By mid-morning, the chill had long departed and sweat dampened Galen's shirt. The air hummed with the buzz of insect wings, and a warm breeze rustled the late summer leaves.

Galen felt better, though the weariness lingered—as if he'd been sick in bed for a week and only just recovered. His muscles felt weak and watery, and even the leisurely pace his companions set left him winded.

They were headed north, which Galen knew because the 'woodland' was only a mile wide, but stretched nearly twenty miles in length, separating the farmlands from the river towns. Dern was near the southern end of it, and if they were going any direction but North, they'd have reached its edge long ago.

He focused on putting one foot in front of the other and kept his mind blank, avoiding thoughts of his father and his friends. Eventually, he knew he would have to give his situation some thought, and decide on a course of action. Would he allow himself to be led meekly to whatever fate this 'Order' had planned for him, or would he attempt an escape?

At the moment, he knew he wouldn't make it ten paces if he tried to run. All it would do was put his captors on guard, and probably make things more difficult and painful for himself. Besides, there was nowhere to run.

So far, his new 'companions' had treated him with something like kindness—giving him food and water and walking slowly for his sake. He would be a fool to give them a reason to alter their approach, so he did his best to keep up and keep quiet, even when his vision blurred and a bout of dizziness made him miss a step and fall.

He picked himself up, fell again, and then a broad, brown arm slipped around his back beneath his shoulders and supported him.

"Sev," Iksthanis called, his deep voice booming softly through the quiet trees. "Time for a break."

Up ahead, Sevhalim looked back and paused. At his side, Rea frowned.

"The hide-away is only another three miles or so," she said. "We oughtn't to waste time."

Galen said nothing but couldn't help leaning on the arm holding him up. Sev raised his brows in a question, and in his peripheral vision, Galen saw Iksthanis shake his head.

"A few minutes of rest won't set us back much," Sev said decisively. Rea scowled but made no reply.

As the others flopped down to sit by the side of the path, swigging from water flasks, Iksy helped Galen to a shaded spot at the base of a young pine as Sev came over to check on him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Galen nodded, shut his eyes, and leaned back against the tree. "Just a little tired," he said.

"Galen!"

His eyes snapped open, and he fought to focus on the blurred outline of a person, who shook him roughly.

"Wake up!"

His vision cleared and he saw it was Sev, and that several hours had passed. It was now late afternoon, and the others were up and alert, and—alarmingly—had their weapons drawn.

"What is it?" Galen rubbed his eyes and forced himself to sit up a little straighter.

"Hunting party," Sev replied in a whisper. "A dozen men, at least, coming this way and moving fast. They'll be on us in under ten minutes, and they have dogs."

Suddenly wide awake, Galen let himself be pulled to his feet.

"What do we do?" he asked.

Sev looked at him appraisingly, then shook his head. "We could fight, but I'd rather not, and we can't outrun a pack of dogs. We'll have to hide."

"Where?"

This question came from Rea, who stood with an arrow nocked to her slack bowstring, and who watched them with pinched brows and a frown. This last she directed primarily at Galen, and something about her stance said, 'I told you so.'

Galen realized he already liked her the least of the group and checked himself. Lots of people disliked Triss simply because she was a Woman of the Guard. Like Darek, they called her a 'bitch' because she outranked them and had the authority to tell them what to do. While women were supposedly equally valued and equally honored among the Guard, those who outranked their male counterparts were often the subject of derision and scorn.

"Where will we hide, Sev?" Rea pressed, gesturing at the surrounding forest, which was dense enough but offered little cover from hunting dogs. "We should have pressed on to safety, not given way to weakness."

She looked at Galen as she spoke, and he reassessed his opinion again. On the other hand, she was probably right.

Sev took a deep breath and turned his attention to Zenir.

"Zen, your thoughts, please."

The thin young man leaned on his staff and tilted his head to the side. Galen noted he had slightly prominent ears. In fact, all his features seemed a little out of proportion, and yet together they made a pleasing whole.

"There is a small stream nearby," he said, pointing to his left. "A dark, cool place. Probably thick with bramble vines. Perhaps we may conceal ourselves within, as the ring-cats do when pursued, if Obi can erase our scent."

Sev turned to the blond, bearded man. "Oberik?"

"Consider it done," he said and began fishing several small items from his pack.

Sev offered Galen his arm for support, but Galen shook his head. With adrenaline quickly clearing the fog from his mind, he could tell that the unintended nap was what he had needed. He felt almost like himself again.

"Zen, Iksy—lead the way," Sev said.

