With the dawn light bathing the glade, Volt searched the area of the roundhouse for any sign. He had his hands behind his back and a frown on his face. The rain had washed the surroundings for most of the night, destroying any evidence of the boy’s passing. Mesroeda’s prediction had been Creator-inspired.

  Or simply a case of common sense.

  There was no indication the boy had even been in the glade. Despite evidence that someone pilfered the cold store under the roundhouse, it was impossible to tell who. The woman could be dead in the forest, mauled by a bear or a mountain cat. The boy might have pilfered her store because he’d stumbled across it when running from Kathvar’s wrath. Then again, the cold store might have been robbed by raiders from another canton, who could have taken the woman to sell as a slave in one of the other kingdoms. East Kingdom did quite a trade in stolen people, especially women and children. King Connavar regularly made use of their markets. A flood might even have washed the woman away.

  There had been enough rain to cause one.

  The truth Volt faced—a simple one—was he had no Tuatha-forsaken idea what happened in this glade. Walking around with his eyes fixed on the mud and his hands behind his back wasn’t about to change that.

  And I have the sadist to contend with, he thought, glancing at Kathvar, standing on the north side of the glade with his arms crossed and back to everyone.

  Volt felt a jolt of anger as Mesroeda strode out of the roundhouse laughing with two warriors from the First Leathdhosaen, arms full of women’s underclothes. He wanted to scream at them to act like professional soldiers, not common reavers. What the burly First Warrior wanted with a bundle of women’s small clothes was a mystery.

  “What?” Mesroeda demanded as he stuffed the white cotton into his saddlebags. “She ain’t gonna need ‘em no more, either way.”

  “And why do you need them?”

  “They make the best bandages,” the warrior said. Volt felt himself flush slightly. He should have known the motive was an innocent one. His First Warrior was a professional.

  “You’re supposed to be checking for spoor,” he pointed out.

  “There ain’t no spoor, Volt, as well you know. Only spoils. With that deluge, the real surprise is her roundhouse is still standing. There’s no way of knowing if the boy was even here.”

  “He was here,” Kathvar said over his shoulder before turning back to the forest and nodding at a slight gap in the foliage. “They left through here, leading a donkey. There’s a deer path they followed.”

  “Who’s they?” Mes asked.

  “The woman, Upthog, and the boy.”

  Volt glared at Kathvar’s back and wondered how he could know with such certainty. However, he knew better than to argue with a man whose convictions were never wrong. During the witch hunts, Volt built his reputation as a hunter on Kathvar’s instincts, bringing all the witches in The Coven to trial because of them. When tempted to ask the sadist how he was doing it, Volt had always decided it was better to accept the praise of the King and his colleagues than to demand the truth. It was later, during the hangings, that he became sickened by it all. Sickened by the killing and convinced Kathvar was something more than just an advisor. Something in the Sumnadoir unmanned Volt, and he resented it. To be afraid of anyone was not in his psyche.

  “Mes, take the First Leathdhosaen up into the foothills. There must be paths up there that they followed. Find a track and follow it. If nothing more, it should force them down out of the mountains. We’ll return to Caer Droma and wait for you there.”

  “You believe him?” Mesroeda asked, nodding at Kathvar, who was still staring into the forest at the base of the Impassable Mountains.

  Even though the words were loud enough for Kathvar to hear, the Summoner ignored them despite stiffening his shoulders.

  You will pay for that, Mes.

  The First Warrior wouldn’t have asked the question if he’d been in the troop during the witch hunts. He would have known that there was something not quite natural about the man.

  Maybe witch-like.

  It was not the first time Volt had wondered. Watching the man’s glee as he pulled the lever on the six-person gallows was when the thought struck first. Since it had become a recurring theme, often followed by, “Does the King know?”

  “And make sure no harm comes to the boy,” Kathvar said over his shoulder as he walked to the roundhouse. “Anything happens to the dailtín, and someone will hang for it. You can do what you like with the woman.”

  ***

  He came awake with a hand clasped over his mouth. For once, his dreams evaporated before he could grasp them. There were fleeting wisps of redness and grey-green towers, but nothing he could now remember with any solidity. Light was breaking into the cave from beyond the bush. The fire was ash. He could hear birds singing from the trees beyond the cave’s entrance.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  How long did I sleep?

  Although the sound of dripping remained, the noise of sheeting rain had gone. Men were talking very close to the cave entrance. Eyes blinking, he could make out a silhouette of someone kneeling beside him. He could feel the softness of a breast against his chest and her breath against his cheek.

  “What d’ye make of this, Mes?” someone asked from just beyond the bush.

  “Could be anything. We keep moving, so we do.”

  Scamp waited several moments before whispering, “Are they gone?”

  He felt her finger pressed against his lips. The breath on his cheek moved to his ear, and he only just heard her whisper, “I’m not sure. Stay here and stay quiet.”

  He felt rather than saw her stand and caught a glimpse of her nakedness before she slipped into her clothes and disappeared. He was surprised to see her head to the rear of the cave, around a bend. Shortly afterwards, he heard faint scrabbling noises like someone was climbing a scree slope.

  What am I supposed to do now?

