The Secret Kingdom

Wandering Souls

A year later...

Bridget quickly made her way through the village, glancing around at the few people still out on the dirt paths. The sun had set about an hour ago and her body was weary from the many miles she had walked that day.

It seemed she had been constantly walking or running since the day she left The Willows.

Pulling her hood a bit lower as a man passed nearby, Bridget kept her eyes trained on the ground. She had learned many things since she had left. One of which was to not draw attention to herself. She often kept the hood of her cloak up and several daggers on her body along with her bow and arrows at all times. And she always wore her hair over her ears.

While humans were likely aware of the existence of elves thanks to the treaty with Camelot, she learned long ago that many outside Camelot's walls were still distrustful of them.

She had long searched for Morgana, traveling many miles and across many lands, following shadows and rumors. It was why she was in this village. There had been rumors of a witch in imprisonment. All originating from a man that always frequented the same tavern nearly every night. A tavern in a village that she had finally made it to.

Bridget prayed to the gods and goddesses that tonight she would finally get the answers that she sought.

Stepping into the noisy tavern, she looked around, trying to find the man in question. She had been told he was paunchy and always sat at a table nearest the fire. And that he was handsy with the tavern maids and loved his drink. She would hopefully use this to her advantage.

She pulled the hood of her cloak down as she made her way to the bar and ordered an ale, tossing some coins down as the barmaid slid a tankard towards her. All the while keeping an eye on the man. He was already a few drinks in, his cheeks taking a rosy hue as he loudly told a story to the few folks nearby.

Bridget stealthily made her way to the table, sitting at the end of it and keeping her eyes on her ale as she listened in, waiting for an opening to scoot closer down the bench. After a few minutes, the story ended and a few of the listeners moved towards the bar, allowing Bridget to slide down until she was directly across from him.

"I hear you're a man who knows things," she said, glancing up at him.

The man was silent a moment, studying her, but then grinned as he leaned across the table.

"What's a lovely, young lass such as yerself doin' in a place like this?" he asked.

Bridget shrugged as she brought the tankard to her lips and sipped at the ale.

"I'm here to find out some things," she said, offering a smirk.

The man laughed loudly as he shouted for another ale.

"Just what is it ye'd like to know?" he asked.

"I've heard stories of a witch being held prisoner nearby. Know anything?" she asked casually.

The man scrunched up his face in concentration.

"Hmm... sounds like somethin' ol' Uther would do, if ye ask me," he said. "Though... I 'ave 'eard about Sarrum keepin' someone locked up in that castle of his..."

Bridget straightened up, leaning closer. This is what she came to hear.

"Careful, lass. Brutus is fond of tall tales," another man said, dropping next to her on the bench. Bridget frowned at him for the interruption.

"I do not!" Brutus shouted indignantly. "Everything I say is the truth!"

"Like that time you said you saw a griffon?" another man shouted out.