He was sitting with his back up against a gnarled trunk. His hands and legs were bound, and a strip of cloth had been tied around his head, filling his mouth. A lock of his long black hair covered one of his eyes, and the other watched the soldier approach with surprising calmness. His boots and tunic looked to be of fine make, though like the soldiers’ clothes they had seen better days.

Who was this? A criminal captured by these men? A runaway being returned to his family? He didn’t look any older than she was, Bren thought.

The soldier squatted down and reached around to untie the gag in his mouth. The boy worked his jaw like he was trying to dispel some lingering soreness, then flashed such a disarmingly cheery smile that Bren blinked in surprise.

“Thank you,” he said.

The red-haired soldier snorted, but the boy’s smile didn’t waver.

“Do you think you could loosen these straps as well, good sir? I’m afraid they aren’t very comfortable either.”

This seemed to entertain the men around the fire greatly, and they dissolved into laughter again. The soldier looming over the boy shook his head, his gap-toothed grin wide, and then held out his skewer of meat.

“I was just tellin’ the boys, I think ye might be even more tender than this here coney. Reckon maybe we should carve off a little piece o’ ye and see how it fries up.”

The boy’s gaze slid from the soldier to the dripping meat. “I must confess that I have no idea. While I have a sense of my own softness, that meat you’re brandishing is a mystery, though it looks juicy enough. Perhaps if I were allowed just a nibble I could furnish you with my honest opinion.”

The soldier’s response to this was an expression of absolute incredulousness, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “Still trying to steal our food, lad?”

The boy’s expression became pained. “As I told you, there’s been a misunderstanding. I was merely checking to see if you’d caught enough rabbits that you might be willing to trade one away.”

The soldier raised his face to the night sky, then pointed through the smoky haze to where the Silver Mother hung over the clearing, huge and swollen. “Yer a fortunate lad that we caught ye when her face was already shining down. It’s bad luck to stretch a man’s neck while the goddess is watching, otherwise we’d already have ye dangling from a tree.”

The boy laughed, but to Bren it understandably sounded forced. “Surely that’s a bit of an overreaction. Even the rabbit would agree that such a punishment is not justified.”

“Army discipline would be a dozen lashes,” the soldier said, lowering his eyes to the boy again. “But we ain’t in the army anymore.” He crouched down, holding taut the cloth they’d used as a gag. “When the Mother leaves the sky, ye hang.”

“Unfortunate, but if that’s the case you must agree that I deserve a last meal, and as it turns out you do have rabbits to –”

The soldier shoved the cloth back into the boy’s mouth. Then he rose, chuckling as he returned to his grinning comrades. Behind him, the boy continued to try and speak through the gag, but all that came out was incomprehensible gibberish.

Bren set aside any thought of approaching these men. They may still have been wearing the uniforms of soldiers, but it was clear that’s not what they considered themselves anymore. Once a warrior lost his lord or his city, what did he fight for? Himself? That sounded more like an outlaw.

She had a strong desire to creep back through the forest to her horse, then while the Mother was high and bright return to the road and ride until Moon faltered, try to put as much distance between herself and these men as possible. But what about the boy? He may have been a thief – his claim to be otherwise hadn’t been very convincing – but did he deserve to die for trying to steal from these once-soldiers? What if he was starving . . . or maybe his younger sister was even now watching the woods, waiting for him to return and trying to ignore the ache in her belly?

Bren settled down to wait, trying to make herself more comfortable as quietly as possible. She could save this boy. The soldiers had already said they wouldn’t kill him until the morning. Eventually they’d sleep, and then she’d sneak closer and cut his bonds and vanish with him into the woods. By the time the soldiers realized he was gone, they’d be galloping down the road. Surely these men wouldn’t waste their time hunting for a boy who had attempted to steal a rabbit?

Bren tried to ignore her own grumbling stomach as the once-soldiers finished their dinner. One of them produced a long-necked bottle, and they passed that around, singing songs and telling ribald jokes that made Bren’s ears burn. When they’d licked all the grease from their fingers and the empty bottle had been smashed to a chorus of groans, most of the men stretched out beside the dwindling flames. A pox-scarred soldier with the biggest ears Bren had ever seen remained on watch while the others tried to sleep, taking out a chunk of half-whittled wood and a dagger. He quickly became absorbed in his work, his face a mask of concentration.