Guided by the bald giant, Zenir struck into the brush along the side of the path. Galen noticed that the larger man was careful to guide his sightless comrade in a way that left little trace, and Obi—who brought up the rear—erased any they had left. He also sprinkled something from a small pouch over the trail of their footsteps.

Shortly, they heard the lively burble of a little stream, barely two strides across. Its banks were choked with brambles, as Zenir had predicted, but the stream itself provided a clear path. Sev and the others removed their shoes—a mix of boots, sandals, and moccasins—and Galen followed suit. Then, carefully, the party picked their way into the narrow tunnel of bramble vines.

Sev stayed close to Galen, ready to catch or steady him if he slipped, but he kept his footing well enough on his own.

It was slow going, with thorny vines snagging at their clothes and scratching their skin, and the slimy stones of the streambed slippery beneath their bare feet, but after a few dozen yards, Iksthanis gave a soft, low whistle, and made a motion with his hand, pointing to the side. He and Zenir disappeared from view, and when Galen reached the same spot, he saw a small opening in the brambles, barely large enough for a man to crawl through. It looked like a place where animals came to drink, and the earth of the banks was worn smooth by generations of little hoofs and paws.

Bending low, Galen entered the dark opening and crept forward. The walls were impenetrable but made of the long-dead vines of seasons past, and mostly devoid of thorns. A little way within, the tunnel opened into a sort of chamber, large enough for everyone to sit with room to spare. Years' worth of fallen leaves made a thick carpet on the ground, and Galen did his best not to think about all the little crawling things that no doubt lived beneath.

Meanwhile, Obi still sprinkled powder from his pouch, tossing a pinch over each of them and along the trail to the stream.

"What is that stuff?" Galen whispered to Sev, who had settled at his side.

"A special kind of salt from Yuthraka," he replied. "It absorbs odors and will even put a hunting dog off a trail. It's very rare and expensive."

Galen watched skeptically as Obi completed the rounds, then tucked the little pouch back away in his pack. The others seemed somewhat skeptical as well, judging by the fact they all had weapons at the ready.

Sev noted where he looked and smiled grimly. "Nothing is fool-proof," he said.

In the distance, Galen heard the first baying of the hounds and the muffled shouts of men.

"They're not relying on stealth, that's for sure," Obi whispered, crouching at Sev's other side. "Are we sure they're after us?"

"No. But whether or not we are their intended quarry, they're on our trail."

Galen shivered. He liked animals, including dogs, but something about the trained viciousness of a hunting pack had always frightened him. He hated the thought of what happened to any poor creature the beasts caught and had no desire to experience such a thing himself. For the first time, he was glad that his companions were so well-armed.

Rea knelt closest to the entrance, her bow resting across her knee, one arrow ready on the string and a cluster stuck in the ground within reach. Her face was pale and grim, but calm.

No one spoke, and Galen shivered in the cool, damp air, listening to the clamor of the dogs and hunters drawing near. Sev laid a hand on his arm as if to reassure him, but Galen shrugged him off. He had no choice but to go along with these people, for now, and they had most likely saved his life, but he was still their captive, at the end of the day, and he wasn't about to like them for it.

Especially Sevhalim, who had taken things from him since the moment they'd met: first his pendant, now his freedom. Galen wondered what he'd take next.

Tense moments passed, and Galen shut his eyes as he heard the dogs splash and yelp further downstream. Rea shifted position slightly and began to draw her bow, but Sev reached over and touched her shoulder, and shook his head. She frowned but relaxed, and a minute or so later, the sounds diminished again.

Obi's salts had worked, and the dogs were retracing their steps, having lost the scent. Gradually, the sound of the hunt faded as the dogs and hunters moved on. Still, another quarter hour passed, and the deep stillness of the woods returned before anyone dared to speak or move.

"We'd best stay here until nightfall," Sev said, stretching his limbs as best he could in the limited space. "I don't want to risk crossing paths with that lot."

Oberik sighed, eying the walls of brambles with a grimace of distaste. "Not the most comfortable of domiciles," he said, "but I suppose it will have to do."

"How strong is your salt, Obi?" Iksthanis asked, rubbing his stomach. "Is it safe to eat?"

"It's not that kind of salt, Iksy."

The larger man rolled his eyes. "I don't mean 'eat the salt,' you ass. I mean is it safe to eat food? Can the salt mask the scent of it?"

"Oh. Should be, as long we stick to the less fragrant stuff."

Iksy nodded and began to pull cloth-wrapped parcels from his pack. He passed around halved apples, a few nuts, and a small piece of dry bread to each of them.

As Galen received his portion, he realized he was ravenous, but forced himself to eat slowly and savor every bite, washing it down with a sip of water.

