Page 84 of Storm to Victory
Unfortunately, they hadn’t been able to steal any food. There had been nothing left to steal, even if they’d wanted to, after the hordes of displaced people had passed by. Instead, they had to make do with the sparse supplies they’d taken from Ludin.
Dacha and Aaruk marched along the road as if eating only one tiny meal a day wasn’t a big deal. Dacha, especially, didn’t seem to even notice the lack of meals, walking at an unflagging pace as if he was running on pure elfness.
Fieran’s stomach growled again, louder this time. Dacha glanced over his shoulder, shooting Fieran a look as if he thought he was drawing too much attention to himself.
As if Fieran could stop his stomach from rumbling. Worse, he couldn’t even protest since none of them dared talk while so surrounded by other people.
All this walking and rationing wouldn’t do any good if they didn’t get their hands on more transportation. They’d never reach Landri in time at this rate, nor would their food last.
Yet finding new transportation was proving difficult. Any farm horses that hadn’t been confiscated by the army were either already stolen or well-hidden. Same for trucks and motorcars.
After another two miles of walking, a village came into sight. It, too, had several factories on the outskirts, although these hadn’t been touched by bombing.
At least the town didn’t have any guards blocking the road, but the horde of people were flocking onto the streets, likely as eager as Fieran was to get their hands on food.
As he, Dacha, and Aaruk entered the town, the townsfolk bustling down the road gave them a wide berth, glancing at them before looking away quickly. At least their active avoidance of making eye contact meant that they weren’t looking at them too closely. All they saw were the uniforms.
Something smacked into Fieran’s shoulders and spattered into the side of his face. He jumped, barely keeping a hold of his magic, as he whirled to face his attacker. At least his magic hadn’t hurt when it crackled against his control.
“Swine!”
“Empress’s dogs!”
There were a few more shouts with increasingly vulgar words. Another tomato came from somewhere out of the crowd to splatter against Aaruk’s back.
Dacha shoved Fieran behind him, his fists clenched, as a rock the size of an egg flew past Fieran’s shoulder.
Would the crowd notice the faint hint of magic curling around Dacha’s fingers?
They needed to get out of here. Fieran grabbed Dacha’s sleeve, then Aaruk’s arm, and dragged the two of them down the sidewalk. Dacha resisted a moment before he turned and jogged at Fieran’s side. Aaruk stumbled, his shoulders hunched around his ears.
Shouts, tomatoes, and more rocks flew at them, chasing them down the road.
A dark alley opened between two of the buildings, and Fieran ducked into it, hauling Aaruk after him. Dacha followed at his heels, glancing over his shoulder as if prepared to halt and hold off the angry crowd if necessary.
The alley ended at an even smaller alley between these shops and the row of houses on the next street over. Fieran darted to the right, then down another alley, until he, Dacha, and Aaruk were crouched beside a pile of trash in a dark corner.
The three of them remained as they were, not moving, their panting loud in the close stillness of the alley, for several long minutes.
Fieran released a long breath and pressed a hand to his side. That had hurt. At least he didn’t see any blood seeping through his shirt to indicate that he had opened the wound. “I don’t think we were followed.”
“I think our disguises worked too well.” Dacha grimaced as he swiped a piece of tomato from his cheek.
Aaruk rubbed at a spot on the back of his shoulder. Likely a place where he’d been hit by a rock. “I’ll say.”
The distant sound of shouting grew louder. Was the rioting crowd coming this way? Would they go down this alley? Withso many people packed into this town, a riot could turn quite deadly.
“Psst.”
The voice had Dacha jumping to place himself in front of Fieran again. Fieran had to lean around him to spot the older woman peeking her head out a door farther down the alley.
She motioned to them, waving them toward her.
Fieran’s breath caught in his chest. How much had she heard? Even if she hadn’t overheard the words, just their cadence and sound would give away that the three of them were not Mongavarian soldiers.
What was riskier? That she thought she was helping three Mongavarian soldiers? Or that she realized they weren’t Mongavarian soldiers?
The sounds in the street grew louder, echoing down the alley. The woman made the waving motion again, this time with more frantic force.
