They moved fast, abandoning the shelter and heading deeper into the forest.
Kael had grabbed her pack, kicked dirt over the fire, and hauled Cadarn to his feet in under thirty seconds. Stumper, who'd been grazing nearby, fell in behind them with his usual expression of profound irritation.
"How many?" Cadarn asked, trying to keep up despite legs that felt like water.
"At least three hounds. Probably five or six soldiers." Kael's eyes scanned the forest ahead. "They must have picked up our trail from the quarry. We've got maybe twenty minutes before they're on us."
"Can we lose them?"
"In open forest? No. The dogs have our scent." She paused, thinking. "But there's a river about two miles north. If we can reach it before they spot us, we can use the water to break the trail."
"I can't run two miles."
"Then you'd better learn fast."
They ran.
Cadarn's shoulder screamed with every jolting step. His lungs burned. His vision kept blurring at the edges. But fear was a powerful motivator, and the sound of baying hounds getting closer was the best encouragement he'd ever had.
Kael moved through the forest like a ghost—silent, efficient, choosing paths that avoided deadfall and thick underbrush. Cadarn crashed along behind her like a drunk bear, making enough noise for both of them.
Behind them, the dogs were getting louder.
"They're gaining," Cadarn gasped.
"I know. Move faster."
"I'm moving as fast as I can!"
"Then move faster than that."
The forest floor started sloping downward. Cadarn heard it before he saw it—the rush of water over rocks. The river.
They burst out of the tree line onto a rocky bank. The river was maybe thirty feet across, running fast over smooth stones. White water where it hit obstacles. Deep enough to be dangerous, shallow enough to wade.
"In," Kael ordered. "Head upstream. Stay in the water—don't leave tracks on the banks."
Cadarn didn't argue. He waded in, gasping as the cold water hit his legs, his waist, his chest. The current pulled at him, trying to sweep him downstream. His boots slipped on smooth river stones.
Kael was beside him, one hand on his good arm, steadying him. "Small steps. Feel for solid footing before you commit your weight."
They moved upstream, fighting the current. The cold water seeped into Cadarn's wound, making him gasp. But it was also numbing the pain, which was something.
Behind them, from the forest: excited barking. The dogs had reached the river.
"Keep moving," Kael hissed. "Don't look back."
They waded upstream for what felt like hours but was probably ten minutes. The river curved, taking them out of sight of where they'd entered the water.
"Here," Kael said, pointing to a spot where a fallen tree created a natural shelter against the far bank. "Under there. Quiet as death."
They squeezed into the space beneath the log, Cadarn first, then Kael. The water was deeper here—up to their chests—and bitingly cold. But the log and the angle of the bank made them invisible from upstream.
Stumper, showing more sense than either of them, had apparently hidden himself somewhere in the forest.
They waited.
Cadarn's teeth were chattering. He tried to control it but the cold was too intense. Kael put her hand over his mouth, silencing the sound.
Footsteps on the riverbank. Splashing. Men's voices, frustrated and angry.
"—lost the scent at the water—"
"—check downstream—"
"—waste of time, they could've gone either direction—"
"Fan out. Search both banks. They can't have gone far."
The voices spread out. Some heading downstream. Some heading up.
One soldier waded right past their hiding spot, so close Cadarn could see the military insignia on his boots. Duke Theodric's colors—red and black.
The soldier paused, looking around. His hand went to his sword.
He sees us. He has to see us.
But the soldier was looking at the wrong angle. After a moment, he moved on, wading further upstream.
They waited in the freezing water, not moving, barely breathing.
Time stretched.
Finally, Kael whispered: "They're moving downstream. Away from us. We wait ten more minutes, then we move."
Cadarn nodded, not trusting his voice.
His whole body was going numb now. The shaking had stopped, which was somehow worse than when it was happening. Hypothermia, probably. He was a doctor. He knew the signs.
Stage two: violent shaking stops. Muscles stiffen. Thinking becomes impaired. Skin turns blue.
Great. Survive infection and pursuit just to freeze to death in a river.
"Cadarn." Kael's voice, sharp in his ear. "Stay with me. Don't pass out."
"Cold," he managed.
"I know. But we can't move yet. Another few minutes."
But Cadarn's vision was tunneling. The numbness was spreading from his extremities to his core. His lips wouldn't form words anymore.
This is it. This is how it ends.
"Damn it." Kael shifted, pulling him against her in the water, sharing body heat. "Listen to me, Doctor. You don't get to die in a river after all the trouble I've gone through. You hear me? I haven't even decided what I'm doing with you yet. You don't get to make it easy by dying."
