paid, again twice as much as he would have in spring. Back at the house, Tristan was already bundled up and ready to go. His fever had come and gone, but never as bad as before. Matthew kissed his kids goodbye, hugged his wife, and then set Tristan on the saddle.
“You ever ridden a horse before?” he asked.
The boy nodded. “At the castle,” he said. Matthew guessed he meant Felwood, and again he felt tempted to stop there. Lord Gandrem was an honorable old man. Surely he wouldn’t let something untoward happen to the boy. Resolving to decide the issue later, he climbed into the saddle, shifted Tristan so they could both sit more comfortably, and then set off.
The first day came and went uneventfully. A caravan passed them heading north, dour men that didn’t even wave greeting. Just before nightfall, he spotted a distant pond. Glad for once for the cold, since there’d be no mosquitoes flitting about, he set up camp beside it, Strawberry staked close enough to the water’s edge to drink. Tristan had remained quiet through much of the ride, and Matthew didn’t press him to talk. Come the fire, though, it seemed both their tongues loosened.
“How long until we get there?” Tristan asked.
Matthew poked the fire with a stick, shifting one of the thicker logs into a hotter section so it might burn better.
“It’ll be several days to reach Felwood. From there, less than a week to ride into Veldaren. That’s where your ma is, right?”
The boy shivered, as if the mere mention of her name reminded him how far away from her he was.
“I think so,” he said. “Do you…do you think she misses me?”
“Can’t see why not. Evelyn would be sick with fits should one of our sons run off missing.”
Tristan pulled his blanket tighter about him, and his eyes glazed as he stared into the fire.
“He died protecting me,” he said.
“Who?”
“Mark. I liked him. He’s nicer than Lord Hadfield.”
The name Mark didn’t ring any bells, but Hadfield sure did.
“Do you know why Arthur would want you dead, boy? You’re young, sure, but you got ears and you probably know more than I when it comes to the upper crust.”
“I don’t. He always said I was like his son, and when he married mom, he’d be my father.”
Matthew felt a tingle in the back of his head at that. Perhaps it had something to do with marriage. Had Alyssa rejected Arthur, and he lashed out spite? Did he want to remove any potential heirs? What foul plans might he have for Alyssa as well? Too many questions without answers.
“Safe to say he ain’t planning to be much of a father to you,” Matthew said. “Now eat up. Got a long ride tomorrow, and you’ll need the energy for it. Riding’s tiring work, though you wouldn’t think it.”
They slept under blankets. Halfway through the night, Matthew awoke to distant howling. Coyotes, he figured. A tired glance to his side showed Tristan shivering, a shaking fist pressed to his lips. He was crying. Touched, Matthew reached out and put his arm around the boy, sliding him closer so he could wrap him in a hug. Tristan continued to cry, but his trembling stopped. Soon the crying turned to sniffles, which turned to steady breathing. Matthew fell asleep not long after.
Come morning, they both woke red-eyed. Tristan said little, and several times Matthew had to hold back an angry word. Evelyn always insisted he was a bear when he got up in the morning. No reason to take that out on the poor kid. They ate some rations, drank, and then rode south, stopping every few hours to stretch their legs and rest their backs. Matthew wasn’t a stranger to a horse, but he hadn’t ridden in over six months. Muscles he didn’t know he had announced their angry presence to him.
“Starting to think walking would be a better idea,” he grumbled.
Tristan said nothing.
By the second day, the plains were spotted with trees, and with each hour they rode, they gathered thicker, forming clusters that would soon be a forest. Felwood Castle was getting closer. It was one of those nearby clusters that saved both their lives. They’d stopped by one for a piss, and while dismounted they heard the thunder of hoofbeats approaching from the south. A warning instinct, like when he knew something was after his animals, told Matthew it was time to get off the road.
“This way,” he said, grabbing the reins in one hand and Matthew’s wrist with the other. He led them into the copse of trees, far enough that they’d go unnoticed.
“Stay here, and hold on tight,” he said, handing Tristan the reins. Hurrying back toward the road, he peered from behind a tree as a group of five rode past at full gallop. They wore dark tabards that he easily recognized. Hadfield’s men. Did they know of Gert and Ben’s absence? More importantly, did they know where it’d happened?
Trying not to think about it, he returned to Matthew, who stood with wide eyes.
“It’s them again, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Matthew said. “Looked like it.”
“Will everyone be safe?”
Matthew’s jaw clenched tight. He yanked the reins from the boy’s hand and led them back to the road.
“Ashhur only knows,” he said as the silence hung over them. “And if not, then may Karak curse every one of those bastards.”
Including the one who brought you to me, he thought, not cruel enough to say it aloud.
*
O ric sped his men across the road between Felwood and Tyneham, the lightest touch of panic brushing his neck. It wanted to dig in, sink its claws deep, but he refused to let it. He hadn’t failed his master yet, and so far he had no reason to think he would. Not a soul had seen or heard anything of Nathaniel. It seemed likely he’d frozen to death, that strange Watcher there for the gold and nothing else. The lack of information suggested the boy was a corpse in the melting snow somewhere, his body devoured by coyotes or vultures-except for one troublesome detail: they’d found Gert’s horse unbridled, the soldier nowhere to be found. That meant he was dead somewhere, killed while searching for Nathaniel. So far he had no evidence, but he assumed the same had happened to Ben. For two of his men, armed and armored, to mysteriously vanish…they’d found Nathaniel, and then paid the price. He needed to discover where, and quick. If the boy even made it to Felwood, there’d be disaster. Lord Gandrem certainly knew of Alyssa’s loss, and Oric had personally brought the ‘body’ to be buried. All sorts of questions would need answered should Nathaniel appear alive and well, and none of the answers would endear him to anyone. It was either find the boy or hang from a noose.
The farms were few and far between as they rode north, and something clicked as he finally came upon where the ambush had first been.
“Let’s say you’re wounded and carrying a sick boy,” he said to his men. “Snow’s falling, and you’re low on food. What is it you’d do?”
“Ditch the boy,” said one. “Either way he’s dead. No reason to go with him.”
“Assume yourself a better man than that. What then?”
“Carry him until I find the closest shelter.”
Oric tapped his forehead. “Exactly. Patt, take Rat and go north. Stop at the first two homes off the road, and you search them thoroughly. The rest of you, come with me.”
They split, two north, three south. Oric had a feeling this Watcher, when in danger, would have gone south instead of north, since by all appearances Veldaren was his home. They saw no dwellings for the rest of that first day, but come the second, a farm appeared in the distance. Oric led the way, feeling his pulse quicken. This had to be it. The Watcher would have stopped here, maybe not for long, but at least for food and water.
When he knocked on the door, it was a long time before he heard a response.
“Who’s there?” asked a woman’s voice.
“Oric Silverweed, soldier of lord Hadfield of the north. I demand entrance.”
A lock rattled from inside. Oric leaned back toward his men and whispered, “Hands on your hilts at all times.”
The door opened, revealing a mildly attractive woman in her early thirties. Beside her stood a teenage boy, a dagger tucked into his belt. From where Oric stood, he saw several more children, all younger, huddled about a wood stove.
