The Spade leveled her with an exasperated gaze.
“Because we’re getting close to Yurkei territory, and the King does not want to be caught outnumbered.”
The Spade blinked in the sun before reaching down and yanking a tall piece of wheat grass out of the ground to put into his mouth. “Yer just as smart as they say.” The ground gave a slight tremor as Morte appeared at the end of the trail, his colossal body reflecting the bright sun as he climbed toward them with alarming speed. Sir Gorrann’s mare took a step backward, almost tripping over an overturned branch. Even she knew better than to trifle with a Hornhoov. Sir Gorrann’s face paled.
“Gah, massive, he is! Can yeh control him?”
Dinah gave a shrug and picked up a stick to fling into the trees. “Not really. I wouldn’t touch him if I were you.”
Before she could release the stick, the Spade’s hand, nails black as soot, clamped onto her wrist. “What are yeh doing? No throwing sticks. No touching anything that yeh don’t have to. Don’t throw, don’t kick, don’t shuffle yer feet or run yer hands along the trees. It’s going to be hard enough covering his tracks—” he motioned at Morte, who was munching on some tiny yellow flowers that popped open like bubbles when he crunched them, “without yeh leaving yer scent and marks everywhere. Yeh might as well have left a royal red carpet following us!”
They walked until the sun was high in the sky, breaking for a quick lunch beside the stream. The Spade pulled some dried meat and a small wrapped cheese out of his pack. Dinah’s mouth watered at the sight of the cheese, but she forced herself to look away and appear happy with her stale bread. She didn’t want anything from this man.
“Give me yer boots,” he ordered gruffly, and Dinah obeyed. He rinsed them out in the stream, taking care to scrub the soles with diligence. He handed them back to her. “Step lightly. Think of yerself as air. Everything yeh do leaves a trace. Try not to tramp around the woods making as much noise as possible like yeh’ve been doing.” Dinah watched in fascination as the Spade fastened two low-hanging pine branches to his belt so they dragged behind him. He pointed to the stream. “You and the horse need to walk in the stream for the next few miles. This is where I plan on losing them fer good.”
It was easier said than done. Getting Morte to follow her into the ankle-deep stream was incredibly difficult. Eventually he was lured in by the large piece of meat Dinah had grabbed in the farmer’s house. Morte didn’t like the water on his spikes, although it was clear they needed it—swirls of dried blood colored the water when he finally stepped in. They followed the stream as it flowed uphill. Everything flowed uphill now—the land, the flowers, the plants. Dinah quickly sweated through the heavy black dress. Walking in the stream was difficult. Several times she stumbled; her ankle caught on seaweed, rocks, and much to her horror, a silver-and-rose-striped snake. After a few miles, the Spade ordered her to leave the stream and walk in only her socks. He shuffled behind her, erasing their footprints. Every once in a while the Spade would lick his finger and hold it in the air or stop and tilt his head, listening for something inaudible to her own ears. Then he would correct their tracks, step by step. At one point, he made Dinah climb a tree only to climb back down on the other side. She protested loudly, until the Spade drew his sword. She grumbled all the way up and all the way back down as Morte watched her with amusement.
Several times Dinah would begin to talk only to be shushed by him, and once, without warning, the Spade pushed her down into a bush, laying his body on top of hers, followed by several branches and brush. Dinah let out a shriek and pushed against him with all her might, fearing he wanted to defile her in a way she had only read about, but his hands had only cupped her mouth. Dinah struggled until she saw the red shimmer of the tracking hawk above, dancing in and out of the tree branches overhead. She fell silent, though she was certain that the hawk could hear the loud poundings of her heart. After a while they hiked again through the bleached trees, until dusk fell and the woods turned dark. Dinah felt as though she were wandering through a gathering of ghosts, each one covered with dripping white linen. The Spade stopped abruptly and pushed his ear against the ground. After listening for a few seconds, he hopped to his feet.
“We’ll camp here for the night. This is a good spot.” He bound his mare, Cyndy, to a tree and looked at Dinah to see if she would do the same.