They sat together until morning. Meredith dozed off now and then or spoke with Reed, but he couldn't relax. A sense of growing anxiety weighed on him. He was waiting for something but didn't understand exactly for what. Maybe it was the fact that they remained alone in the house and the woman who had given them shelter hadn't appeared by morning. Or maybe Reed simply wasn't used to sleeping in strangers' houses. Inns and taverns were another matter. He felt at home in every one. Be that as it may, sleep wouldn't come, though Reed was exhausted and sleep would have done him good. At dawn Meredith woke up again.

  "Can you walk?" Reed asked.

  "I don't know," she mumbled sleepily. "And where do we need to go?"

  "Away from here."

  "Why?"

  "Want the truth?" Reed grimaced, looking at Meredith.

  She nodded, and Reed sighed. He found he could lie to her less than to the others.

  "I don't feel right here. It feels like something is going to happen."

  "Leila helped us. She's good."

  "Do you think she really believed you're my daughter?" Reed chuckled. Even talking about it felt too unnatural. "I was dressed like a convict; she saw the wounds. Slavers often go to such villages because they are close to Belden, and I'm sure this Leila has seen convicts before. She didn't believe a single word from me. I wouldn't be surprised if she spent the night running around the whole neighborhood, looking for slavers."

  "You mean she didn't help us because she was just nice?"

  Reed nodded, looking around the room. It would have been a good place if it weren't so unsettling.

  "So, can you walk?"

  "Yes," Meredith confirmed quietly, standing up.

  "If you feel it's too hard, let me know."

  Meredith silently gathered her simple belongings. She was pale and exhausted but couldn't or wouldn't contradict Reed. He helped her throw on the cloak, checking the wound first. He decided he'd look at it himself later. Meredith had lost some blood, but for a child, it was still enough to make her feel the effects. He feared that a long road might finally drain her strength completely, but staying was even more dangerous. If Reed's fears were justified, he would be killed and Meredith sent to execution. No one harbored any hope that her sorcery had gone unnoticed. Slavers were probably already looking for both of them, and it would be better not to push the luck.

  Stepping out of the house, he looked around.

  The village was rotten and dismal. Small houses were covered with straw and pitch, wooden walls gnawed by beetles, tiny windows staring lifelessly outward. These houses looked like bizarre dying insects that just wouldn't perish but begged for death with their gaze alone. And the kreyghars living in there were the same. Reed didn't need to see them to understand that. Poor dwellings meant similar dwellers, without a spare penny, eternally scraping together enough for a bowl of something warm. They were oppressed by taxes, but fed by the righteous speeches of the Blessed One, who was now feeding worms. Naturally, the Council would find a replacement, cover the death of the Voice of the Three with legends and convenient tales. And eventually, everything would be as before.

  And such villages would live on the edge of death, hunger, and desolation, but never rebellion. It wouldn't even occur to the likes of them to change anything. They didn't care about mages, bandits, slavers, or caravans of prisoners that passed by too often. As long as they weren't the ones in chains, everything was fine. They didn't listen too closely to the contradictory postulates of the Church; executions didn't worry them, for the limit of their understanding was bounded by a very bright line. You can't twitch, you can't be outraged, and you'll live well. Relatively. That is why Reed didn't pity them; the kreyghars chose their own life, placing the responsibility of their existence on others. It was always profitable for them to rake coals with other people's hands, just so as not to dirty their own. That's how it was with Belden, and that's how it would be with others. And this was one of many reasons why Reed hated humans.

  The early morning air was biting. His teeth chattered. Reed was used to leather armor, which made it tolerable to sleep even on the cold ground; neither wind nor rain was a problem. In ordinary clothes, it felt unusual, uncomfortable, and too loose. Cold. Nights in Bradenmain were becoming sharper. Soon the rains would come, turning the earth to sludge and creating puddles of mud. Nevertheless, there was no choice. The armor had been confiscated back in the capital, and he needed to earn money for a new set. To earn money, he needed to recover, and Reed was barely capable of strangling a chicken. Hard times lay ahead for him and Meredith.

  It had just dawned, so the village wasn't full of kreyghars, which was convenient. Few saw the two fugitives, a child and a twice-escaped slave. They disappeared into the forest before the sun began crawling over the horizon slowly. Even if anyone were awake at such an early hour, no one would have detained them. If they had known who the pair truly were, it would have been a disaster, though.

  Reed led Meredith into the thickest brush, striving to get as far as possible from the place where he had already exposed himself too much. When the impenetrable wall of trees surrounded them, he lit a fire, and Meredith immediately sat down by the flames, grimacing and shivering.

