No alarm had gone up, yet something was drawing near.
Fen approached the edge of the camp slowly and stopped when Dol did. He stayed to the side and half a step behind Dol’s large frame because he’d let Lan believe he would stay by Dol if there was danger.
Dol was tense as he watched the woods, so Fen finally turned to do the same.
They didn’t have long to wait. Two dogs darted forward, whining happily, and then Dol heaved a deep sigh of relief. He saw movements in the woods that Fen didn’t, but his relief was enough for Fen breathe easier too. The shadows among the trees became shapes, which turned to people, at least twice as many as had gone into those trees a day and a half before, and then the dogs and six horses.
The horses, as well as half of the people, were being led by the remaining six figures, lengths of rope leading from one to the other. Fen pursed his lips but swept his gaze back and forth until he identified the tiny figure of Race and then the bigger figure of Heni. Lan, he finally found at the back of the group, his hood down to reveal reddish-brown hair still slightly dimmed by blue dye.
“Blessed fae,” Fen whispered, then gave a start, although of course he saw no sign of any fae near him if he didn’t count Race, who had eyes only for Dol as he entered the camp. Race absently handed off the reins of the horses he was leading to the first person in his path and then dashed forward so enthusiastically Fen thought he was going to leap into Dol’s arms. Perhaps he might have if Dol hadn’t been leaning on the crutch. Instead, he stopped with his face pressed to Dol’s chest and murmured, “Cold nights without you, bear.”
Fen angled his head away, his cheeks starting to warm, although once again he was the only one who seemed to pay such affection any mind. He glanced to the horses, well equipped and well fed but currently being used more as pack animals than as distance mounts. Travel packs sat on their backs instead of people. They weren’t armored, larger battle horses, but they were not what he’d expect hunters to use, and travelers didn’t have much reason to be in the foothills, according to the others. That’s why the camp was here.
Fen swung his gaze back to Lan, who had stopped with everyone else at the edge of the camp to answer a question from Artil. Lan didn’t seem injured, although his cheek was marred by either dirt or a faint bruise. Fen frowned, then looked behind Lan to Lan’s captive. His breath caught in his throat.
Quan of the Lylanth stared at the camp with her chin raised and what was definitely a bruise on the side of her face. Her dark hair was longer than the last time Fen had seen it, but still so short that even when worn up, it couldn’t have been twisted into a knot like Lan’s. She was in traveling clothes and didn’t seem any cleaner than Lan, or any less tired.
Her hands were bound tightly together in front of her and she had no weapons on her, not even a hunting bow.
Fen glanced back to the horses, spotting weapons now amid the travel packs. He took another step behind Dol. Quan would not have been disarmed easily. Even The Acana had admired that about her… at least until she had ignored his invitations to talk and chosen to spend her time in his court elsewhere. He’d finally declared her no good for politics and ignored her in turn for the remainder of her visit. She and Lan would have that dislike of The Acana in common, and he’d brought her here, perhaps with an alliance in mind.
That was the advice Fen had given him. Lan had listened. Although Quan was not The Lylanth and could only speak for herself. Fen stayed where he was instead of moving forward to explain that, certain he’d be in the way. He ducked his head when he saw Race frowning curiously at him and kept himself turned away until he heard Quan, her voice as loud as he remembered.
“So you’ve taken me where I expected,” she announced with contempt—The Acana had been correct to say she was not one for scheming or subtlety—“to the Wild Dog himself. If he is going to order us killed, I’d ask that my people be spared.”
Someone sighed deeply.
Fen glanced over to Tellan but his attention was back on Lan in less than a moment. Lan was dressed as he always was, with nothing about him to indicate he was anyone remarkable. Quan addressed him because he led the others, but she had no idea who he was.
“No one said anything about the Wild Dog,” Artil remarked from Lan’s side, implacably calm.
Quan scoffed, giving a short gesture with her bound hands. “Your people are from all over. That’s not the work of one Earl.”
“And if it were?” Heni stood guard near a pair of the other prisoners, although she’d handed off the ropes holding them to someone else. “We are not in Lylanth territory. This wouldn’t be your business. And there’s hardly enough of you to challenge an Earl, or even one dog.”
Quan’s snarl was impressive. Fen would never have dared in her place. But she glanced back toward the other prisoners, her people, and calmed herself. “Then why bother with us or bring us there?”
Lan paused his scowling over the camp to turn to her. “The one you had on night watch has a good eye and a good ear. Since she spotted us, we had to do something. And then we could hardly leave you to run and tell The Lylanth about us, could I? As for the rest,” Lan frowned at the camp once again, “From what I know of the histories of the Lylanth, you pride yourselves on making up your own minds. It seemed reasonable to bring you along. Less reasonable to kill you.”
“No one expects reason from a wild dog.” Quan sniffed.
“What’s unreasonable to you might make perfect sense to the dog,” Race called out.
Quan’s snarl returned and she was less successful at hiding her temper this time. “I told you when you first—when we first spoke—that my friends and I were not here to make war. We are seeking kin of mine believed to be lost within these foothills. The household of The Acana sent out messengers informing us that our cousin had gone missing and is feared dead. You should let us go so we can find him. The weather up here will only grow colder and he’s not suited to it.”
Race turned to Fen. Tellan and Dol probably did the same. Fen avoided all stares.
Lan could have informed her that Fen was well and clearly hadn’t. He must want to be sure of her, and would likely ask, silently, with a look, for Fen’s opinion.
At that, Fen finally raised his head and found Lan’s gaze—and Lan’s frown—directed solely at him. He clasped his hands together before him but stepped out from behind Dol to slowly come forward.
“Fenwit!” Quan shouted, her surprised happiness making him flush. Fen moved around and between cooks and warriors and Artil until he was in front of both Lan and Quan. He looked at the air above Lan’s shoulder, then faced his cousin.
Lan’s arm came up as Fen reached for her. “No, cub.”
“She won’t hurt me,” Fen insisted to Lan’s shoulder.
“You’re sure of that,” Lan argued, “I’m not.” Fen lifted his gaze to Lan’s face, then to Lan’s dark eyes. Lan’s stare did things to Fen’s chest like what those in the South did to their wine. Lan exhaled as if pained. “Look at me that way all you like, flower. On this, I will not move.”
