by Aldrea Alien
Apart from the grey light leaking through the clouds, the camp looked no different than when he’d gone to sleep. The three women bustled about, making quick work of packing away their tent. Whilst the hound…
Dylan looked about the camp, turning on the spot lest the man somehow stood behind him. But no. Tracker was nowhere to be seen. He caught Marin’s arm as she bent to pull up the tent pegs. “Where is he?”
The woman shrugged. “I don’t know where, but it looks like he left sometime in the night. His trail leads back Riverton way.” She jerked her thumb in the direction they’d travelled from yesterday.
“I would’ve thought a hound would cover his tracks,” Authril said as she handed Dylan his pack. Meanwhile, the other two made short work of stowing his tent.
“He probably would’ve,” Marin replied. “If he didn’t want to let us know where he’d buggered off to.”
He’s gone. He should’ve been relieved to be free of the hound and his mercurial protection. The bastard probably only left to prove a point of how much Dylan relied on his word.
Yet the lack of Tracker’s presence left an odd hollow feeling in his gut. Concern? The man could be doing anything. Hunting down the others, alerting his fellow hounds that a handful of spellsters had slipped through their net.
“I have to go after him.” Stop him, if need be. Hopefully with a little reasoning as the idea of harming the man twisted his insides.
Marin and Katarina exchanged a look. Whilst the hedgewitch’s expression was soft and pitying, the hunter looked ready to throttle someone.
“I don’t want him hurt.” The words escaped Dylan’s lips before he could think.
“Really?” Marin whispered as she picked up her bow. “Do you hear yourself? You return to the clearing obviously upset and with him looking like a beaten puppy. Then you insist on taking the whole night’s watch, which you apparently left to our vanishing hound, and now you don’t want him to get hurt?” She pounded her fist into the palm of her hand. “Believe me, that man will have a lot to answer for when I get my hands on him.”
“That’s really not necessary.” Although Marin had been able to keep the hound from harming Authril, Dylan was under no delusion that the man’s act of heeding her command was a conscious one. If Tracker decided the hunter meant him harm, he wouldn’t hesitate to strike back.
Authril clamped a hand on his shoulder and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. He winced, having rather forgotten the strength behind her small frame.
She looked from him to the forest and back. One orange brow lifted questioningly and quiet anger churning in the sea-green depths of her eyes. “We’ll be fine without him. We have your collar and Kat, if that’s not enough for them to believe you were a victim of circumstance, then I doubt adding a hound’s statement is going to help much.”
Dylan shook his head. “It’s not that. If he’s not here, then he could be hunting down my friends.” Keeping Tracker from tailing the others was the whole point of heading to the capital. If the hound was just going to leave him here, then why would he bother going near Wintervale?
“Well, standing in the pouring rain isn’t going to bring him back,” Marin said. “If Track truly doesn’t want us to find him, we could wind up walking in circles for days without getting any closer. We should head for the city.” Swinging her pack onto her shoulders, she made for the eastern end of the clearing.
“But without Tracker,” Katarina said as they all filed behind the hunter. “There’s a chance that the hounds in Wintervale will kill Dylan upon his discovery.”
“Dylan’s with the army,” Marin countered. “They wouldn’t be foolish enough to interfere with the king’s soldiers, would they?”
“Not if he was leashed,” Authril replied. “But with his collar gone, it’s more a case of comparing a trained attack dog to a rabid wolf.”
“I am right here, you know,” Dylan snapped. Still, she was right in a fashion. Without the hound to verify Dylan hadn’t been using magic to corrupt the common—or whatever excuse they used—he was going to have a very hard time convincing anyone that he’d been in the army at all.
Lead me to my death.
What would happen if he just turned around now? Would the others try to stop him? Or would they let him go, then inform the hounds of his whereabouts? He didn’t think any of the women had it in them to be so cruel, but then he hadn’t expected Tracker to withhold information.