Her voice kept him anchored. Barely.
"That's it. Stay awake. Think about something warm. Fire. Summer. Cheap whiskey. Whatever works."
Cheap whiskey.
Twenty years of cheap whiskey, drowning the screaming in his head.
The boys you couldn't save.
They were here now, in the water with him. All of them. The amputees who died of shock. The gut wounds who died screaming. The head injuries who died quietly, slipping away while he held their hands.
We're waiting, Doctor. Come join us.
"No," Cadarn mumbled. "Not yet."
"That's right. Not yet." Kael's grip tightened. "Come on. Time to move."
She hauled him out from under the log. The air felt even colder than the water. Cadarn's legs wouldn't hold him properly. Kael half-dragged, half-carried him to the far bank.
They collapsed on solid ground, both gasping.
"Fire," Cadarn managed through chattering teeth. "Need fire."
"Can't risk the smoke. Soldiers are still too close." Kael was already pulling off his wet coat, wringing it out. "But I've got something else."
From her pack—which she'd somehow kept dry—she pulled out a thin emergency blanket, the kind made from waxed canvas. She wrapped it around both of them, creating a shared cocoon of body heat.
"Old tracker trick," she said. "Not as good as fire, but it'll do. Now shut up and let your body warm up."
They sat there, pressed together under the blanket, shivering.
Slowly—incrementally—feeling started returning to Cadarn's extremities. Painful, pins-and-needles feeling, but at least it was feeling.
"You saved me," he said when he could speak again.
"I postponed your death. There's a difference."
"Still. Thank you."
Kael didn't respond for a long moment. Then: "I've decided."
"Decided what?"
"What I'm doing with you." She pulled the blanket tighter. "I'm getting you to Northern Coalition territory. Helping you testify. Not for the money—obviously, since I'm giving up five hundred gold. Not even for the right thing, because I'm still not sure that exists. But because..."
"Because?"
"Because I'm tired of feeling like shit every time I look in a mirror. And because that girl—the sixteen-year-old—she deserves better than being just another regret." Kael's voice was hard, but there was something underneath it. Something vulnerable. "So I'm helping you. And if it gets me killed, at least I'll die doing something that isn't purely mercenary."
Relief flooded through Cadarn, so intense it almost hurt. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We still have to survive the next three days. And I'm not even sure where we're going—Northern Coalition territory is a big place. Where exactly were you supposed to meet your contacts?"
"Greymarch Fortress. North of the Stonewood. Captain Garrett said it was Prince Edric's forward command post."
"Greymarch." Kael's expression darkened. "That's four days hard travel from here. Through some of the worst terrain in the north. And that's assuming we don't run into patrols, bandits, or wild animals."
"Can we make it?"
"Honestly? I don't know. You're injured, fevered, and can barely walk. I'm good, but I'm not a miracle worker." She pulled the blanket back, checking the angle of the sun. "But we can try. And trying's more than I've done in a long time."
They stayed under the blanket until Cadarn stopped shivering violently and started shivering normally—an improvement, according to Kael.
When they finally emerged, the sun was past its zenith. Afternoon. They'd lost hours hiding from the patrol.
Stumper appeared from the underbrush, looking completely dry and extremely judgmental.
"How did he—" Cadarn started.
"He's a smart mule. Smarter than most people I've met." Kael started gathering their gear. "Come on. We need to cover ground before dark. There's an old trapper's cabin about ten miles north—if it's still standing, we can hole up there for the night."
"And if it's not?"
"Then we sleep rough and hope we don't freeze to death. Again."
They headed north, following animal trails and Kael's instincts. The forest was thick here—old-growth pines and oak that blocked out most of the sky. The ground was carpeted in needles and moss, muffling their footsteps.
Good for hiding.
Bad for navigation.
But Kael seemed to know where she was going, marking their path with small scratches on trees that Cadarn wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't pointed them out.
"Tracker marks," she explained. "So I can find my way back if needed. Every professional uses them."
"Won't the soldiers see them?"
"Not unless they know what to look for. And even then, I use a personal code. Random marks to anyone else."
They walked for hours. Cadarn's shoulder throbbed with every step. His wet clothes chafed. His boots squelched. But he kept moving because stopping meant dying.
The sun was sinking toward the horizon when Kael stopped abruptly.
"What?" Cadarn whispered.
"Smoke. You smell that?"
He did. Faint, but there—wood smoke. Cooking fire, maybe.
