It was not that she feared walking from camp after dark. It was simply… well, she seemed to have bad luck with it. First, on the Wastes, she’d encountered a giant scorpion. Then, between Fairview and the imperial city, she’d been taken captive by a merchant who’d hoped to sell her to a distant king.
At least she had Tova with her. When they crested a small hillock, the hound lifted his head, growling softly. There was no sign of anyone about at first, but he continued to growl until a figure slipped along the thin line of trees.
Ashyn ducked and took out her dagger. Tova hunkered with Ashyn as she flattened onto her stomach. In the distance she heard…
No. She tilted her head, frowning. She did not hear anything. She felt… It was an odd sensation, beyond description, as if she sensed someone calling to her.
Whatever she felt, it didn’t come from the approaching figure, which had stopped twenty paces from the hillock. Tova lifted his muzzle and sniffed the air. Then he let out an annoyed chuff.
“Seeker?” a voice whispered. “Ashyn?”
It was Simeon. Ashyn barely stifled a growl of her own. She rose and made her way back down the hillock.
“You are there,” he whispered loudly. “I thought I saw the hound leaving camp.”
Tova grunted, as if apologizing to Ashyn.
“And you followed me?” she said. “You may not know court manners, but in what part of the empire is that appropriate?”
“I… I know I ought not to approach a young woman alone, but I thought with your hound in attendance, it was acceptable.”
“I mean following me at night, away from the camp.”
He blushed. “Yes, of course. I had not considered…”
That seemed to be the honest excuse in every facet of the young scholar’s life. A basic ignorance of acceptable behavior. When he thought a thing, he did it. Not an uncommon failing with scholars. Brilliant at their work; lost when it came to social graces.
“Approaching an unaccompanied young woman might be frowned upon in some villages,” she said, her voice softening. “It is not an issue in the city or in a group such as this. However, when you approach her at night, your motives could appear less than seemly.”
She meant it kindly, but his blush deepened, and he stammered that he had not intended any such thing.
“I wish to apologize for my earlier behavior,” he said. “There was no excuse.”
“Accepted,” she said.
He continued – still apologizing, it seemed – but her attention was only half on him, the rest tugged again by her surroundings.
It’s a spirit, she thought. That’s what I feel, though it’s unlike any I’ve encountered.
In the distance, she detected a faint light, suggesting another camp.
“Ashyn?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I heard something.”
She immediately regretted the lie. He stiffened and reached for… Well, he reached for nothing. He was not warrior caste. He could not carry a blade. Instead his hands clenched, and he straightened awkwardly, his gaze sweeping across the land.
“It’s just some small creature,” she said. “Tova would warn me if —”
The hound sniffed the air and growled.
Ashyn adjusted her dagger. “We ought to get back.”
Tova seconded that with a louder growl. Simeon stared into the night. When she nudged him, he jumped so high one would think she’d pulled him in for a kiss.
“Go,” she whispered. “I’m behind you.”
He nodded. “Yes, I ought to lead the way.”
She did not correct him, but she was taking the rear because she was the one with a dagger, and the danger was behind them.
The moment they began walking, a cry rang out. A cry of alarm, followed by running footsteps. Ashyn wheeled, her dagger raised, Tova crouched to spring.
She saw a figure, shadowy in the moonlight, arms and legs akimbo. A second figure chased it, fast and silent, tackling the first like a wildcat taking down a deer. The sounds of struggle ensued, the besieged figure yelping in terror as the attacker pinned him to the ground.
Ashyn ran toward them, ignoring Simeon’s cries of “No!” and “Stay here!” While it was possible that both figures had been chasing her, it seemed far more likely that she’d just been rescued, presumably by a warrior guard.
As she drew near, she slowed. Even from a distance, she could see her rescuer was not a warrior. Despite holding a sword, he wore a peasant’s garb: a simple tunic, trousers, and sandals. He was young and wiry, with black curls falling around his face as he bent over the prone man.
He glanced up, and she recognized the shadow-shrouded shape of his features.
“Ronan?” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Keeping the world safe for you to piss in,” he said. “Apparently, it’s a full-time job.”
She couldn’t tell if he was teasing or grumbling. Probably a little of both.
“At least this time you had the sense to bring a guard with you,” he continued, waving at the approaching figure of Simeon. Then Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not a warrior. Who is he and what is he doing out here with you, in the middle of the night?”
Simeon strode over. “The question, boy, is who are you? And why are you wielding a blade when you are obviously no warrior yourself?”
“Boy?”
“Actually,” Ashyn cut in, “I think the more pressing question is: who is he?”