Dylan pushed aside the leafy branch of a low-hanging tree, shivering as droplets splashed atop his hood.
His feet had him crashing through the forest before the thought could finish. He headed in the direction of where his friends had been the previous night. He tripped and fumbled his way through the undergrowth, fighting to stay upright, only to fall flat on his face the second he broke into the clearing.
He lifted his head, spluttering and brushing damp leaves off his face as he clambered to his feet. The clearing was empty. The only sign of anyone being here in the first place were the charred remains of the campfire.
A quick sweep of the surrounding forest gave no obvious indication of where they’d gone. “We have to go after them.” Marin would be able to find them. “I have to.” There was no telling what dangers they might face.
A strong hand alighted on his shoulder. He glanced out the corner of his eye to find Authril all but crushing the joint. “What—?”
Her grip tightened. She stared up at him with feral determination shining in those sea-green eyes. “What you have to do,” she growled through clenched teeth. “Is come to Wintervale with me.”
To be leashed again? “And if I don’t?” He could follow Katarina to Dvärghem. Better yet, track down the others and help all of them to the dwarven lands.
Authril loosened her hold on his shoulder, the pressure almost consoling. “You wouldn’t survive long out here on your own.”
There was some truth in that. With his lack of skills in hunting and the marked scarceness of coin on his person, the odds of the hounds finding anything but a corpse were pretty high. And tracking down his friends? That was highly unlikely.
It seemed his only hope in staying alive was to reach the army encampment just outside the city before the hounds at Wintervale discovered him. Maybe something would present itself there. “Just—” He swung to face the women. “Promise me, all of you, that none of you will tell anyone about the spellsters here.”
Marin and Katarina were quick to nod their agreement, but Authril bit her lip. Dylan thought that the warrior might refuse.
Then Authril nodded, slowly. “Sending untrained children into battle wouldn’t be a good idea,” she murmured as if trying to convince herself. Those sea-green eyes settled on him. “But you… The army needs you.”
Dylan inclined his head. Perhaps it was due to the tensions of the past few days, but there seemed to be a hint of a threat in her words.
The heavy rain had turned into a steady drizzle by the time Marin decided to stop for the night. It was strange following her after so many weeks of trailing the hound. She seemed less sure of her direction than Tracker had ever been. Of course, Marin lacked the hound’s knowledge of the territory, having never been any further north than Toptower.
With the dreary grey sky obscuring much of the sunlight, they’d done a lot of stopping to check Katarina’s compass against their map. But at least they could be confident in their easterly direction. Especially when the alternative was getting lost in the forest for weeks on end.
They settled beneath the wide branches of an old pine tree. It meant they’d need to suffer the occasional drip from the saturated needles, but it would also grant them a little bit of shelter should the rain grow heavier again. Still, he couldn’t fight the nagging feeling that, had the hound been with them, they’d have found a drier place to spend the night.
Authril helped him pitch his tent whilst Marin set up the other and Katarina optimistically poked about for dry wood. He didn’t fancy the dwarf’s ch
ances, but as long as she gathered enough, he could see to the fire for a little while longer. The hedgewitch would have to fair without such a convenience once she finally made for Dvärghem, but maybe the king would grant her a carriage or covered wagon as well as an escort.
Authril glanced over her shoulder, pausing in hammering the last tent stake. She frowned, then shook her head, shaking droplets of water from her hair, before resuming her task. He hadn’t been paying much attention to the action, but he could’ve sworn that’d been the third time.
Dylan leant his body to one side whilst still binding the poles together, casually trying to see what could possibly be there without being too obvious about it. He caught the occasional mutter of the warrior swearing under her breath, but nothing definitive. All he could spy was more wet forest. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. I thought I heard something, but…” She shrugged. “This is a forest. Could’ve been anything.”