  "Cold?" he inquired. It had warmed up some time ago, and the lunch hour was approaching.

  Glancing at him, Meredith simply nodded.

  "Will you show me the wound?"

  Another nod. She began unbuttoning her dress slowly to free her shoulder and collarbone. Reed couldn't help her right now, but he was obliged to know what he was dealing with. Carefully touching the bandage, he cast a worried look at Meredith, afraid to scare her or cause pain. She didn't react, and Reed continued. Under the bandage lay a fresh wound. The blood was still oozing a little, but rough stitches kept the edges from spreading, preventing Meredith from bleeding out again. It looked frightening and unsettling. If Reed had been the one wounded, he wouldn't have worried much, that was his way. But Meredith was a completely different matter.

  "We need to do something about this," he grumbled, fixing the bandage back. "Does it hurt?"

  "Yes."

  "Bearable?"

  "I don't know."

  Reed sighed. Without money or weapons, he couldn't help her, and the helplessness gnawed at him.

  "Can we stop somewhere?" she asked suddenly.

  "Where? What for?"

  "I hid something. I don't know what the place is called."

  "And do you remember the way?"

  "Dad taught me to remember landmarks."

  "Is it important?"

  "For you."

  Reed raised an eyebrow, and Meredith simply smirked, reaching her hands out to the fire again. They sat like that for some time until Reed tensed. He thought he heard something.

  "Hector?" Meredith called, noticing the change in his face.

  He raised a hand, demanding silence. The usual forest sounds made it hard to concentrate. The noise of trees, the singing of birds, and the distant cries of wild goats; all of it interfered. And then he heard the barking of hounds. Reed remembered their bark too well to be mistaken. Standing up abruptly, he stomped out the fire, ignoring Meredith's weak protests. He offered her a hand, helping her up.

  "Pursuit," Reed muttered.

  Meredith spoke no more, and soon both bolted from the spot. Wet grass slipped under their feet, leaving a trail of tracks behind. Running was hard, and the reason didn't lie in the difficulties of racing through a forest. Reed hadn't had time to recover, and every step resonated like a punch to the gut, but he forced himself to run, paying no attention to the noise in his ears or his frantic heartbeat. His breathing constantly faltered. It felt as if he were running for the first time in his life. Meredith ran a couple of paces behind, and Reed looked back at times to see if she was keeping up.

  The chase was no easier for her than for Reed. Meredith had turned paler than before. Large drops of sweat ran down her face, and a whistling, heavy breath tore from her lips. She began to stumble more often.

  Meredith climbed over fallen tree trunks slower and slower. She struggled to tear through the bushes until soon Reed was forced to scoop her up in his arms. His legs responded with trembling and weakness, and he feared he would involuntarily collapse, unable to endure such strain.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The sounds were getting closer while Reed ran slower and slower. Meredith began to lose consciousness again, even though there was no blood. A thought occurred to him: hide her and lead the chase away himself. If he were caught, then that was his fate. Meredith's small, cool palms wrapped around his neck as she murmured on the verge of slipping into unconsciousness again, "Don't leave... me alone."

  Reed was taken aback. She couldn't possibly know what he was thinking, or maybe she just knew him well enough by now.

  "I... I won't," he exhaled, adjusting his grip on her.

  The problem was that the dogs smelled blood too well. And just because Reed didn't smell that wild scent settling like metal in his nose, it didn't mean the dogs didn't. His knowledge of the hounds didn't come from hearsay. Once, he had the misfortune of running from those creatures, and they made sure Reed didn't forget that thrilling encounter. His face burned with heat. It seemed they were catching up not only by scent but by the sound of his heart. It galloped now, and Reed was almost scared his heart might burst from such strain. Meredith's arms fell listlessly from his shoulders while Reed's burned with fire from the exertion. He couldn't determine what burned more: his forearms or his thighs.

  There were few options to shake the pursuit. Reed could have laid a false trail had he the time and if there were animals in this forest. However, even if it were possible, it was unlikely he could have wounded anything. And that 'anything' would have to be caught first. The second option seemed more feasible: finding corpsemilk mushrooms. Such mushrooms usually grew by old trees and stank so badly that dogs lost their sense of smell for a time. Of course, there was a risk of losing his own sense of smell if he inhaled too deeply.

  He scanned the trees on the run, hoping to find one old enough to host the corpsemilk. Just his luck, no mushrooms appeared, and his strength was almost gone. Clearly, he would run until he collapsed, but he didn't want to become such easy prey.

