Thealos held his tongue. Granted, his mouth hurt a great deal from the gag, but it had gotten him into trouble in the first place. He still remembered what he had said to the Council Elder of Vannier the night he had fled Avisahn. It amounted to treason if taken literally, though it was only an outburst of anger and frustration that he had been goaded into making. So hollow now after everything he had suffered in the Shoreland. He had nothing to show for his journey either. Not the Silverkin. Not even a stub of Everoot. Memories were all he had left. The memories were painful.
Xenon stroked the bird’s neck. “Put this in the reply.” He waited while the other Wolfsman drew a small slip of thin paper and a stylus. “One day from Avisahn. Will cross at Moonwell and arrive from the south as ordered. No sign of the Sleepwalker.”
The other two Wolfsmen stretched to loosen their muscles and practiced some strange grabbing techniques that looked vaguely familiar to Thealos. They were movements similar to those he had seen Jaerod do. The magic of their weapons sang to his blood, making him crave the blade he had lost in Landmoor. He was weaponless and helpless. Within the next day or so, he would be across the river and surrounded by those who hated him. Would he be given a chance to see his family again? He missed his sister, and the memory made his side ache. How would his parents feel about him now? His Correl and Sorrel were furious when he elected not to choose a calling—he was certain they would still be. But he also imagined that they would be worried as well. Contrition was not one of the emotions churning inside him. No, he should have left Avisahn sooner.
The reply message was rolled and inserted into the small whistle-like case tethered to the hawk. Xenon shrugged his arm and the creature took to flight to deliver the message.
It was while the hawk swooped upwards that the familiar prick of awareness went down Thealos’ spine, sending a shiver of gooseflesh down his arms.
Xenon must have seen the look in his eyes, because the Wolfsman drew his elegant leaf-blade, gazing around the grove.
“He is here,” Xenon said in warning. One of the other Wolfsmen went to Thealos and clamped a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to kneel. The other three surrounded him as well, blades at the ready.
Thealos saw him first.
There was a flicker of movement in his side vision. He turned and looked there, but he saw nothing save the trees and featherfern. But he knew Jaerod was there, looking at him. He wiped his mouth again, feeling the soreness.
“Come, Sleepwalker,” Xenon said, using the language of the king’s common instead of Silvan. “Why reveal yourself now? There are other quaeres waiting for us. If it takes a hundred, we will hunt you down. You are a fool to strike us so near Avisahn.”
“A fool I may well be,” came the reply. The four Wolfsmen turned to the source of the sound—a man in a black cloak approaching from behind a stunted elm. “But who is the greater fool, really? I suppose we will wait and see.”
“I have no doubt it is you, Sleepwalker,” Xenon said. “I have been waiting for you. We have expected you would try to free the boy. The other quaeres are coming. They see you, Sleepwalker. They see you right now. There is nowhere you can take him that we can’t find you. There is no safe haven for either of you.”
Thealos felt a pinch of worry. He watched Jaerod draw near, until he could see the cynical twist of his mouth despite the shadow cast by the deep cowl. The Sleepwalker wore black from head to boot, a loose tunic belted at the waist and sturdy pants that made no sound as he approached.
“Let him go,” Jaerod said.
Xenon lowered and tensed, dropping into a strong stance as he faced off with the Sleepwalker. “I don’t think so.”
Two of the other Wolfsmen positioned themselves separately. The final Wolfsman stood at Thealos’ back, one hand digging into his clothes.
Thealos felt the presence of Silvan magic grow stronger around them. Other quaeres were rushing in quickly. He stared at Jaerod, willing him to move—to do something.
He did.
Thealos did not see Jaerod strike. It was only a blur of black and then Xenon fell, struck in the temple and jerked off his feet to land with a crash. Jaerod was on the right then, moving like the wind as another Wolfsman slashed and stabbed at him with a blazing short sword. In a blur, the Sleepwalker had moved farther, spinning around the man to strike the Wolfsman clutching Thealos. It was like watching a raven swoop and dance, pecking at crickets. Thealos’ shirt jerked backwards and he fell as well.
Thrashing against his bonds, he rolled to the side as the Wolfsman almost trampled him in his haste to get to his feet. Thealos brushed his hair out of his eyes and watched the Sleepwalker exchange a flurry of attacks and blocks with one of them. Punch caught, deflected, re-attack parried, blow after blow, hit after hit. The Wolfsman tried kicking Jaerod’s knee, but the man was too quick to pin down, too deft to subdue. It was like watching someone fight the wind.