by Aldrea Alien
“That’s enough,” Dylan said, dragging Tracker off the corpse. “Stop. He’s dead.”
Tracker stepped back, his chest heaving. The glare he shot the guard almost dared the man to come back to life. “These men…” he rasped, whirling to eye the other guard. “They are not part of the castle guard.”
“So, who were they?” Not hounds or they would’ve attacked Tracker on sight. Talfaltaners? No, the accent was definitely a Demarner one. And their uniforms. The mottled greens and greys reminded him of… “The army?”
Tracker nodded. He dragged the second guard away from the door and peeked out into the corridor. “It would seem the troops have not yet left. We could make that work for us. Take their armour. Walk out the gates.”
Dylan frowned at the heavy metal links covering both men. He didn’t think he’d be able to stand whilst wearing it, much less move.
The glitter of something purple drew Dylan’s eye. He crouched by the second guard. The man had an infitialis dagger tucked under his belt. Dylan slid the blade free. “Track?” Unless the king’s leashed alchemist was allowed such a weapon on her person—which he doubted—there was only one place the guard would’ve found this.
Tracker took the weapon from Dylan. “My dagger.” Growling, he dealt the man a kick to his head. “The bastards were in there. Come.” Turning on his heel, he slammed open the door, snatched up the torch and marched down the corridor. “No more slinking about. I am getting my sword now before some cur makes off with it. And if I come across another one of them, I am carving them an extra hole to screw.”
“Won’t that alert everyone?” Dylan asked as he trotted after his lover.
Tracker glowered over his shoulder. The dagger’s blade glinted wickedly in the torchlight.
“I don’t want to kill any more than is necessary.”
His lover’s features softened into a rueful smile. “Very well,” Tracker murmured before his voice regained its hard edge. “But if we are discovered by anyone, they do not leave our presence alive. I almost lost you once, I will not risk losing you again.”
The remaining corridors between where the dead guards lay and the room the hounds had taken them from were mercifully absent of other people. There were hints of prior occupation—open doors, disturbed furniture and the like. Dylan couldn’t be sure if any of it was due to the evacuation of servants or the two guards who’d obviously been this way previously.
Tracker slipped into the room. He pushed the door shut as soon as Dylan entered, but the frame had split during the hounds’ forced entry, requiring someone to lean on the door to keep it closed.
Dylan took up the torch and secured the door whilst Tracker shucked his stolen garments and hauled on his armour. Dylan’s footing slipped and something small jabbed his bare heel. Hissing, he lifted his foot. Had one of the hounds dropped a needle-thin weapon when Tracker attacked them? Had he just been poisoned?
The discarded section of Tracker’s braid lay coiled by his feet. Dylan bent to pick it up, to toss it to one side, when the gleam of silver drew his eye. Tracker’s earring, the one with the tiny dangling dagger his lover had tried to give him. That had to have been what stabbed his foot. The earring must have fallen from Tracker’s hand when the hounds captured them.
Dylan rescued the piece from the floor. “We’re not planning on staying for much longer, are we?” Even if this hadn’t been the first place the hounds searched, the guards’ absence would eventually be noticed. Who knew if those men were expected back in a certain timeframe?
“Give me a moment,” Tracker said, tearing at the bedding with a knife. He had donned everything bar his sword belt. The man made swift work of the sheets, slicing out a smaller section and knotting the corners into a makeshift sack to chuck in everything they weren’t wearing. With the tiny bundle secure, he strapped on his sword belt. “You want something to wear that fits once we are clear of the city, yes?” He tossed Dylan’s boots to one side.
Dylan smiled as he pulled on his footwear. He couldn’t help it. “You know I love you, right?”
Tracker looked up from adjusting the belt. “Yes.” He caressed Dylan’s cheek. “I know.”
This time, Dylan didn’t pause for the selfsame words to be echoed at him. He may never hear the man profess his feelings in such a direct way, but after what Dylan had heard in the castle laundry, he didn’t need them.
