"What in the three lands—"

Meya raised her head and cast her eyes around. Solid darkness was all she could see. Arinel's cold, sweaty hand was still in hers, and she reaffirmed her grip on it.

From up on the hill behind, she heard sounds of violent impact. Body on body, body on blade, body on cudgel, body on earth. Numerous voices both human and canine chorused into a chaotic din.

Meya had a good hunch of what was going on. Which one person she knew had a fondness for military dogs?

She heard padded paws scampering towards them. Damp nostrils reeking of rotten meat blew puffs of air about her face. The nose withdrew, accompanied by the creature's enthusiastic barks. At its call, hurried human feet waded through the grass. A clammy, spider-like hand slapped onto her behind. Meya bit back a scream.

"Ari? Ari, you alright?"

That familiar voice whispered as cold, trembling hands patted up her body, trying to find her face. Meya could hardly believe her ears. Relief flooded her, and she felt her limbs turn to putty after the intense life-and-death thrill. A burning sensation rose up around her eyes and she tried with all her might to hold it in.

He came. She didn't think he would but he did.

"Coris! Oh, Freda!" Meya gave a whispery cry as Coris pulled her into a quick embrace. Remembering those she left behind, Meya pulled apart. "I've got Meya here, but your family—I'm sorry—I didn't—"

"It's alright. You did great." Coris cut across her, his pacifying tone undercut with stress. Meya felt a thick leather strip being ushered into her hand. "Follow Patch to Christopher. Zier's awake?"

Meya froze, nonplussed, then decided she should save the wondering for later.

"No. I was sawing through his ropes. He didn't budge an inch—" The words had barely left her mouth before Coris took off like the wind, leaving Meya to holler after him, cold fear gripping at her heart, "Where are you going!? You can't see a thing!"

"Meya, we're useless here. Let's go get his men."

Arinel urged in a whisper, as Patch tugged on her sleeve. Meya bit her lip to calm the fear raging in her heart. She scrambled up on all fours, crawling after the pull of the leash as Arinel held on to the hem of her dress.

After a few agonizing minutes, blundering forth in total darkness, Meya heard flowing water. Her palms slapped onto damp, sloping soil. She heard something large extricating itself from water, before a dripping wet hand grabbed her arm.

"Coris? No—Who's this?" The voice was male and young, not unheard but not familiar either. It took Meya a moment to recognize it as Sir Christopher's.

"It's Arinel. And my maid, Meya." Meya panted, prompting the hand to withdraw. The strike of a match rented the air and a lamp sprang to life before her, its wavering light casting a yellowish-brown glow upon Sir Christopher's sharp face. Meya blinked, disoriented. Once her sight had settled, she couldn't help blushing furiously.

The circle of light revealed dozens of soldiers wearing their bare skins. They lay on the rocky bed of the shallow rapid, their faces just breaking the surface, concealed behind the riverbank to those on the hill. Christopher himself was crouched behind a large boulder, revealing only his upper half. It wasn't as if Meya wanted to see the rest of him, though.

The soldiers fidgeted under the water. Some creaked out sheepish, shivering grins at her and Arinel. Meya decided she should just focus on Christopher and allow them some privacy.

"My lady—Please forgive our immodest state. We need to keep our clothes dry or they'll slow our movements." Christopher explained in a rush, then demanded, "Thank Freda you're safe. Where's Coris? And the Baron? Still asleep?"

The sound of that name snapped Meya back to her fretting self.

"Yes. And that dunghead Coris—he just ran off! I'm sorry, I've no idea how to—I shouldn't have let him—" Meya stumbled over her words, shame and desperation burning in her chest. Again, her apology was waved aside.

"Don't blame yourself, my lady. You freed yourself and your maid; that made our job easier."

Even as he reassured her, Christopher frowned in apprehension. He stared off into the emptiness before them, then up at the sky. The moon had begun to show again behind a wispy patch of thinning clouds, and the solid darkness shrouding the area has lightened to dull gray. Craning her neck, Meya could just make out the dashing silhouettes on the hill.