Like another person? No, surely if what she’d heard was the footsteps of someone on their tail, she wouldn’t seem so confused. That suggested an animal. Something bigger than the half-grown hares Marin managed to scrounge from the forest undergrowth. “Not another boar, I trust?” Whilst it would be a welcome addition to their rations, they hadn’t the time or the heat to prepare more than a small portion of meat in regards to ease of travel. A far better option would be to let the beast walk on by.
She smiled up at him. “I don’t think we’ll need to worry about meeting something like that. There aren’t many this far east.”
If not a boar—or any deer, according to Marin, who’d found no sign of them—then what? “Do you think he’ll come back?”
Authril’s little bow-shaped lips pursed. “Hard to tell.” She gave the tent stake one last tap with the hammer. “Personally, I’m surprised he left at all. Not very hound-like was it?”
There was some truth to that. He’d never heard of hounds leaving an unleashed spellster unattended, much less on their own. But then, there seemed to have been quite a number of rules Tracker had bent, if not outright broken, during their travels. Perhaps he had chosen to leave before Dylan had a chance to announce such transgressions to his superiors. The man hadn’t struck him as the type to do so, but then Dylan thought he’d known the hound better than he clearly did.
“Still,” Authril continued, standing up. “It’s awfully generous of him to let you keep his tent for the rest of the way.”
Dylan frowned as he secured the rope tying the poles together. He’d rather forgotten the tent had belonged to the hound. Perhaps he was reading too much into what the woman said, but surely Tracker would want his shelter back, which meant he’d return. Or maybe he didn’t care. Those royal sigils could easily let him procure another without fuss.
Was it possible that Tracker had left Dylan to whatever fate he chose?
His gaze slid back to the forest. Would the hound chase him if he veered from their current path towards Wintervale? What of the women? Authril had been most vocal about him reaching the army. He couldn’t be entirely certain whether she’d actually make a move to stop him from leaving Demarn together. Of the other two, Katarina’s response would be in his favour and Marin was likely to follow suit. Then again—
An olive-toned hand waved in front of his face.
He jerked back to find Marin standing beside him. She frowned at him, then at the forest and back. “Now, I know it’s not that interesting.” The hunter gave him a little nudge in the ribs. “Something eating you?”
Dylan shook himself. “Just thinking. Authril thought she heard something.”
“Don’t worry about it. If anything big comes close, we’ll deal with it then. Now, come on.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and bodily turned him about. “Let’s get some warm food in you. You’ll feel better. And if you don’t feel like taking watch tonight—”
“I’ll be fine,” he said before she could suggest anything. “But you’re right, a hot meal would be nice.”
Grinning, Marin slapped her free hand on his chest. “Good, because I need you to light the fire, my walking flint.”
A small laugh bubbled through his body. “Of course.” She needed his magic. Everyone seemed to. What would he be to them without it? Baggage? Something less than useless?
No, Katarina saw some use in him as a hedgewitch’s apprentice.
It took a little effort to ignite the sodden wood. But they were eventually able to huddle beneath the tree to eat what amounted to a bit of yesterday’s hare and a few root vegetables floating in a broth that was barely a step up from hot water. Still, it was warm.
For the most part, only the muffled crunch of chewing and the soft slurp of drinking interrupted the quiet. What talk broke through the intense concentration on their food centred on the night watch and who would take over from whom.
Dylan sought his bedding as soon as his meal was done. Authril would be in to wake him in a few hours for his turn in the rain and he planned to be a little more aware than he’d been for much of the day.
The blankets were cold. The ones beneath him smelt vaguely of cinnamon, smoke and Tracker’s musk. Unsure what possessed him to do so, he curled into a ball, tucked a bundle of the cloth beneath his head and breathed deep of the scent. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine the hound lying next to him.
He deliberately flung himself onto his back and glared up at the tent canvas.
Curse that man. Him and his cocky attitude. His damn self-assured demeanour. The way his kisses left butterflies in Dylan’s chest. How he always managed to smell so accursedly edible. The very thought of the hound should have Dylan wanting to spit fire, not lie here pining for Tracker’s return.