Tracker’s gaze fell to the braid still dangling in Dylan’s hand and the soft curve of his lips flattened. “All those years.” Sighing, his lover grinned up at him. “Ah well, I guess a haircut was overdue.”
Dylan let the braid flop back to the floor. He cupped Tracker’s jaw. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do? And what is it that I am doing?” The mask of false cheer cracked. “It is just hair,” he mumbled.
Dylan wrapped his arms around his lover’s shoulders, pulling Tracker close. He pressed his lips to the man’s forehead. “I know,” he breathed. But it was more than that.
Tracker stiffened. He placed his hands on Dylan’s chest as if to push them apart. Instead, he grabbed fistfuls of linen. He trembled. At first, it was only with every exhale, but it soon became continuous as warm wetness soaked through Dylan’s stolen tunic. “She had no right,” his lover whispered, the words partially muffled by fabric. “I will never get it that long again.”
Dylan squeezed them closer together. He pressed his cheek against Tracker’s head and waited for the man to stop shaking. “I think you might be a little off about that.”
Sniffing, Tracker’s head lifted. Those honey-coloured eyes glittered in the torchlight. Confusion furrowed his brow.
“I’m sure you’ve at least another thirty years left in you,” Dylan clarified. “Maybe even another sixty.” And seeing that elves didn’t bald like human men, Tracker had a greater chance of growing his hair longer than his previous length. “And, when it’s long enough to do so again, I’ll be there to help you braid it.”
Tracker grasped Dylan’s hand and pressed his gently curving lips to the knuckles.
Dylan cleared his throat. Heat flushed his cheeks, hopefully not as noticeable in the flickering shadows. He opened his hand and tipped the earring into the elf’s palm. “I believe this is also yours.”
His lover wordlessly secured the earring back into its hole. “We should leave.”
“Of course,” Dylan said, nodding. For the first time in his life, the whole world lay before him. And he’d no idea where to start beyond leaving the kingdom. “Was it Dvärghem we agreed on?”
A small chuckle slipped out Tracker’s lips. “I do believe so, yes.”
“Then lead on.” If they were quick, then maybe they could catch up to Marin and Katarina. The hedgewitch could vouch for him with the Coven. By the gods, she could marry them once they were across the border.
“As you like,” Tracker murmured, linking their fingers and guiding Dylan out the door.
He followed, dumbstruck. The way the man uttered those words, the adoration drifting on a simple hushed note. Just as much as if the elf had spoken the very words he couldn’t seem to bring himself to say.
How many times had he said them with Dylan deaf to their true meaning?
They slunk through the corridors to the courtyard. There were far more people milling around than the late night warranted. All of them seemed to be armed. Some wore the crest of Wintervale on their chests, whilst others marched by in the army’s mottled armour.
Had the hounds roused the troop he was meant to leave for the battlefront with? No, that dawn had passed. This had to be the castle guard and a few army personnel left behind to recruit more people to throw at Udynea. Did they search for them or were the hounds still explaining the situation?
Tracker tugged on Dylan’s sleeve, motioning him another way. They backtracked several times and it wasn’t until they’d left the castle proper that Dylan realised his lover seemed to be aiming for the castle gardens or somewhere near there. Did that mean
there was another gate? Some small entrance that few would be guarding? Why hadn’t they gone that way first?
They rounded the corner and all but collided with an armoured figure standing to one side of an open gateway.
Dylan caught a flash of orange hair and familiar sea-green eyes before Tracker’s sword filled his view. “Wait!” He grabbed his lover’s arm, straining to keep the man from striking. “It’s just Authril. We’re safe.”
Tracker glared at him. “Those statements do not go together.”
Authril stared at them, her mouth slack with shock. “Dylan?” Concern and bewilderment fought for dominance on her face. “What are you—? You look terrible. What happened?” Her gaze swung to Tracker. She frowned at him before recognition lit her eyes. “Track? I thought you were done with this reptile?” she asked Dylan.
