The next morning, Gwilym woke them as dawn was creeping through the trees of Bar-Dendra. Silently, they gathered their things, ate a measly breakfast of barrack’s biscuits, and made their way back towards the edge of the forest.
A thick mist had settled in the clearing between the tree line and Gallenford, rendering the distant buildings and palisade to little more than dark smudges on the horizon. There was no sign of life between them and the town, but each of them scanned the landscape for anything suspicious, any sign of movement.
Gwilym cleared his throat and took a step ahead. ‘Here’s the plan; we need to get to the town square and, from there, make our way to a tanner’s yard at the back of a public house called the … errm … errm.’ He ran a hand from his temple to the end of his sh
