Free Holding The Line by Andrew Wood

something above his minimal medical skills.
    He sat watching his friend sleeping, wondering how he could further help him. They were in an occupied city, crawling with Darekian troops, and he was not certain even if he found help, the person could be trusted not to turn them in. He had also noticed Besemians amongst the guards, these were his own people, and had obviously changed allegiances. It was this factor that concerned him most, spotting a Darekian was simple enough, spotting a Besemian who sympathised with the occupiers was near impossible.
    He dampened another cloth and placed it on the forehead of the older man lying on the floor. Jared felt straight away that the cloth he removed was very warm, this he knew was a sign the fever was getting worse. It now appeared he would have no other option, if he did not find help, his friend would die.
    Waiting until near darkness, Jared made sure Kaden was comfortable, and after dripping a few sips of water into his patient's mouth, he collected his kit together. He put on one of the swords they had captured, and one of the dark cloaks, hoping it would be enough to stop anyone challenging his movements. Checking through the window, peering down the now almost blackness of the alleyway he crept outside.
    He was not sure of where to start looking, but had decided his best bet was to return onto the main street. Despite the cities gloom he managed to stumble his way through the jumble of rubbish at his feet, and was relieved when he found the thoroughfare. At least this had a few lamps burning, and made it a little easier to see where he was going. However, on the downside, it also meant other people could see him.
    Walking slowly, taking long deliberate steps as he had seen the Darekians doing, he quickly noticed the few people around seemed keen enough to avoid him. He stopped outside a building, which appeared illuminated and looked up to see a sign swinging gently overhead. 'The Royal Crown' in large lettering and below the words was a picture depicting the same.
    Shrugging his shoulders, he thought this was as good a place as any. He did not want to make a grand entrance through the front doors, so walked around the back, and found a smaller doorway. He carefully pushed it open, though made sure his dagger was at hand should it be needed. As he stepped inside, he could feel the warm air, and the smell of baking filled his nostrils. A middle-aged woman, wearing a white apron, jumped, startled at his sudden appearance.
    He knew it would look odd if he suddenly retreated outside, and so closed the door behind him. The woman, noticing his attire, knelt to the floor in total subservience. "My apologies, you startled me, most use the front door. How may I be of service?" Jared could clearly sense the fear in her voice, but was not sure he could risk revealing his identity to her. "Are there others like me within the establishment?" he asked in a deep husky voice, in an attempt to sound authentic.
    At first, there was no reply, and he thought his cover was blown, "There are two others such as you within the common room.  Would you like me to notify them of your presence?" Without thinking, "No" he blurted out, in his normal south Besemian accent. From the darkness of his hooded face, he could see the puzzlement on the woman's face. He knew he was not fooling her, as she stood and looked up at him for closer inspection. Throwing caution to the wind, he threw back his hood, "I take it I was not very convincing?" he said in an attempt of light humour.
    He knew if this person wanted, she could shout and give him away. She quickly shushed him, and shoved him into a side area, used as a larder, out of sight from the common room door. "With an accent like that, I would say you're most certainly not Darekian, nor even from anywhere near here." She afforded him a smile, and he tentatively grinned back at her, realising if she was going to grass him in, she probably would have done so by now.