out of the original benefactor."

Savaran shook his head. "Daria, why?"

She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. "Money.  Of course."

"Why can't the original agreed upon fee ever be enough for you?" He asked, wanting to know with all due seriousness.

"Because everything is negotiable!" she reminded him.

"Or, in your case, renegotiable?" he pointed out.

She shrugged. "It's how I make my money."

Savaran smiled. "Yeah, well about that. I'll take two gold back in our final cut on the job down south for securing all your supplies for you." He patted the bags packed in haste on his mount's back.

"And I'll take three gold," she countered, "for those nice upgrades you and the boy prince are riding on."

"Then I guess," he continued with his own counter, "I'll take a gold for the fact that I had a perfectly serviceable nag that had to leave behind because of your carelessness."

"Guess we're even then," she smiled back.

Savaran did the math on his fingers. Then frowned. "Look, Johva's going to be on us if we don't find a way to cover our tracks better than we already have. We've left a trail so blazed that even Prince the Third could follow it."

"Heard that!" Traven called as he was now closing in behind them.

"We've got to find a main road, or a large body of water, something we can cross and break up the trail," Savaran observed. "I'm sure those two guards that saw me can give him a pretty good description. And if Johva knows I was there, he'll definitely come looking for me. Even if we are outside his jurisdiction by morning."

"For a thousand gold?" Traven chimed in, "I know I would. So, who's this Ivanstone guy?"

"Ran with him during the campaigns at Illas and later at Low Lands," Savaran filled in the blanks. "Daria was with us at Low Lands. Johva's the best tracker there is."

"It's a tie," Daria defended herself again. "He and I are equals."

"If I recall," Savaran pointed out, "when you couldn't pick up the trail of those scouts out of Ger, Johva was the one that found it."

"You gave me bad information!" she squawked. "Said they went east when they went north."

"I said I didn't know which direction they went," the ex-general corrected. "Said I thought maybe they went east."

"Geez," with her nose turned up, Daria snorted. "Send me on a wild goose chase and then blame me?"

Traven shook his head. "The two of you need to bang out these differences between you."

Daria flashed him a grinning look and then smiled at Savaran. "That's a good idea." She pointed at Savaran and smiled even more widely. "Later, you and I are going to bang out our difference. And bang them out hard."

"Not what I -" Traven tried to cut in but failed.

Savaran laughed. "Bang them out all night long?"

"Not what I meant!"