The hare was just up ahead--Androkles could smell it on the leaves and grass that whipped against his snout. It was more agile, but he was faster and soon it would lose its footing and make a wrong turn and it would be his. Slaver dripped from his open maw, running between his sharp teeth and down his fur as his four feet danced gracefully across the ground. Then he saw his prey—the hare had stopped under a bush, where it panted heavily and thought itself hidden. He leaped forward, teeth and claws bare, ready to rip it apart.

A crushing blow knocked him out of the air before he reached it, throwing him hard to the ground. He instinctively tried to stand, but he stumbled and faltered. Looking back, he saw that one of his rear legs had been shattered beyond use. The rush of the hunt prevented him from feeling any pain, but that would wear off quickly, he knew.

He turned his head to see what had hit him and found a muscular male human with a club stepping out from behind the tree where he was hidden. He wore the skins of several beasts and had a frightfully confusing scent. And he was not alone—there were many more behind him, each as ferocious as the first. Then Androkles turned to his other side and saw a smaller number of skinny, hungry wolves. Rather than leaping on the men and ripping their flesh for food, they had been cowed and frightened and had forgotten they were wolves. The humans laughed and pointed, jeering at him and the others.

The human who struck him pulled a metal tooth from his clothing. Androkles snapped and snarled, but his ruined body could not fight back as the man stabbed him with it between the ribs, over and over. Consciousness quickly slipped and fell.

Androkles awoke in confusion, almost flailing his arms as he tried to pull himself up and out of the Dreamweaver’s grasp. It took him several breaths to realize where he was, and that he was human. He found himself sitting up.

The frosty air chilled the sweat soaking his woolen shirt. Soft twilight told him dawn was approaching, but the sun was still an hour or more away. The campfire still burned, but only barely--a thin wisp of smoke made a long, straight rope into the still and silent air above the faint embers.

Flower and Pepper stirred and groaned softly, and once Androkles realized how cold it was he quickly lay back down and pulled the blankets closed again. The kits snuggled in closer, mostly asleep, as they tried to undo the chill that had crept into their bed.

No one else was awake. Agurne and Garbi’s blankets were just as much an indistinct, unmoving lump as Dyana and Seff’s were. Wolfscar’s doll bed was still by the fire where Agurne put it and it looked like the fairy had pulled the covers up over his head, because his glow only barely shone against the dark wooden headboard.

Androkles gazed up into the indigo pre-dawn sky and tried to remember the details of his dream. Ever since he’d begun this journey last summer, his dreams had been much more vivid than he remembered ever having before; he hadn’t made up his mind if it was the work of the gods or the stress of his lifestyle. This had been one of the strongest. He had been the wolf. He could still remember what it felt like to run on four feet. He knew what it was like to have a tail. He was practically a Skythander.

Was the dream a vision from the gods? The thought made him nervous, and not just because it had ended with his humiliating death. Androkles knew of dozens of dreams sent by the gods, and they seldom foretold impending good fortune. In fact, his own father Paramonos had said, right before he lost the last of the family fortune and killed himself, that he had a strange dream the previous week. Androkles had still been a child then and his father hadn’t cared to share any details, but one thing was sure: dreams from the gods usually meant trouble.

So how was Androkles supposed to interpret it? Was he the wolf? That seemed likely, but who could tell for sure? Might he be the human with the club, or possibly the hare? Or one of the other hungry wolves, perhaps? Forgotten how to be wolves… No, that couldn’t be him. He might be growing less civilized by the minute but he certainly wasn’t losing his war-making side. Although… He was on a hunt, with Della as his prey. Perhaps?

He rolled it over and over again through his mind, considering each detail, and was beginning to think it probably had no significance at all when Pepper stretched and opened his eyes.

“Good morning, Papa,” said the kit. He flicked his black ears a few times, too, which he always did when he woke up. Androkles supposed it was just another muscle to stretch, one that Laophileans didn’t have.

“Good morning, Pepper,” said Androkles.

“It’s cold!” said the boy, snuggling in closer and pulling the blanket tight.

“It is cold. I don’t know why anyone lives here,” replied Androkles. “You remember that fort we passed a few weeks ago? The wooden wall around the top of the hill, with no roof over it?”

“Yeah.”

“I bet that’s all they can build because so much of the year is like this.”

“What about Gotzone’s Inn? That was a big building,” replied Pepper after thinking about it for a minute.

The kit had a point, and Androkles said, “Maybe it doesn’t get this cold there? We’ll have to ask Agurne how they do it.”

