It had been two days by Dabrose’s count since he’d last been shot at, which meant by now word had undoubtedly come down from on high that he was an enemy of the state. With his rations dwindling (it wasn’t as if he’d planned to go on the run, after all) he regretted not taking the Princess up on her offer of a new cloak.
He needed to resupply, and he needed to do it without leaving a trace. Like all of the King’s Rangers, he kept a series of boltholes scattered across the countryside (documented on a map in his office), but unlike all of the King’s Rangers, he kept a few private boltholes as well—although the smarter rangers definitely did. There was, however, a slight problem, which was that those boltholes were currently out of reach.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t make the trip—he could forage for food well enough, and he would have to turn his horse loose sooner rather than later anyway—no, his problem was much simpler: there were at least three men tracking him already. They’d have to go.