"The hounds will free the hostages and keep the bandits occupied. When the moon comes out again, we'll round them up then secure your antidote. You stay hidden here. Please don't worry."

Christopher turned back and explained. Meya sensed the note of urgency in his voice; as soon as light returned, the hounds' advantage will be gone. Her heart pounded at the realization.

"Go. Help Coris—Hurry!" She gasped. The squire nodded once, set down his lamp, then edged to the other side of the boulder to grab his clothes and armor.

The soldiers followed suit, clambering out of the water with their backs to the ladies and slipping on trousers. Once they were all dressed up, Christopher stepped onto the riverbank and turned to his men, all dripping wet.

"Weapons at the ready. Move out!"

With that brusque command, they dashed off. The earth trembled beneath her as thirty pairs of feet thundered into the distance. As if her courage had fled with them, a wave of fatigue overwhelmed her. Meya crawled behind the boulder and slumped against it, letting her legs fall free into the knee-deep water.

The phantom of Coris's embrace lingered, and she hugged herself as the cold wind gusted pass, her head dipped low and her eyes shut tight. Little Patch keened as he nudged his snout against her side. Arinel edged up beside her, a consoling hand on her shoulder.

"He'll be fine. There's another dog with him. He can find his way." The lady whispered, her voice tender as her touch. Meya cradled her face,

"I thought he's never coming so I didn't bother helping his family. What a coward—foul—selfish—"

"Meya, calm down. They didn't blame you, in case you haven't noticed." Arinel shook her shoulder, frustrated. However, remembering Dockar's words back at the castle, Meya gritted her teeth in shame, furious with herself more than anyone other.

"Oh, they will after they heard the whole story; Gillian was playing me the whole time." Heaving a tortured sigh, Meya raised her head and leaned it against the rock. She shook her head with a sardonic grin, "Dockar's right. My father's right. I don't know anything. I thought I was so smart, but I'm just...Meya."

She concluded in a bitter sigh. It took all of what was left of her simply to utter that last word, and she closed her eyes once more, exhausted—body and soul.

An uneasy silence fell between them. Arinel's hand twitched on her shoulder. She was trying to come up with something to make Meya feel better. The mere realization lit a flame inside her, comforting her with its spreading warmth, and Meya closed her hand over Arinel's in thanks. She flipped around and peeked over the rock, squinting through darkness to the faraway battlefield. Beside her, Arinel followed suit.

Christopher's men were halfway up the hill, spread out in the outflanking formation, prepared to close in. As they crept closer to the battle, Meya chewed on her thumbnail, humming absentmindedly to calm herself.

"What's that?" Arinel's voice interrupted. Meya jolted, almost biting her finger.

"Huh? Nothing, just my little song. Wrote it ages ago." Meya shot the lady a fleeting glance then turned back to the drama unfolding, jesting to cover her embarrassment, "I'm gonna have the bards sing my tale someday. Figured I might as well get started early, but I don't have enough stuff to fill another verse yet."

"Well, Coris must have given you a lot of his stuff last night. Perhaps you should write a verse about that?"

Arinel murmured back as she peered through narrowed eyes, trying to see. Meya was leaning to get a better look, and she nearly somersaulted over the rock at that deadpan delivery of the dirtiest thing to ever come out of Lady Arinel's beautiful mouth. Whipping around, eyes bulging, she swore feverishly.

"Chione's Ninnies! Did you just—"

Meya was cut off by a huge gust of roaring wind that almost sent them both flying. By the time it had trailed off into a feeble breeze, light had returned to the moorland from the full moon hanging bright overhead, now free of clouds.

"Finally! Thank Freda."

Meya exclaimed. However, the moment she clambered up over the rock, her heart froze to ice in her chest at the scene unfolding on the hilltop.

"Oh no."

Sir Christopher and his men had surrounded the bandits' camp, but instead of charging in, they were laying down their arms and backing away.

There was no other interpretation.

A hostage at knife-point.