“I wish we were there instead of here right now,” said Pepper with a playful humor in his voice. “She was nice. You got better too fast.”

“I’ll make sure to stay injured longer next time I fight a goddess. Three whole weeks, and it wasn’t enough?”

“You should’ve stayed injured ‘til spring.”

“What, and miss all this snow?”

Flower woke, muttered something about the cold, and snuggled in close on Androkles’ other side. They lay there for a short while, fighting against the call of nature. The women showed no signs of waking, of course; sometimes Androkles suspected that Agurne faked sleeping until breakfast was on the fire and the cart was half-packed. He never complained, either, because he hoped to make her a noblewoman someday and they simply didn’t do that sort of thing. The further he could get her from her days digging in the dirt as a root farmer, the better.

Androkles and the boys finally clambered out of the blankets and found Seff wide awake, his big silvery eyes regarding them with curiosity. Flower invited him to join them as they made water, which he did with great amusement. The little boy giggled the whole time, which made Flower and Pepper giggle as well. The affair quickly grew far more exciting than it needed to be, with the boys trying to draw pictures in the snow. Androkles couldn’t help but share in their humor, although he didn’t demean himself to the point of demonstrating what art skills he may have possessed. By the time they got back to the fire, much of his worry over the dream had dissipated.

After he rebuilt the fire, put the bread on to cook, and wrapped Seff back up in a blanket, he led the kits in the morning military exercises, stripped to the waist. Jump, thrust, kick. Punch, squats, block. Over and over, a little different each time, until every movement a man needed to know to fight in a phalanx was learned by rote.

Back when it first started snowing, Agurne had insisted they stop exercising naked, and crows take Dikaian tradition. That had been the first time she threatened him and meant it, so he relented and the three of them kept their pants and shoes on. Not even two days after, he decided she was right—stomping around in the snow was no place for nudity.

The women awoke and tended to their own needs, then sat under a blanket near the fire and made sure the bread didn’t burn. Wolfscar considered participating in the exercises for about ten seconds, then thought better of it and flew over to Garbi’s blanket for shelter.

Dyana watched the entire workout from start to finish, never looking away for more than a few heartbeats. If she’d survived a demon, she probably knew a thing or two about fighting, but not even the generals of the Pesars had realized just what they were looking at when they saw the exercises. Perhaps if she stuck around long enough, he’d explain some of the basics and impress her—the exercises contained several complete methods of combat: shield, spear, sword, bare-handed, but you could only recognize it once someone pointed it out and explained what all the different motions meant. Until then, it looked like some basic exercises with dance moves thrown in for variety.

The boys started shivering during the last third, but he made them finish it alongside him anyway. Not for the first time, Androkles wished they had even a speck of fat on them, but with all the walking and short rations it was impossible. They looked almost like comical little imitation bodybuilders, their skin was so thin and tight. The boys themselves didn’t seem to mind, though; grinning with pride, they flexed their little muscles for each other, then hastily raced back under the covers.

They ate their breakfast slowly, all dreading leaving the blankets and fire. The Sharp Teeth Tribe sat together again, but they made an exception for Garbi when she started looking lonely. In return, she entertained them with a wild story about a talking tree that cast magic spells on people who walked by. After it became apparent that she was just dragging it on to keep from having to get moving, Androkles made her end it.

Once the cart was packed back up, Agurne set the ox to walking and the day officially began. Dyana walked a short distance behind, peering around in every direction as though she was keeping guard; but mostly she kept a nervous eye on Seff sitting between Agurne and Garbi. Perhaps she thought he might be in danger of falling out, or suddenly turning feral and biting someone. Flower and Pepper walked side by side holding hands with their tails entwined, like they often did. They whispered to each other amidst stifled laughter, and from what Androkles snatched from their quiet conversation, they were telling rude, childish jokes of which Agurne would pretend not to approve if she heard.

Androkles couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like to have a brother when he was a child, and if they would have been close. And if that brother would have died or abandoned him like everyone else he cared about. But he found himself feeling no jealousy for the boys, or for Garbi and Agurne and Wolfscar, or even Seff and Dyana; instead, he felt protective of their love for each other. They were his and his alone, and only he could protect them. It was a good feeling.

There was little chatter over the rest of the morning. It was too cold to do anything particularly energetic, and even Wolfscar didn’t want to stick so much as a wing out from under the blanket over Garbi’s lap.

