The people of Renack are decent, patriotic citizens. Should they discover your sadly misguided
beliefs, I doubt they would trust an icy field to do you in. Bydell is to the east. Nothing but scoundrels
and deserters. You just may find someone there who shares your blasphemous views."
These last words were heard through the slammed door of his quarters. Myranda moved with swift,
motivated strides. She would have no more of this place if she could help it. The cold wind of the
outside staggered her like a blow to the face. It had grown even colder than when she had sought
shelter just minutes before. The patches of scalding hot tea turned icy at the first exposure to the
stinging cold. The fuming girl gritted her teeth and leaned into the wind. It never ceased to amaze her
how, seemingly regardless of which way she turned, the wind blew in her face. It was as though
someone up above was toying with her, seeing how much torment it would take to break her. She
turned her eyes skyward.
"You will have to do better than that!" she assured her unseen tormentor.
Not long after storming out of the church, she found the signpost of which the priest had spoken.
Renack to the west and Bydell to the east. Both were ten miles away. A few hours by foot. It was a long
hike by any means, but along a road, she could make it to either town well before nightfall. She might
even make it to a pub before the tables had filled for supper. But which town to go to? Reluctantly, she
headed off to the east.
#
As Myranda walked eastward, trying to put the anger of her confrontation out of her mind, she
questioned her choice. The advice of a person who knew how she felt about the war had nearly cost
Myranda her life the previous day, and here she was making the same mistake.
Her father would have frowned on this. Her thoughts turned to him. It had been even longer since
she'd seen his face than her mother's. She had to struggle to remember his features. He had been a
soldier, never home more than a few weeks before he was off to another tour of duty. He still found
time to teach her some of the most valued lessons she had ever learned, though. Even though she had
not been more than six when she last spoke to him, he had made sure she knew something of the real
world. He would tell stories of adventures he'd had, always with a piece of advice at the end. Above all,
he'd taught her to pay attention and to learn from her mistakes.
She shook the memories away. Those days were gone now, too painful to remember.
With her reminiscing over, the infuriating words of the priest quickly returned. Again, she
physically shook. What she needed now was distraction, anything to distance her mind from the pain
and anger.
"So, Bydell and Renack. Each the same distance from the church. What other towns have I been to
that shared a church between them? Lucast and Murtock . . . Skell and Marna . . ." she thought aloud.
She grimaced as the distraction proved inadequate to force the words of the priest from her mind.
"Bydell!" she forced herself to consider. "Where did that name come from? I wonder if it is by a
dell."
Myranda continued to force her mind onto this and other suitably pointless subjects for the
remainder of the cold and lonely trek. She had exhausted nearly every last meaningless avenue of
consideration by the time she sloshed into the smoky, dark interior of the Bydell tavern. The sign over
the door labeled this place The Lizard's Goblet, a name she wished she'd had to toss about in her mind
on the trip. The reasoning behind such a name could have filled at least a few minutes. The smell of
roasting meat and the tantalizing sound of wine being poured set her mind firmly on her empty
stomach.
The tables of the noisy room were all at least partially filled. As she scanned the establishment for a
place to sit, she could feel eyes staring back. Myranda's eyes passed the faces of at least a dozen men
far too young and healthy to be anywhere but the front line. They each had found some way, likely
underhanded, to avoid their obligation to serve. Now they sat, drinking and laughing in this place,
criminals for choosing life. Among the rogue's gallery of faces was a particularly suspicious-looking