I counted three as they appeared, one by one, squeezing through the mouth of the cave.
They invaded our space, filling it with their smell: sweat and an underlying odor of horseflesh. That meant they weren’t traveling on foot. Somewhere outside the cave, horses waited for them. On the rocks, no doubt. They wouldn’t have left them in the open, vulnerable to dwellers. My mind raced, thinking about the ground Fowler and I could cover if I we had those horses.
And then reality crashed down on me. How could I get Fowler atop a mount? How could we travel at all? He wasn’t even awake.
“You were right, Jabon. There is someone up in here. Two somebodies, it looks like.”
Another voice, presumably Jabon’s, answered gruffly, “Always trust my nose, Kurk. Never leads me astray, especially where food is concerned, and I told you I smelled roasting meat.”
The words made me want to kick myself. Cooking the hare had brought them here. I’d led them here. I’d brought them to Fowler.
I did this.
There was a slight chink as one of the men moved, and I instantly recognized the sound of chain mail. Sivo had kept his chain mail in a trunk. As a child I had donned the much-too-large tunic of mail before, playing dress-up, pretending to be a grand knight like Sivo. Like my father. Of course, Perla would fuss at me whenever she caught me, reminding me that I was a girl . . . the one true queen of Relhok. According to her, queens did not don chain mail. My chest ached and burned. I missed them. Especially now as I faced these men and whatever degradation awaited me at their hands.
“Come, lad, put down your blade.” It was the rough, guttural voice again.
I shook my head, lifting my knife higher. “Get back!” Thus far, experience had not led me to count on any soldiers in chain mail being remotely like Sivo or my father. I wasn’t so na?ve to expect that.
“We don’t aim to hurt you,” another voice volunteered, still male, but decidedly lighter and younger than the voices of the other two men. “We’re a convoy returning home from Relhok.”
They came from Relhok? Just this admission gave me a small measure of hope. If they came from there, then I could get there.
He continued, “I’ve lived all my life in these parts, and I have to say you haven’t the manner or speech of a Lagonian.”
Lagonian? As in the country of Lagonia? I knew enough from studying geography with Sivo to know that Lagonia bordered Relhok. Had we drifted so far east that we crossed into the neighboring country?
For a moment, my chest lightened. The kill order on girls was a Relhok edict. It was not a Lagonian law. If we were in Lagonia, I was safe from that threat at least.
The moment the thought entered my mind, I shoved it out. I was never safe. Not even here. Especially not among these three strangers. Soldiers. Even worse. Soldiers were a rough, brutal sort. I knew they had to be to survive, but I still wanted no part of them. Astonishingly, I would rather be back in my tower with my loved ones. I’d taken them for granted.
“We mean you no harm,” the soft-spoken one continued. “How about you share a bit of your meal with us and we’ll provide you escort into Ainswind.”
We must be fairly close to the city if he was offering escort into the capital.
“What makes you think I need an escort to Ainswind?” I snapped, doing my best to keep my voice deep. I still couldn’t reveal my gender. Even if these were Lagonians, we weren’t far enough from Relhok for me to announce that I was female.
They doubtless knew of the decree. By their own admission, they’d just journeyed from Relhok City. My head would fetch a nice price for them no matter their country of origin.
“Oh, you don’t want to go to Ainswind, then. The nearest bit of civilization . . . safety . . . is there. Why wouldn’t you want that? People are dying, truly dying, to get in its walls.” He paused, and tense silence stretched between all of us. After a few moments, his smooth voice continued, “I’m only suggesting a trade. Our escort for a bit of that delicious hare. It’s just the two of you, yes? And your friend looks in bad shape. We can help you. My name is Breslen. What’s yours?”
It was tempting to believe Breslen. Fowler needed care, and I might not have it in me to give it to him. I might not be enough.
“We’re stronger in numbers,” he coaxed, his easy tone suggesting I already knew that. It was reasonable. Logical. Weeks ago I would have agreed with that logic even though Fowler had never believed that. He thought the bigger the number, the greater the target you were.
Only what choice did I have? There were three of them, a nearly dead Fowler, and only one of me.