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“What would they do?” Marvik asks curiously. “If they caught you, I mean. I’m an enemy soldier, so I know they would probably kill me or at the least imprison me, but what would they do to you?”
"They would publicly humiliate me, strip me of my titles, and then banish me to the southern deserts with only the clothes on my back and a single knife," I say flatly.
The human merely nods. “That isn’t as bad as Adrik. Under King Yorian's rule, a deserter was drawn and quartered.”
“Drawn . . . and quartered?”
He nods again. “The deserter is held down while ropes are tied to his arms and legs. Then the ropes are attached to horses. When the signal is given, all the horses are set to a gallop, pulling the victim into four pieces. Drawn and quartered, see?”
I shudder at the mental image. “And the fair races call orcs barbarians.”
“It’s a terrible death, true. Your banishment seems more merciful. At least there is a chance you will survive.”
I do not tell him the sentence in Orik is as good as an execution. A cruel one. No one can survive in theKillikar, the deserts where there is only sand and no food or water. The knife is so that the deserter can take their own life when the thirst and the sun become too much.
Instead, I just say, “I cannot risk being recognized. Any orc that sees me alive will likely know what I am.”Deserter, the word hisses through my mind for the thousandth time. But the longer I have lived with it, the easier the voice is getting to ignore, like a wound scabbing over.
“You can wear my cloak,” Marvik argues, irritatingly reasonable. “You have to admit our current circumstances are not sustainable. Winter will be in what, one month? Two, at best? We have no changes of clothes and one cloak and only what food you can hunt. If you insist on staying in the wilderness to avoid being seen, we at least need to get supplies.”
I hate that he is right. We are living hand to mouth here. I could never leave him for long to hunt, at first because he needed nearly constant healing, and then because I never knew if he was going to figure out a way to escape. We have no tools out here, and certainly no luxuries, like extra clothes. I dream of being able to change out of my war clothes into something more comfortable. Or having a bath.Thatis a dream.
Perhaps if we are careful, going into town would not be such a bad thing. I still have my Amulet of Invisibility, a tool Marvik doesn’t know about. If we conclude our business quickly so that I am out of sight when the charm ends, things should be alright. “Fine,” I grind out grudgingly. “But how will we get supplies? I did not bring any coin to war with me and you didn’t either.”
“Your earrings are gold, aren’t they?” Marvik gestures at myhoops. My hands touch the rings unbidden and I feel a slash of sorrow. Sell my earrings? They were a gift from my mother, the only ones I have with me. That makes them infinitely more precious.
But surviving must take priority and I ignore the ache in my chest when I say, “So we sell my earrings in town. Then what? Where will we go after this Kingsbury?”
“We can figure that out later,” he replies. A little evasively to my mind. His scent shifts, supporting my theory he is hiding something. He continues, “Right now we should focus on getting out of the Deep Wood. Now that the werewolves have our scent, they’ll be able to track us easily and know whether we have left. I don’t feel like testing their threat. We should leave as soon as possible.”
I nod in agreement and head back into the cave. There is not much to pack up, but I get the bedroll and cloak off of the bed of leaves and retrieve my dragonhide bracelets, winding them up my arms again. I glance in the corner and see Marvik’s chainmail shirt and uniform bunched uselessly in a pile. They are too heavy to carry for the pace we are going to have to set, for Marvik is too weak after his long injury to wear them again while running and they are too big for me. So they stay. I grab my mess kit and the burnt rabbits off of the fire and we are ready to go.
???
It takes longer than I remembered to go over the hills and through the forest. Perhaps I am not moving as quickly because I do not feel as desperate now as I did then. Or maybe because Marvik struggles to keep pace with me, even though I am not going my fastest. He never complains and never lags totally behind, but he is breathing heavily and sweat makes his tunic stick to his chest and arms. Truly, his endurance is impressive after staying in the cave for so long. It makes me wonder what he is like in his peak condition. Afew times I consider slowing down for him, but we cannot chance it. Once we are past Fort Attis, I will no longer know where I am going and Marvik will have to lead. We will have to slow down as a matter of circumstance, so it is best to cover as much ground now, while we can.
The sun is almost completely set as we pass Fort Attis. Marvik is a few feet behind me, so I stop and wait for him to catch up.
“Where to now?”
He comes to my side and looks up at the sky, considering the vanishing horizon line before pointing. “We’ll head in this direction. If we keep heading northeast, we should reach Kingsbury eventually. I have made the journey before, so I know some landmarks that will show us we are going in the right direction.”
I nod and gesture for him to go ahead of me. He hesitates for a moment, looking at me with his same strategizing gaze, then steps forward. Marvik takes the lead with the surety of one who is accustomed to leadership. Even as he still strains and sweats, each step is confident. I let myself lag a few steps, taking up the rear. My hearing is better than a human’s and I focus behind us, seeing if I can tell if we are being followed or not. So far I haven’t heard any signs, so the werewolves are keeping their promise.
We travel for a while, the moon high in the sky when we come to a pond, its still water reflecting the heavens above. It is small, but the clearness of the water reveals that it is surprisingly deep. Marvik stops as we arrive and begins taking his clothes off.
“What are you doing?” I ask sharply, my alarm growing as more and more bare flesh appears to my eyes.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks with a deceptively placid air. He knows what he is doing is out of the ordinary. “I’m taking a bath.”
“We don’t have time for this,” I growl, even as my eyes cannot move from the muscled expanse of his back. I do not allow myself to dip any lower; it feels like a trap.
“I’ll be quick. When we get to town, if we look like vagabonds, we’ll be run off. No one will do business with us,” he says reasonably, walking into the water. Unbidden, my gaze drops to his ankles and starts rising with the water, to well-shaped calves and knees, to thick thighs dusted with just the right amount of hair, to . . .
I turn around, cutting off my view.Definitely a trap.I hear the light splashing of water as he goes deeper and finally a deep, contented sigh. That sigh does things to me. I feel my core go wet and growl again in frustration. And maybe a little frustrated lust.
“Were you not the one that said we’ll have to set a grueling pace to get out of the Deep Wood before the wolf’s deadline? We can worry about prettying ourselves up after we leave the forest.”
There’s more splashing and I imagine he is rinsing his body. “Do you see the soapnut bush under that tree?” he asks, ignoring me entirely. “Can you hand me a few?”