"Need a refill?" Iksthanis asked, seeing how far Galen tipped his flask, but Zenir shook his head.

"Not here. The water doesn't smell right."

Iksthanis sighed and let his hand drop. "Fine." To Galen, he said, "Last time I ignored Zen's advice I was sick for a week."

Galen cleared his throat and decided to dare a question. "Are you all, er, 'Hands,' or whatever it's called?"

Obi laughed. He had a broad smile and even, white teeth, and his blue eyes sparkled in his tan face. "Hardly. Only Rea and Sev are 'Hands.' The rest of us are just hired muscle."

Galen looked to the dark-haired man at his side, whose mercurial eyes were now light as silver.

"There are only a dozen or so Hands at any time," he said. "We're chosen for service very young and raised by the Order. I was found at about age six, I think, and became a Hand at fifteen, or near enough."

Galen frowned. "Found?"

"I was an orphan, or so I'm told," Sev said. "I remember little of my life before the Order, but I was on a Yuthi trade barge when another Hand spotted me. And whatever I was to the people on that boat, they were willing enough to give me up. Rea was found a few years later."

"And the others?" Galen glanced at Iksthanis, Obi, and Zenir.

"We're mercenaries, I guess," Obi said, shrugging. "We work for the Order, but only because they pay us. We don't 'serve' it the same way Hands do."

"Hands take sacred vows of obedience and sacrifice," Rea said, speaking up. "Our lives and loyalty belong to the Order."

Galen carefully chewed an almond into paste as he absorbed this information. "What do you get out of it?" he asked.

"We get to live," Rea said. "Sevhalim forgot to mention one important detail. The Order does not take just any children; it takes dying children. Whatever they do to cure us is what makes us worthy to be Hands and grants us... unique abilities."

Appalled, Galen stopped chewing. "The Order has the ability to heal children, but only uses it on a few dozen?"

Sev shook his head. "Now it is Rea who has left out the important detail. Those who survive the 'cure' become Hands, and those who survive are very few, indeed."

"Even if the Order offered to take every sick child in the empire, most parents would rather hold out hope for a miracle and cling to every precious day than bet against almost certain and immediate death. That's why most Hands are orphans or children no one wanted, anyway."

Saving children who would otherwise die was good, Galen supposed; but to do so solely for the purpose of turning them into servants seemed... less so.

He finished his small meal in silence, listening as Iksthanis revealed he was indeed half Naqqiri and had spent his younger days on a "venturing merchant" ship, which Galen gathered meant he'd been a pirate. Zenir, he learned, was a displaced noble who had survived an assassination attempt that left him blind. He'd been little more than a beggar when Sev first encountered him. Lastly, Obi told of being a headstrong young soldier who'd made nearly every mistake in the book and owed his life to Sev several times over.

What they all seemed to have in common was a love and respect for the pale, dark-haired man. For Rea, Galen detected only the latter sentiment, and she herself shared little beyond the fact she was a Hand.

At last, the shadows in the bramble-haven darkened until Galen could hardly see, and Sev gave the order to move. They retraced their steps back down the stream, moving even more carefully in the gloom, until they left the water.

Pausing only to put on their shoes once more, they made their way through the woods with slow, quiet care, all watching and listening for any sign of pursuit.

But the forest was quiet, and after a half hour, Zenir announced he had heard nothing but the usual small creatures, going about their lives beneath the trees.

Still, the others relaxed only a fraction, and spoke only when necessary, and only in whispers even then. 

Taking not of his observations, Iksthanis leaned close and said, "It's when you feel safe that they get you."

"Sounds like a stressful way to live," Galen said.

"It's a way to not die," the man replied with a shrug, and dropped back to walk at Zenir's side.

It was fully dark by the time they reached the edge of the woods and looked out across the swath of farmland to the low line of hills beyond. The Wild Green lay on the other side of these—a vast wilderness stretching many leagues to the base of the Gray Mountains, over which lay the lowlands of Sakkara.

Galen shivered as the immensity of the journey before him sank in. Even if they covered twenty miles a day, it would take nearly three months to reach the capital at Tal P'Nir, and from there, they'd still have the journey north to the Jagged Peaks and Jana Val.

The farthest he had been in his whole life was the edge of the Wild Green.

"All right?"

Sevhalim's light touch on his arm startled him, and he frowned, giving a single nod of his head. Maybe the man inspired love in his companions, but zealots could inspire love, too, and Galen wasn't about to trust him with the fact he felt frightened, lost, and alone.

As much as swords and arrows, those were weapons that could be used against him, he thought.