  Listening for any sound, he felt sweat break on his upper lip. Determined to keep himself occupied, he dressed, collected the blankets, and followed the cave’s bend to where Upthog had tethered Rosie. He could see some sort of flue rising from the back of the cave, morning light showing where Rosie stood.

  After stuffing the blankets into the saddlebags, Scamp threw them over the donkey’s back, which elicited a rancorous heehaw from the stubborn beast. Scamp stepped back, thinking his heart would drop into the crotch of his pants. Holding his breath, he listened, but there was no noise outside the cave.

  The Tuatha are on my side for once.

  Scamp was beginning to relax when the sounds of a stealthy approach made him catch his breath. Running to the back of the cave, he grabbed Upthog’s bow, nocked an arrow, and tried to pull a draw. Gasping, he dropped his arms, leaving the arrow nocked because he couldn’t manage a third of the draw needed to kill something. At less than a third, an arrow would do no more than bounce off the target, even one of straw, never mind a boiled leather cuirass, standard apparel for the Guards.

  How strong is that woman?

  Scamp started searching for a weapon. Seeing a good-sized rock, he had bent to pick it up when Upthog hissed his name. He felt a surge of relief for the second time in only a few moments, which was replaced with embarrassment when Upthog rounded the bend in the cave.

  “What’re ye doing?” she asked as she came to stand before him.

  Scamp shrugged, unsure how to answer. Handing her the bow, he asked, “Have they gone?”

  He hoped. He held his breath, waiting for Upthog to answer. She held the bow tightly, glowering at him from under a shaded brow. The shadows in the cave gave her an ominous presence, and Scamp felt himself shudder.

  Finally, she said, “Not far. They’re waiting to ambush us on the path. Few handy rock clusters further up.”

  Scamp couldn’t stop his face from creasing in confusion. “But—”

  “I know what yer thinking,” Upthog interrupted. “I thought about it coming back. Reckon they’ve been told no harm’s to come to ye. Rushing the cave would be a risk. Also, they know I’ve a bow. Could be costly running in screaming war cries. War cries don’t tend to work with the experienced.”

  “What’re we going to do?”

  “We’ll head back the way we came and then down and into the forest. Get on the road for a bit. At least until we’re past them. The Champ ain’t there, so I reckon he’ll be in Caer Droma. Road as far as the village should be clear enough.”

  “And then what?”

  “Way I see it, they’re gonna wait where they are a while and then backtrack. When they find the cave empty, they’ll either head back to my glade or to Caer Droma. They’ll miss us either way.” Tilting his head, he took hold of his chin, sure she was missing something.

  “Cac on that, Upthog. They’re trackers,” he finally said.

  “I killed the trackers on the road. Kathvar can track us with his insights, but there’s no sign of that bodalán.”

  “You think that’s how they found us?”

  “Sure as the widow maker spider eats her mate. He sent them up here and is waiting in Caer Droma. Kathvar and Volt.” As she named them, Scamp thought he caught something in her face. He couldn’t be sure what it was because of the light. One thing he was sure about was that her ire was something he wouldn’t want to face.

  “Now, let’s get out of here before they show.”

  As they backtracked up the path, Scamp expected warriors to come screaming over the nearest rise behind them. But they never came. Feeling smug at the thought of a failed ambush, he started to watch the treetops getting closer. His rising hope punctuated their descent.

  Eventually, they came down to tree level, and Upthog led them under the trees onto a barely visible deer track. The slope down was steep at first but soon became almost even. With the level path, Scamp felt that they’d managed a miraculous escape.

  “You think we got away?”

  “Not sure. There’s a clearing ahead. I want ye to wait with Rosie—”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “Scouting.”

  His expression must have spoken to her because she dropped Rosie’s reins, walked back and put a hand on his shoulder. She squeezed it before saying, “Ye’ll be fine, boy. I’m sure those behind will head back to my glade. The others’ll wait in Caer Droma. Ye stay here, nice and quiet like, no one’ll know.” Despite being less than sure, Scamp nodded and moved to take Rosie’s reins. “Good. I’m going to head back and circle round. The clearing’s a hundred strides on.”

  Scamp wanted to tell Upthog he’d be all right, but she’d already gone. There was no sign of her, no sound of her; it was as if the Tuatha had spirited her into a different plane. After rubbing his eyes with knuckled fists, Scamp went in search of the clearing.

  As she promised, he found it just a little further along the nigh-invisible track. There was a handy stump to sit on, so he tethered the donkey to a nearby tree and took a seat.

  “So, Rosie, do you believe all this cac?” he asked.

  “Heehaw.”

  He grinned and nodded. Another heehaw, however, caused his grin to melt. “Shush, Rosie. Someone’ll hear you.”

  “Heehaw. Heehaw.” Each bray was louder than the one before.

  Scamp jumped to his feet and ran to her. He tried patting her and rubbing her. He tried whispering in her ear. Nothing worked, and he decided the best thing he could do was run and leave Rosie in the glade.

  Scamp began to run in the same direction Upthog had taken. Frantic. Desperate to get away. Eyes on the ground, he ran straight into something quite yielding. Despite the initial softness, he felt an iron grip fall on his shoulder.

  “Well, now. If it ain’t the boy an’ his auld donkey.”