"The cabin?" Cadarn asked hopefully.
"Maybe. Or maybe soldiers camped for the night. Or bandits. Or trappers who won't appreciate strangers." Kael's hand went to her bow. "Wait here with Stumper. I'll scout ahead."
"I'm not letting you—"
"You're not letting me do anything. I'm a professional scout and you're a half-dead doctor. Wait here. If I'm not back in twenty minutes, head due north and pray."
She disappeared into the forest before Cadarn could argue.
He waited with Stumper, trying not to imagine all the things that could go wrong. Twenty minutes felt like twenty hours.
Then Kael was back, moving silently through the trees.
"The cabin's there. Occupied."
Cadarn's heart sank. "Soldiers?"
"Worse. Deserters. Four of them. Armed, paranoid, and probably not friendly to strangers." She paused. "But they have fire, food, and shelter. And it's going to snow tonight."
"Snow? It's barely autumn."
"Welcome to the north. Weather here doesn't care about your calendar." Kael chewed her lip, thinking. "We need that shelter. Which means we need to negotiate with the deserters. Or fight them. Or sneak past and hope they don't notice."
"What do you recommend?"
"Honestly? I recommend we avoid them entirely. Deserters are unpredictable. But with you in your condition and weather turning bad..." She trailed off. "We might not have a choice."
Before Cadarn could respond, a voice called out from the trees ahead:
"We know you're there! Been watching you for the last ten minutes! Come out slow, hands where we can see them, or we start shooting!"
Kael swore viciously.
"So much for the element of surprise," Cadarn muttered.
"Shut up. Let me handle this." Kael raised her voice: "We're coming out! Don't shoot! We're just travelers looking for shelter!"
"Everyone's just travelers! Come out anyway!"
Kael gave Cadarn a look that clearly said if this goes wrong, it's not my fault, then stepped out into the open, hands raised.
Cadarn followed, Stumper plodding behind.
Four men emerged from the forest, surrounding them. All armed—two with bows, two with swords. Rough clothes, harder faces. The kind of men war created and peace didn't know what to do with.
The one who'd called out—older, grizzled, with a scar running from temple to jaw—studied them with suspicious eyes.
"Tracker and a sick man," he observed. "Strange pair. Who are you running from?"
"Who says we're running?" Kael asked.
"Everyone in these woods is running from something. Question is: are you running from the same thing we are, or something worse?"
"Depends. What are you running from?"
The scarred man smiled, no warmth in it. "War. Conscription. Kings and dukes who want to throw our lives away for their pride. You?"
Kael hesitated, then made a gamble: "Same. My friend here is a deserter. I'm helping him reach the border."
"Deserter from which side?"
"Duke Theodric's forces. Northern campaign."
The four men exchanged glances. Something shifted in their posture—not quite relaxed, but less hostile.
"Theodric's a bastard," the scarred man said. "His commanders are worse. Lost half my unit to a pointless charge over a bridge that didn't even matter strategically. Decided I'd had enough."
"Smart decision," Kael said.
"Survival decision." He studied Cadarn more carefully. "Your friend looks half-dead."
"Arrow wound. Infected. He needs rest and warmth or he won't make it to the border."
Another pause. Then the scarred man lowered his bow.
"Name's Garrett. No relation to the captain, before you ask—common name in these parts. These are my boys: Thomas, Willem, and Young Petyr." He gestured to the others. "We've got a cabin, fire, and some stew. Not much, but we'll share. Long as you're not planning to kill us in our sleep."
"Same terms for you," Kael said.
"Fair enough." Garrett turned, heading back toward the cabin. "Come on. Weather's turning and none of us want to be out here when the snow starts."
They followed the deserters through the trees.
Cadarn leaned close to Kael. "You just lied to them. I'm not a deserter."
"You're a fugitive from military pursuit. Close enough." She kept her voice low. "And if they knew what you really were—knew how valuable you are—they might decide to sell you to the highest bidder. So you're a deserter from Duke Theodric's army. Your name is... Marcus. You took an arrow during a skirmish and I'm your sister helping you escape."
"Sister?"
"Would you prefer wife? Lover? Mother?"
"Sister's fine."
The cabin appeared through the trees—a small log structure, barely one room, but solid and weatherproof. Smoke rose from a crude chimney. Light spilled from the gaps around the door.
Shelter. Warmth. Safety, however temporary.
They'd survived another day.
But as they approached the cabin, Cadarn couldn't shake the feeling that their luck—what little they had—was running out.