Kerian’s blood sparked. Swiftly she squirmed in the Knight’s grip, flung back and jammed her knee into his crotch.

Barg howled. In the same moment, Kenan pulled away. She grabbed the prisoner by the wrist, yanked her hard. The woman came up groaning, but she came up. On her feet, she stumbled, and Kerian pushed her toward the side door leading out to the privy.

A mailed hand dug into Kenan’s shoulder. She felt breath hot on her cheek as Barg dragged her back, a long knife in his hand.

“No!” the prisoner cried.

Kerian ducked and turned, trying to free herself. The Knight’s grip dug into her flesh.

Blood ran down her arm. Roaring her pain, Kerian leaped toward her captor, her knife suddenly alive and glinting bright sparks. She lifted, she plunged, and she saw shock turn Barg’s eyes glassy.

The steel slid softly into muscle, slipped between ribs. The blade scraped bone. Barg’s eyes went wide, and he dropped away. The tavern swelled with voices as Knights swore and cried murder.

Kerian shot for the door, hot blood on her hands, and grabbing the gaping prisoner.

The woman’s name was Ayensha, “Of Eagle Flight,” she said, gasping the information as they ran out into the yard.

Ayensha pointed up the hill. “The forest.”

Kerian cursed under her breath. In moments she was lost, blind in the night and falling over rocks. Ayensha slipped ahead of her, still groaning to breathe. Behind, the night filled with outraged shouts, with torchlight and the sound of horses stamping and bridles ringing.

“North!” cried the dark-haired boy, his voice high with skittery laughter.

“No, south!” shouted Sir Egil.

Kerian tripped. Ayensha of Eagle Flight pulled her up. Over their shoulders, down the hill, they saw torches like little red stars. Furious voices carried up the hill.

“Keep running!” Ayensha pushed Kerian ahead. “Use your hands, use your eyes.” Her voice dropped low. She pulled her torn shirt together, shivering in the chill breeze.

They ran the climbing forest in darkness. Kerian tripped over stones. Often she stumbled into trees; brush snared her, and tangling roots. Cold air stung her cuts and scratches. Her right arm stiffened, throbbing with the pain of a knife cut Behind them and below, the lights of torches ran along the road, swift in the night. Sir Egil and his men searched south, then turned to search north.

“Look,” said Ayensha, pointing. The lights stood still, bright and sharp. The Knights had returned to the Hare and Hound, unable to find their quarry on the road. Small in the night, the tavern’s windows showed as orange gleams. “We have to put distance between us and them.”

Panting, Kerian said, “Why? They don’t dare follow us. Their horses won’t be able to take this slope in the dark.”

“No,” said Ayensha, leaning against a tree. She wrapped her arms loosely around her middle. Sweat ran on her face, plastered her hair to her forehead, her neck and cheeks.

More than sweat, Kerian thought. Silver tears traced through the dirt and blood and bruises on Ayensha’s face. She seemed unaware of that.

Like fire, the woman’s eyes shone fierce and desperate. She shoved away from the tree. “Let’s go.”

Kerian hated the darkness as though it were her enemy. She hated it with each step she took, despised it each time she fell, each time she staggered up again. A woman of the city, she was used to kinder nights and darkness tamed by hot, high, warming fires on streets outside the taverns, the cheerful flames of torchbearers leading a lord or lady’s litter through the streets, the glow from windows of houses high and humble. Here night was complete, blinding.

Ayensha was not troubled. Kerian began to think the woman had the eyes of a cat. Night-eyes, the Wilder Elves called that. Kerian herself used to have the same skill, a long time ago in Ergoth. She fell again, this time so hard the breath left her lungs in a loud whoosh. Fiery pain shot up her right arm, blood sprang from the knife wound again.

“Up,” Ayensha ordered between clenched teeth.

Kerian rose, and they traveled on. When she stumbled, she righted herself. When she hurt, she closed her lips tight to cage the groan. Once she fell and did not rise quickly, and saw Ayensha watching. In the woman’s eyes, pity.

“Come on, you’ve got to keep going,” she insisted.

Kerian followed Ayensha, running, falling, and climbing up again till all the night became an aching repetition of pain and anger and finally the simple numbness of exhaustion. It was then, with surprise, that she saw a glint of silver through the tops of the trees, a small shining. Her weary mind could not think what that shining was or imagine the cause.

“The moon,” Ayensha whispered. She turned her face to the silver, her bruises and cuts showing black in the stark light. “Ah, gods, wherever you are, thank you.”

Kerian watched the half-moon rise, and she watched the world around appear as though by magic They had come far, and indeed, high. Around them now was more stone than tree, and the stones soared past her height. Some stood so close together they formed little shelters. Against one of these boulders, Ayensha leaned, but very carefully. The woman’s face shone white as bone in the moonlight, her lips pressed into a thin line against pain.

“Sit,” Kerian said, by habit still whispering.

Ayensha looked around, numbly. Kerian took her arm and helped her to a seat on a broad flat stone, helped her put her back to another. Sighing, the woman leaned her head against title rock and closed her eyes.

Listening to the weary rhythm of her heart beating, Kerian pressed her own back against a tall broad pine, the tangy scent of sap filling her, tickling awake old memories of the dark upland forest of Ergoth. Her breath staggered in her lungs, hitching. Muscles of her arms and legs twitched with exhaustion.

“Ayensha, where are we headed?”

Eyes still closed, Ayensha said, “Nowhere. Not now. We’re finished running for the night.” She took a careful breath and pushed away from the boulder. “We hide here, in the rocks, till morning, then see how things are and go on when we can.”

An owl cried, not the mournful hooting reported in minstrel’s songs and poet’s verse, but the startling, rattling cackle of a raptor hunting. Wide-winged, the owl swooped out of a nearby pine, tail spread as it sailed low. Behind her, Kerian heard the sudden dash of something small through the brush, then a high, despairing scream. The owl rose, a rabbit caught in its talons, the corpse swinging. The sight caught Kerian hard by the throat.

“Come on,” Ayensha said. It seemed she hadn’t marked the small death at all She pushed up from her seat, looked around, and pointed to a stand of three tall boulders. “There. Help me.”

Kerian put Ayensha’s arm around her shoulders. Though they did not walk more than a dozen yards, to Kerian it felt like miles the distance growing with the weight on her shoulders. The two tallest boulders leaned together, their tops almost touching, the gap between an entrance like a doorway without a door. It seemed wide enough for two to pass through. Kerian shifted Ayensha’s weight and started through. She had not taken two steps before the woman hissed, “Stop!”

Startled, Kerian did stop, looking at her companion. Again, she saw pity in the woman’s eyes.

From between clenched teeth, Ayensha said, “Check inside. There could be a fox denning there or a lynx or bear.” She pulled away from Kerian and balanced with her hand against one of the tall stones.

Kerian didn’t think any of those things were true, but she put her hand to the knife at her belt-the knife slipped to her by the unpleasant dwarf, she suddenly remembered, wondering briefly what happened to him and his two companions in all the commotion-cold fingers gripping the bone handle as she slipped the weapon from the sheath.