  Reed stopped for a moment. Blood roared in his ears, and behind its hum he could barely distinguish the surrounding sounds. Spots swam before his eyes as nausea rose in his throat, and he gasped for air. Shaking his head, he looked around. If he turned left, he could get into the wilds, a place from which few returned alive. He weighed his options. On one side, the slavers; on the other, a dense thicket where even an experienced forester would struggle to navigate, and the possibility of meeting something more dangerous than a dog.

  He didn't want to try on chains again, so the choice was merely an illusion he had drawn for himself to make the run feel less terrifying.

  He turned left. Branches whipped painfully against his flushed face, snagging his clothes as if purposefully trying to slow him down. He pressed Meredith closer to his chest so the wild trees wouldn't scratch her as well and sped up. The sun was rising to its zenith, but where he was running, it was still cold, chilly, damp, and almost as dark as winter twilight. However, Reed felt neither the cold nor the damp; even fear had vanished. Only animal instincts remained, ensuring survival.

  Finally, an old, spreading elm appeared on his path. Ducking under the branches, Reed stopped again and listened. In this part of the forest, it was too quiet, almost frighteningly quiet; yet, the opposite could have been a problem. Silence gave him the chance to hear or even to rest. Lowering Meredith onto the wet grass, Reed collapsed, leaning his back against the thick elm. Overhead, among the branches, a stray wind roamed, making the tree creak and groan strainedly. Tipping his head back against the mossy surface of the elm, Reed exhaled and closed his eyes. He wanted to lose himself in this silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind. The barking of dogs died down in the distance, but Reed still twitched, hallucinating the sounds of pursuit. Involuntarily, he touched his face and then exhaled, chasing away anxious memories.

  Noticing moss on the tree, Reed was relieved. Maybe there were corpsemilk mushrooms somewhere too. He wasn't mistaken. Walking around the tree, Reed found a small growth and tore it off. Returning to Meredith, he rubbed the find in his hands, letting the mushrooms release their slime. They were strange mushrooms. There was a reason they were poison ingredient.

  First, he smeared his own feet, trying not to touch the wounds as his bandages had been lost long ago. It was no wonder, rushing through the forest like that. Finishing up, he rubbed Meredith's feet too and fell backward, slipping into unconsciousness.

  ***

  Among the many secrets Meredith kept, her talent for theft was perhaps the most practical. And she did it quite deftly. Reed thought it wasn't surprising. Mages were nomads mostly. The work was scarce, and one was lucky if allowed not only to earn but to spend. It was no wonder that many, especially children, resorted to thievery. Moreover, there were ordinary humans among the mages. It would be foolish to assume everyone had a conscience clean enough to bow before the Three. Reed just hadn't thought about it at first. It wasn't to say he admired this skill, but being useless as a fighter and a protector, Reed was grateful for even the trifles she managed to pinch. Sometimes she stole food that was almost fresh. Sometimes not so much, but Reed didn't object and was grateful for what she brought.

  Getting out of the forest took a long time. Reed didn't dare go back. He feared an ambush. It would be logical for the slavers to wait for him where they caught the last trail; therefore, for Reed, it was a wise decision not to return. This journey through the forest proved harder than any other in his life. Hunger tormented them both, and they had to make do with late berries and nuts.

  Sometimes they managed to catch a rodent, but all this was not enough to satiate them, let alone replenish the strength they both lacked. Meredith's wound wasn't healing very well. The herbs Reed found in the forest stopped the inflammation, but she needed care and rest. Nevertheless, Meredith didn't complain. Only sometimes Reed noticed her wincing in pain, rubbing her collarbone. He was ashamed of his helplessness, a feeling he thought he had forgotten long ago. Not once in the thirty years he had spent in freedom had Reed felt so weak. Meredith tried to comfort him, but that didn't bring back his strength. The only relief was that he knew a thing or two about herbs and didn't let Meredith die of blood poisoning.

  They emerged at the first village on the fourth day. Both looked either like vagabonds or like cadavers. They washed at the nearest well and moved on. That night they even had tolerable food. Meredith stole a pumpkin from a field and then spent a long time recounting how she ran from the peasant who spotted her. This story brought a smile to Reed's face, the first in a long while. His cheeks strained, resisting an expression they had long ago forgotten. Sitting by the fire, he listened to her silently, as if it could help him forget. Sometimes it helped, and sometimes it didn't, and then he wanted to howl.

  Meredith herself began to talk much more often, sharing memories of her parents and her life before Reed and the Wasps had shattered it. He listened and doubted more and more that he could ever tell her about his role in her fate. It would be too hard. Burdening her with such knowledge, Reed would no longer be able to bear her gaze. That is, if Meredith would want to remain in his company at all. Perhaps participating in the mage hunt was his biggest secret, his greatest lie, the revelation of which was as terrifying as falling into slavery again.