Tears ran down the side of his face, he wiped them free. It wasn’t fair. The hound was gone. This pain in his chest should’ve vanished in the man’s absence. Tracker shouldn’t still have this sort of hold over him. But it didn’t and the hound did.
How he hated this watery weakness in his bones. Every time he thought he’d managed to focus his thoughts on something else, they swung back to the hound. He couldn’t stop the pull anymore than the needle on Katarina’s compass could seek out anywhere but north. The hound was a lodestone and Dylan naught but a humble iron filing.
Dylan rolled onto his side. He would be pulled no longer. Nodding to himself, he closed his eyes and attempted sleep.
Faceless bodies in dark armour flit through the tower halls. They crouched like coiled snakes to strike out at the unsuspecting. Silver blades flashed in the shadows, growing ever darker with blood.
With their targets still crumpling, the attackers moved on. Some marched down the corridor leading to the gardens. Others darted up the stairs. Everywhere they went, screams followed. The sound filled the halls. Blood ran down the steps. Smoke poured in from the garden archway.
Groaning and only half aware that he slept, Dylan tossed onto his other side.
He tried to run after them, to halt this madness and demand answers. His legs refused to obey the command. He sent wave after wave of magic at the monstrosities, hitting them with every spell he could conjure. Nothing stopped their mindless pursuit of death.
One of the slinking figures halted in its journey up the stairs, its faceless head turning towards him.
“Dylan?” a gentle voice called. “Dylan, wake up.”
The face shifted, turning from a shadowy blob into something more distinct. An elf, their bronze skin stained with blood and their honey-coloured eyes dark with glee. A mad grin twisted the hound’s handsome face. He advanced, his dagger held low. Each step bringing him forward, lurking closer still with every blink. The purple blade glinted in the torchlight.
Dylan backed away. There was nowhere to run. He glanced over his shoulder checking for a way—
Pain lanced his side. The hound stood before him. The man stabbed the dagger into Dylan’s chest, over and over, cackling like a madman. He sliced great wounds, licking th
em as they spurted blood over his face.
He grabbed Dylan’s face and smiled. There were far too many teeth in that grin. “And you trusted me,” he hissed. The dagger came up, blood dripping from the curved blade like a fang, and plunged into Dylan’s face.
Dylan sat up, panting. His pulse thudded through his head so heavily that he thought it might burst. Death, it seemed to scream. That’s all they’ve ever brought, all they ever will bring. He raked his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, trying to shake the words free.
Authril crouched near the entrance, wary as if approaching a stray cat.
“What—” His voice squeaked. He cleared his throat and, pitching his voice deeper, tried again. “What are you doing?” It couldn’t be his turn to take watch already, could it?
“Trying to wake you? You were screaming and thrashing about in your sleep.” She sat next to him and slowly unbuckled her breastplate. “I know I probably don’t come across as the best person to talk to, but if you need to…”
Dylan shook his head. He was rather all talked out. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“If anyone should be apologising, then it should be me. That bastard hound played us all for fools, but you…” She cupped his jaw. “I should’ve realised he was lying. I feel awful that you were the one who wound up so hurt.” Her fingers curled around his wrist, lifting his hand to lay his palm atop her breast. “Let me make it up to you.”
His body responded to her woodenly, almost as if in a trance. He slowly unbuckled the metal pieces of her armour and peeled away the thick linen padding beneath. She tugged at his undertunic whilst he undid the ties of her trousers. Soon, they were naked.
Authril straddled his waist. Dylan closed his eyes and let her take control, hoping to lose himself in the familiar.
Although she was perhaps far more giving and tender than she’d been during their past encounters, it wasn’t the same. Obvious differences aside, the passion he felt in the hound’s arms had no comparison with Authril. He might as well compare a bonfire to a candle. Both could keep a body warm, but only one would heat through to the core.
