“Race,” the Wild Dog commanded, then took the strip of cloth Race handed him. His eyes were slightly wide as he returned Fen’s stare, although he couldn’t possibly be startled like Fen. “Turn around, Earl’s cub.”
Fen turned around.
“What has blessed, terrible fate done now?” Race swore, far away from Fen and the Wild Dog.
The Wild Dog’s breath stirred Fen’s hair, then Fen’s world went dark, the cloth settled over eyes before the Wild Dog knotted the ends to hold it in place. The knot didn’t catch in Fen’s hair. The cloth covered part of his ears, making his heartbeat louder and the noises of the forest softer.
“You should fight for yourself.” Fen was told, whispered to, by the man that every Earl in the North was afraid of.
Fen shivered and angled his head to track the man’s voice. “Why? It has never done me any good.” But he had not anticipated a blindfold and wondered if he should have objected instead of allowing it. “Are you going to kill me like this, with my eyes hidden? I didn’t expect that of you.”
The Wild Dog chose to whisper again. “Your graceful hands are trembling. Give them to me.”
Fen held up his bound hands, the rope shifting roughly against his skin. The Wild Dog did not shock him with another touch. He pulled firmly on the dangling length of rope, leaving Fen no choice but to follow. Surprisingly, he didn’t stumble, his feet carrying him forward while his mind reeled.
Fen made it several steps before he realized that the trio were taking him deeper into the woods with them, although they had not given all their reasons for doing so. He had encountered the Wild Dog himself and was not dead. For the moment at least, Fen seemed to be safe. He was also in more danger than he might even have been if forced to stand in front of The Acana after having run away.
Perhaps that was why he continued to follow a step behind, obeying whenever told to stop or to step higher over some obstacle. Perhaps he was too worn and worried to consider if he ought to escape, or where he would go if he did, or if theywouldkill him then. Perhaps it was because the Wild Dog had defended him, which no one had ever done.
It didn’t matter that the man didn’t care to know Fen’s name, or that he’d promised Fen nothing with his silences. The Wild Dog, called Lan by his friends, had given Fen that, and Fen would give him what little he had in return, in whatever time he had to do it.
Just as soon as he could determine how.
Two
They walked endlessly, or so it seemed to Fen. His legs had been shaky even before they’d started, though he was trying to ignore the problem since he didn’t know what would happen if his pace forced the others to slow down.
The trio did not speak much, only occasionally breaking the silence to say things like, “I see no signs of him.” Or, “Don’t fret, Race. It’s not yet time for that.” And once, “If you hadn’t been here…”
Fen didn’t know who that had been directed to, but assumed their leader, and had to consider what the other two would have done if Lan had not been with them to argue, in his strange, silent way, in Fen’s favor. Possibly left Fen beneath that bush to sleep and eventually starve, or be eaten by animals, or captured by Acana guards. He couldn’t blame them for it. It was a smart decision for anyone to make, but especially people currently also hiding from those same guards. The Wild Dog was not an Earl and could expect no mercy from the Earls as they might grant to one of their own in his place.
It had not been entirely wise for the Wild Dog to take Fen captive, no matter what Fen had argued. Nor had the decision been entirely foolish. Fen was not sure what kind of decision it was, and puzzled over it as his steps grew slower and clumsier, and his eyes fell shut behind his blindfold.
He bumped into the body in front of him once, then again, and thenagain, snapping awake and apologizing quickly each time, and each time tugged along without comment. The fourth or fifth time, he nearly bit his tongue at how abruptly the Wild Dog stopped after Fen had bumbled his way down a small slope and fallen face-first into the man’s back.
Race laughed, and Heni, which was the woman’s name, said, “We can’t slow if he’s still out there. So what do you plan to do?”
Mere moments later, Fen was in the air and then slung over a solid, rough form that grunted at his weight. A large hand slid over his waist before clamping down, although Fen hadn’t even thought to wriggle.
“That’s it, cub. Good boy. Hold still just like that,” the Wild Dog said, words Fen could feel through clothes and armor that pressed into soft places.
Fen was suddenly hot. Even his fingertips seemed to sting with it.
Then the Wild Dog grunted again and began to move.
Face burning at the realization that he was being carried like a sack of apples, and then that it was the Wild Dog himself taking on this burden, Fen did not do much more than grasp at the wool beneath his fingers and sway with each step.
His arms and head hung over the man’s shoulder although Fen was blindfolded and could not see the ground below. It was dizzying and Fen was still sohot. He opened his mouth but said nothing, which the others must have noticed, because after a while Race asked, “Are you alive and well, flower?”
“I didn’t mean to slow you down,” Fen assured them breathlessly. “I’m only a little tired. I can walk.”
“If that is to help him rest, I don’t think it will work,” Heni said aloud, apparently as part of another discussion the three of them were having without words. “Not like that.”
The Wild Dog stopped, which meant Fen stopped as well. Then he was slowly lowered to the ground. He could feel heat next to him and looked up toward a face he couldn’t see.
“I don’t need to rest,” Fen lied. In answer, cloth shifted and leather creaked. Unfamiliar hands settled at his waist and then someone hefted him back up into the air, where he was pressed to a broad, warm surface. Perhaps the same someone took his arms and tugged them over an object with soft hair and softer breath that briefly brushed Fen’s bound wrists. The Wild Dog, and itwasonce again the Wild Dog bearing Fen, took hold of Fen’s legs and then straightened up from where he must have been crouching.
“Really.” Fen exhaled against perhaps the hood of a cloak or maybe even a bared neck. He could feel the armor beneath him more keenly, and the rise and fall of the Dog’s chest, and that same heat from before. They were moving again before Fen could recover. “The Acana would never do this,” he murmured, impossibly confused.