Tracker laughed. The sound shivered across Dylan’s skin, making him shudder. “That is grand,” the man said. His grin was that little bit too toothy. “You, who is so cold that I would not be surprised to find ice in your veins, calling me the reptile.”
Authril ignored him, opting to peer at Dylan. “Have you been unleashed, again?” A tinge of fear sparked in her eyes.
His lover scoffed. “It is far too complicated to explain in the time we have, dear warrior.” He tugged at Dylan’s arm, ushering him through the gateway and towards a building huddled in the shadow of the castle’s outer walls. “We must hurry before more come this way.” He nodded to Authril and said, “We were never here.”
Dylan took a few steps before slipping free of his lover’s grip to face the warrior. “Come with us.”
Tracker froze. “What?”
At the same time, Authril asked, “Come with you where?”
“Dvärghem,” Dylan replied. Maybe, with a bit of luck, they could track down the other spellsters first and convince them to follow. He swung back to Tracker and saw the hesitation in the man’s face. “She can help us get past the gates.”
“Are you certain we can trust her?”
“You’re trying to leave?” Authril said. She grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. “There are rumours. They say the hounds have been slaughtered. That they lost a spellster in the castle. Lost you. Is all that true?” Her gaze swung from him to Tracker. “What did you make him do?”
Tracker’s brows lowered. Distaste curled his lips. “Me?” he growled. “What did I make him do? You, who would prefer him still leashed, dare to insinuate that I made him do anything? Has it not yet crossed your mind that he is more than a weapon you point at the enemy?”
She stepped back, her hand already gripping her sword hilt. “Give me one reason not to call for help.”
“If you must know, dear woman. The hounds attempted to kill me.” Tracker wrapped an arm around Dylan’s waist and pulled them closer. “Us. They tried to take my life when I would not take his because I…” His gaze lifted, catching Dylan’s eye, and one side of his mouth twitching in a tiny smile. “I have grown very fond of him. You could even say I have developed a certain strong emotional attachment. One that is not welcome amongst the hounds.”
Dylan gnawed on his lip as Tracker continued to explain the past few hours to the woman. Did they have time to explain? What if Authril was merely stalling them? He didn’t want to be the cause of more deaths. Not if he could avoid it.
Those sea-green eyes glanced to Dylan and back to Tracker. Wary. Confused. “They said it’s like a butchery down there. Did you really kill them?”
“Some,” Dylan admitted. “Most.”
Tracker lifted Dylan’s clasped hand and kissed it. “Only because they forced your hand, darling. You see, my dear spellster is very adamant in keeping me alive. And I feel much the same about his life. You want a reason not to scream, dear woman? Well, if you do, even a peep, then you will force me to kill you.”
Authril’s gaze dropped, her eyes widening. Only then did Dylan realise his lover clutched the old alchemist’s dagger.
“Allow me to make it very clear to you how tenuous your chance of living is,” Tracker snarled. “I have already slain a good deal of my fellow hounds tonight. The only reason you are not dead at my feet right now is because my dear spellster would prefer no more blood be spilt on this night. But I will not risk his life to spare yours.”
“Are you hearing him?” she squawked at Dylan. She backed away, slowly. “You’ve clearly slipped into insanity. I can’t let the pair of you leave.”
Dylan slithered between them before Tracker could strike, using his body as a shield. He grabbed the warrior’s arm. “Authril, please. Don’t do anything foolish.”
“Foolish?” she echoed. “Me? What about you? You’re part of the king’s army.” She tilted her body to peer around Dylan’s shoulder and plead with Tracker. “He belongs to the army, to the crown. You can’t just take him.”
“I can, actually. The hound master wanted him dead. The hounds are looking to kill him. He lives only because I refused to do it. Taking him from this place makes no more of an impact on the army than the fate my master already had in store for him.”
Authril glanced at Dylan, one brow raised in question.
“It’s all true,” he said. “The hound master ordered them to attack the tower. He wanted to use them in the army instead of spellsters.”
