He brushed some leaves from his pants and then rose, adjusting the cowl so that it covered most of his face. She took a moment to study him. Woodsman garb, a heavy tunic and sturdy pants and boots. He had leather bracers across his arms and gloves. The cloak was travel-worn and fraying at the edges. She saw his chin in the moonlight, but it was too dark to see the scars or his eyes. As he moved, the cloak ruffled and she saw the hilts of two daggers at his belt. Both had sculpted hilts with hawk-like heads for the pommels and tight leather wrappings along the handles. Oddly, he carried no knapsack or bedroll but he did carry a leather flask for drinking. Where was his food?
He approached her deliberately. “I know what you are. I know what you can do. Do not attempt to run from me. It will end badly for you. I have no qualms hurting you.” He paused, folding his arms across his chest. “For now, you are of worth to my master, the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. I intend to take you to the city and you will come with me. If you prove difficult, my master has instructed me to kill you. I will do that. Believe me. Do we understand one another?”
Phae nodded solemnly, her heart constricting with terror. She could tell he was used to killing people. The dispassionate voice chilled her more than the night breezes. “Who are you?”
“I have no name.”
“What shall I call you then?” she asked.
She thought she saw a twist in his mouth, a sardonic expression. “I am a Kishion. Call me that, if you wish. But I do not wish to speak to you. It would be best if this were enough. We go to Kenatos now.”
She bit her lip. “Can I see my friend? Where did you leave him? I want to see him so that he can tell my family that I did not come to harm.”
“I will obey my master by bringing you to Kenatos as swiftly as possible.” He turned and began to walk. After a few steps, he paused, tilting his head slightly. She recognized it as a signal that she should follow him.
Folding her arms tightly, she started after him, wincing at the pain in her joints and the ravening hunger in her belly. Her pack thumped softly against the small of her back as she walked. The night made ominous sounds. The distant call of a night animal. Snapping sticks somewhere hidden in the gloom. Her mind whirled with dread and her insides thrummed with fear. She had thought he would use rope on her and drag her after him like a pup on a leash. His threat of death worked just as effectively as a bond.
Her body responded to the walking, bringing a flush of heat to her cheeks that helped ward off the chill. She was tempted to run for it again. She was young and quick. She tried slowing deliberately, to see if he would outpace her. When she did, he would pause, cocking his head slightly as a warning. He expected her to match him stride for stride.
What should she do? The dilemma forced her to consider the situation from a hundred different ways. Should she try to escape? Should she refuse to walk and force him to drag her? Would he kill her for disobedience outright? She knew she had to try something, but preferably something not too risky. He had let her sleep and rest. There was any number of reasons he had done so. She imaged it was because he knew she needed it and that it would be difficult for her to go on if she were too fatigued. Carrying her back to Kenatos would not be enjoyable either. Perhaps he would bring her to a Preachán caravan and she’d be bundled up like cargo?
Phae wanted to try something, to test him even a little bit. Would he be reasonable?
“I am thirsty,” she said. It was true. Even if he wore a black ring beneath his glove, it would only confirm it.
The Kishion hardly broke stride. He slowed his pace slightly, pulling the leather flask from his belt and handed it to her. It was nearly full and she twisted it open and took a long drink from it. The water was warm and leathery. It tasted awful but it served its purpose. She wiped the moisture from her mouth on the back of her hand and gave it back to him.
The quiet and solitude tormented her. She had never been outside of Stonehollow. The thought of leaving the valley was excruciating. The Kishion’s stride never faltered. He was tireless. He was terrifying. She struggled to think what she could do to get away from him.
The next day passed in strange quiet. Phae noticed that they often attracted the attention of robins or blue jays, and an astonishing number of butterflies and other winged insects. They fluttered and hovered nearby, and she thought it curious. Several times during the day she had seen a doe or a fox peering at her, as if trying to win her gaze. Their luminous eyes were almost pleading. She did not understand this. Never before had nature tried to commune with her in such a way. Was this what it meant to be Dryad-born? Or were the old man and the young girl both mad?