As the night deepened, the forest came alive with the thrumming of insects and the mournful cry of a lonely songbird. The fire subsided further, until it was little more than glowing embers. Bren watched the head of the soldier on guard slowly lower several times, then jerk back up as he fought to stay awake. Finally, his chin settled onto his chest and stayed there, the wooden dog or wolf he’d been carving slipping from his fingers.

It was time. Bren began to move as quietly as possible, staying recessed in the shadows while skirting the edge of the clearing. Her heart was hammering so loudly that it seemed like it should wake the soldiers, and she froze for a moment when one of the men grumbled something in his sleep. When he quieted again she let out a breath and continued, until she found herself behind the tree the boy was slumped against. Slowly she crept around the trunk, until she could see his unruly mop of black hair.

“Don’t be frightened,” she whispered, and to her relief she saw the boy’s head twitch slightly towards her. She’d been worried that she would have to wake him up. “I’m going to free you. I have a horse nearby and he’s big enough to carry both of us. Do you understand?”

The boy jerked a quick nod. He turned his head so that he could see her out of the corner of his eye.

And winked at her.

Now nervous that she was about to cut loose a madman, Bren edged further around the trunk and knelt down beside the boy. His wrist-bindings were made of tough leather, and it took a few terrifying moments for her rusty old knife to cut through. As soon as they fell away, he reached up and ripped the gag out. Bren prayed fervently to the Mother that he’d keep his fool mouth shut until she finished. The strap around his legs was thicker, and proved even harder to cut. She sawed away frantically, the leather barely parting, and then his hand covered hers and he added his strength, and all of a sudden her knife sliced through the bindings, sending Bren falling forward. Her free hand thumped the ground as she just caught herself from sprawling face-first in the grass.

She glanced up and met the gaze of the pox-scarred soldier. For a moment he simply goggled at them, his mouth opening and closing like a caught fish, and then he surged to his feet screaming something unintelligible.

“Let us be off,” said the boy, and then his hand closed around her arm and he was pulling her stumbling into the forest.

Brambles and branches clawed at her, snagging her clothes and leaving a burning line across her cheek. She couldn’t see anything, and the fear of running into a tree or tumbling down a ravine made her stomach clench, but there was shouting rising up behind them and what sounded like an enraged bear crashing through the woods in pursuit. She didn’t know where they were going, but she knew it was in the wrong direction.

“This isn’t the way to my horse,” Bren gasped. She nearly fell as her ankle turned on a rock, but the strong grip on her arm kept her upright.

“Excellent,” came the reply. The boy sounded barely winded and not the least bit worried.

“What?”

“Well, they’re right behind us, yes? We don’t want to lead them directly back to our means of escape.” He stopped talking for a moment as they struggled up a steep incline, leaves slithering under their feet. “Once we lose them in the woods, we’ll circle back to your faithful steed.”

“In the dark?”

“You must know where you camped relative to the road, I presume. We find the road, then your horse.”

Bren winced. Her sloppily repaired shoes were on the verge of fully coming apart, and she felt every sharp stone under her feet. “What if those men find my horse first?”

The boy paused, as if unsure which way to go. To their left, the ground seemed to rise further, while on the right it sloped downwards. A loud bellowing not very far behind them made Bren jump, and the boy muttered something that sounded like a curse and pulled her upwards.

“If they find your horse, I shall get you another one.”

“This is a very nice horse.”

“I promise the replacement will be better.”

Bren couldn’t help but snort. “Are you a better horse-thief than you are a rabbit-thief?”

He seemed at a loss for words after that, and Bren thought she might have wounded his pride.

They were scrambling up the side of a rocky hill now, and the trees had thinned enough that she could occasionally glimpse the Mother or one of her daughters. When they paused to catch their breath, Bren glanced behind them and saw a faint glow bobbing through the forest below. It seemed the soldiers weren’t foolish enough to careen around in the dark. Voices carried up to them, and Bren recognized the man who had threatened the boy earlier.