She frowned. Was she imagining a horde of hounds charging the Udyneans? The crown wouldn’t have made their full numbers common knowledge. “All right, so the hounds’ new master is a leg short of a table, but you’re not under his command, you never were. You’re part of the army.”
“Except you know precisely what happens to spellsters in the army,” Tracker said. “Of how they are treated.”
So he does know. Dylan had suspected his lover had been privy to the abuses suffered by the leashed spellsters under the army’s care, especially after the man revealed his closeness to Fetcher.
Authril stepped back. Her gaze flicked from Dylan to Tracker and back. She wet her lips. “Th-that won’t happen. I’ve been leaning on the lieutenant who’s now in command of any spellsters. He’s not as hard as the others. I’ve talked him into having me become your warden. No man will be able to touch you.”
“But men are not the only ones who abuse them, yes?” Tracker continued. “If I recall my dear Fetcher’s stories, there were a number of women who sought out the spellster men to escape serving their full term at the border. And I am certain there is no need to remind you of how spellsters breed spellsters more often than not. You could already be carrying his child. Or has that thought not occurred to you, my dear woman?”
She clutched at her belly, those sea-green eyes widening. Whilst Dylan was certain he’d taken as much precaution as he was able, it was still possible. “No,” she whispered. “Carrying a child is beyond me.”
“Nevertheless, that is not true for others. The hounds want him dead, not contained where he could make more. A corpse cannot breed.”
“But he was leashed,” Authril said. “I saw him wandering the castle grounds the evening we arrived without any protest. If the hounds went after him, they only attacked him because of you. Letting him serve the army wouldn’t have made him a liability like the ones in the tower.”
Dylan tilted his head to one side, unsure he’d heard her correctly. She thought a group of spellsters trained to handle their magic, of children who’d been taught not to strain their limits, was nothing more than another problem that needed to be rectified?
Authril turned her attention back to Dylan, seemingly oblivious to his scrutiny. “If you run, you’ll be a deserter. They’ll chase you. I’m not just talking about the hounds. The army will come after you, too.”
“You truly think they will catch us?” Tracker snarled.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, did I?” she snapped back. Cupping Dylan’s elbow, she led him a little distance from Tracker. “Are you sure you want to leave with him?” she whispered. “The last I heard you two weren’t exactly on speaking
terms.”
Dylan rocked his head from side to side. It probably did look a little strange from her point of view. “I was mad at him for a bit—don’t get me wrong there—but…” He smiled and shrugged. “I love him.” If there was anything he could be sure of, it was that.
Far behind him, Dylan caught the edge of Tracker’s chuckle. By the gods, how many times had he announced his feelings for the man tonight? Three? Four?
“They will still hunt you,” Authril insisted. “I kept my promise not to speak of the others, but that means you’re the only spellster the army has left. What of your country? What if the Udyneans return? Think of the people who’ll die because you’re not there.”
He nodded. “I’m aware of that. But if they know I’m unleashed, then they’ll send the hounds.” Reaching back, he searched for Tracker’s hand. It took some time but once found, he gave the man’s fingers a squeeze. “And I’ve got my own hound.”
Tracker’s hold on his hand tightened. He drew Dylan back into the shadow of the building. “I take it you have not ridden a horse on your own?”
Puzzled, he turned to find a pair of bridled horses standing behind them. With his eyesight adjusted to the low light, he spied a row of dark entrances down one side of the building. “Y-yes?” he stammered. If this was the castle stables, then there had to be a gate nearby. “Just the once. On the way to the front line.”
His lover hummed thoughtfully. “That might be a problem, but it is nothing I cannot teach you whilst on the road.”
“Hold it right there,” Authril said. “You’re also planning to steal horses?”
Tracker led one of the animals closer. “I most certainly am, dear woman.” He laced his fingers and held them low enough for Dylan to use as a step. “Get on.”
Dylan clambered onto the horse, grimacing as he settled astride its wide back.
“No, no.” Authril planted herself in the stable entrance, shaking her head in emphasis. She drew her sword. “First the king’s spellster and now horses? I can’t allow you to do this.”