  When the first stars lit up the sky, Meredith drifted off. She leaned on Reed while he sat feeling neither fatigue nor pain. His wrists had reddened and swollen slightly, healing longer than usual. Fatigue had become a background feeling, dulled over time and dressed in the clothes of a habitual phenomenon, so Reed no longer thought about how exhausted he was. He was not in chains and for that, he was glad.

  Despite Reed stubbornly ignoring his condition, it didn't get easier, only worse. Soon he was barely moving his legs, and later still, he began to doubt he could go on. Meredith continued to steal, and he had neither the strength nor the right to lecture her. Perhaps thanks to her, he was still alive. The sense of debt to her grew like a snowball. Now Reed believed he was simply obliged to help her settle in a safe place.

  A week later, they returned to the road leading to Belden, the track slavers and their captives used. Apparently, that was how Meredith had followed them: simply along the one road that only the blind or stupid could miss. Reed kept his word too. They returned because Meredith asked. She began to recognize landmarks, and their path turned north, back toward the capital. By that time, Reed was ready to drop dead. Lack of food took its toll, draining the last of his strength. Both slept poorly, almost always under the open sky. They rarely managed to find an abandoned barn or hut, but Reed couldn't afford to stay there too long.

  "Where to next?" Reed asked when they stepped off the road to rest.

  "There," she pointed toward a bridge.

  "And what's there?" he finally lost patience.

  "Well... I left something important there."

  Reed grunted, deciding not to ask further. He was close now, so the torment of curiosity wouldn't last long. Extinguishing the fire, Reed stood up, kneading his numb legs. His hands trembled and his back ached. Meredith's wound had improved, but he didn't risk removing the stitches without the necessary supplies. He was afraid of making it worse.

  At the bridge, Meredith climbed down the rocks to the river and began shifting them, trying to stay out of sight. Reed just stood there, silently staring into the distance, thinking his own thoughts.

  "Reed?"

  "What?" he responded dully.

  "Help."

  Without saying another word, he climbed down to her, finding her by a small, handmade cache. She had simply dug a small hole in the clay soil, lined it with small stones, and covered it with larger ones. Inside lay a sack that bulged strangely.

  "You'll like it," a smile blossomed on her face, and a blush touched her cheeks. Against her pale face, this flush seemed unhealthy, but it made Meredith prettier.

  Reed snatched up the "treasure," falling onto the nearest rock. Cold was already drifting from the water as evening was approaching. With numb fingers, he pulled the drawstring and opened the sack. Inside lay daggers. His daggers. The very ones taken from him before he was led to interrogation. Expensive steel from Brazanas, gleaming blades, a guarantee of safety. It was unknown how long it would have taken him to earn enough for new ones. Reed hadn't had time to recover from the first surprise when he found leather armor next. Not his, but good. That was fate’s mercy already. Apparently, Meredith had stolen it all along the way. There was no time to look for his own armor, so she took the first one she found. Not as comfortable as the old one, but much more natural and advantageous than the peasant clothes, which irritated Reed more and more with every passing day.

  "Dita..." Reed exhaled, shifting his gaze to her. "How?"

  "I stole it. At night, everyone slept, and I watched. It didn't work right away. I couldn't find your armor. Doesn’t this one fit?"

  Tears glinted in her eyes, but only for a moment. Reed smiled.

  "It’s good," the smile grew wider, as if she hadn't stolen armor and daggers but the royal palace. "Thank you."

  Meredith flushed and returned the smile. Reed spread his arms, beckoning her to him. His embrace was full of gratitude and some strange despair. Meredith hugged him back the same way, seeking protection, praise, and comfort in him. Probably, she stole for this very reason: to see his gratitude and to show her usefulness, although Reed would never have demanded anything like that from her.

  Pulling away, Reed realized there were other things in the sack that seemed valuable to her but couldn't find a use yet. There also were stray coins, mixed in with all sorts of junk. Meredith hadn't wasted time while following the caravan of convicts and the slavers acting as overseers.

  "Oh, look, no more sleeping on the street," Reed rejoiced.

  "For how long?"

  "A couple of days," he shrugged, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. "And enough for something else."

  "For what?" Meredith raised an eyebrow in an adult manner, just the way Reed did.

  "For your wound, you. Or doesn't it hurt anymore?"

  "Not like before."

  "Still, we need to buy something. And there's a hood here," he added, feeling more cheerful. It meant the chances of bargaining for medicine were higher. As long as merchants didn't see his ears, they were more amenable.

  Rising, he offered his hand to Meredith, and together they walked along the road, making their way toward the capital.