“This will do,” the boy said with no small satisfaction.

Bren dragged her gaze from the lights moving between the trees. “What will do?”

“This,” he replied, tugging her towards a looming pile of tumbled dark shapes. Huge rocks, Bren realized, as the boy wriggled between two of them, the way so narrow his chest scraped against stone. He’d finally let go of her to do this, and Bren hesitated before following.

“What if we’re trapped in there?” she asked, also wary of what else might be lairing inside this cleft in the hill.

“We won’t be,” the boy replied, his disembodied voice floating from the darkness. “It gets wider quickly.”

Tamping down her fear, Bren turned herself sideways and slipped into the crack. She could feel the pressure on her front and back, the weight of the stone hanging above her, and for a brief, terrifying moment this summoned the memory of being buried in the ruin of her house. She imagined becoming wedged here, unable to move, dying slowly of thirst as the desperate boy further inside the cave pulled vainly on her arm . . .

Bren gasped in shuddering relief as she emerged into a larger space. For a moment she stayed doubled-over with her hands on her knees as her panic slowly drained away.

“They’re not fitting through that,” the boy gloated. Bren jumped at his voice, since she hadn’t realized he was standing right beside her. The darkness in this cave was absolutely impenetrable.

“How long do we have to hide?” Bren hissed back, her skin crawling as she considered what else could be crouched in here with them.

There was the sound of movement and the rasp of cloth on stone, and Bren assumed he must have found something to sit on. “The morning. I suspect they’ll tire of this chase soon, but if they don’t, they’ll certainly have given up by the dawn. Then we’ll slip out and find your horse and be off.”

“As simple as that.”

“Indeed.”

Bren couldn’t think of what to say to this. She sighed, feeling around beneath herself until her fingers brushed rock, and then sat heavily, her head in her hands. How had she ended up in a cave with a stranger in the dark? Would Moon still be there when she finally returned to her little camp? She was an utter fool for choosing the paths that had led to her current predicament.

The boy seemed to abhor silence, and Bren wasn’t surprised when he soon broke it. “What’s your name?”

“Brenna, daughter of Gelin.”

“Well met, Brenna. I am Tal of the Shadows.”

In the darkness he couldn’t see her frown. There weren’t many orphans in the seven valleys, but Bren had heard that those children who did not know their parents chose a name when they came of age that they thought suited them. She now knew this Tal was a bastard and that trying to steal a rabbit was likely entirely in character for him.

“Call me Bren.”

“Bren, then. Thank you for what you did back there. Unnecessary, but appreciated.”

“Unnecessary?”

“In truth, I was waiting for those fools to fall asleep before I made my escape.”

“Oh, really.”

“Indeed. I have a razor sown into my inner sleeve. It has helped me slip from my bonds twice, both times before the watch could throw me in the Maw. Quite handy, I recommend everyone do the same.”

“Hm. Do you have anything else useful hidden in your shirt?”

Tal chuckled, sounding far too satisfied with himself. “Now that you ask . . .”

Bren gasped as a pale light suddenly swelled in the darkness. It crawled over the inside of the cave, illuminating a jumble of rocks and a ceiling that was higher than she expected. The ghostly radiance was emanating from something the boy held in his hand, but it did not flicker or dance like a flame.

“What is that?” she breathed, leaning in closer to see what he held.

“My pebble,” he told her smugly. It was actually larger than a pebble, but not by very much, perhaps the size of a fingernail. With the light spilling from it Bren couldn’t tell exactly what it looked like, but she thought it was shaped like a sphere.

“Where did you get that?”

“I seduced a beautiful sorceress,” he told her breezily, “and she gave me a token of her love.”

“Did you steal it?”

“I did not,” Tal said with a sniff. “As I said, it was a gift.”

“Hm.”

The light abruptly vanished, darkness flooding once more into the cave, although a pulsing island of white lingered in Bren’s vision.

“We don’t want to draw anyone’s attention,” he explained, returning the object to wherever it had been secreted with a rustle of cloth.

Bren had much preferred the cave when she could see, but he was right. If those men realized where they were hiding they’d be trapped in here. Sighing, she settled down to wait.