As the day wore on into the afternoon, riders on brightly-decorated horses passed by them from both directions, but none stopped. Some wore swords at their hips or spears on their backs, but most were unarmed. Androkles found it encouraging that there was so much horse traffic. It showed that there was business to be done, and locals wealthy enough to keep healthy horses. Perhaps he’d be able to trade somewhere ahead, at reasonable prices. Still, it was odd that no one stopped to talk, even briefly. In the Glories, people often took longer than necessary to get anywhere, fond as they were of conversation. One had to be awfully busy not to want to break up the monotony of the road with a bit of friendly greeting.

But then they seemed to catch a rider unaware. Right as they crested a hill, the man spotted them from a quarter mile down the road. He and his horse were just standing there, but as soon as he saw them, he jumped in startlement and kicked his horse into motion. The man rode past them without even glancing down for a nod.

There was nothing particularly unusual about him. Red woolen leggings, a long-sleeved coat of furs, double-layered leather boots, and long light-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. No weapon. Just a man about his business.

A man who had been waiting for them and caught unprepared. Androkles waved, and Agurne stopped the ox. Almost everyone took notice of the tension in his face and they all started to ask at once what was going on.

He put his fingers to his lips to signal for them to hurry and shut up, which they did.

Once they were quiet, he whispered, “Wolfscar, come here.” The little fairy climbed his way out of the blanket on Garbi’s lap and buzzed quietly over to Androkles.

“I want to you go fly up the road until you see someone, even if it seems like a long way, and come back and tell me what they’re doing. Tell me if they’re sitting there waiting, or if they’re riding, or whatever it is. Try to be sneaky. Got it? This is important.”

Wolfscar chewed on his fingertip for a moment and thought about it. Then he nodded resolutely and darted upward, high enough his light was hard to pick out against the bright afternoon sky. He flew up the road while everyone stared after him.

“What’s going on, Papa?” asked Garbi. Agurne shooshed her, then clapped her hand over Seff’s mouth when he tried to start talking.

They didn’t really need to be quiet, of course; he just didn’t want to explain himself and scare anyone with his suspicions. Especially not after making them all so upset by killing that man last night. He didn’t need them any more afraid of him and his efforts than they already were.

So everyone waited, nervous and quiet. Dyana stepped forward to Seff and put her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Pepper and Flower stood close together and wound their tails together again while they watched anxiously for Wolfscar to come back. Agurne just sighed and looked a little bored, but she pulled her charm bags onto her lap anyway, just in case. Bless that woman for trusting him.

Wolfscar came flying back at top speed, and Androkles caught him loosely in one hand like he’d done a million times. He wondered when the little fairy would learn to start slowing down before it was too late, but perhaps it would never happen. He was a terrible judge of distances.

“I found a man who was riding slow, but he was a long way away. I think. He was past the open thing, and the hill, and on the other hill by the mushroom.”

“Mushroom?”

“Yeah,” said Wolfscar confidently. “Was that all? I want to go back in.”

“He was riding slow? Slower than the other people who passed us already?”

“The horse was just doing… um…” said Wolfscar, making hoof motions with his hands while he tried to figure out how to explain.

“Was it walking like it wasn’t in a hurry?”

“I think so. I think it was doing that.”

“Good. When you see him again, tell me. Got it? That means you can’t hide all the way under the blanket. You have to keep your head out.”

“Okay,” he replied. He jumped out of Androkles’ hand and flew over to Garbi to find a place to get warmed back up.

If the man was riding faster when they caught up to him, Androkles would know he’d been waiting like the previous rider. He motioned for Agurne to get the ox moving again, and she did.

No one talked as the cart rolled along the frozen dirt road. Dyana seemed tense now. She had on a slight frown and her eyes darted everywhere, as if she shared his suspicions. Come to think of it, she’d hardly spoken all day. She stayed behind the cart the whole time, just far enough back that she was still part of the company, but not close enough for anyone to talk to her.

He had no reason to give her any mind now, however. Instead, he kept a close watch on the surroundings just as she did. He was starting to smell a trap.

If Androkles had a dozen men and wanted to keep track of someone without them knowing it, this is what he’d do—place them all along the road at certain roadmarks and have them pose as travelers to come report back after his prey reached those spots.

If he had a hundred men, he’d probably keep eighty of them at some ideal spot for an ambush and follow far enough behind that he wouldn’t be seen, but close enough he could ride up and join when the trap was sprung. Come to think of it, he should check that.

“Wolfscar, come out again,” said Androkles. “I have something else I want you to look for.”

The fairy stuck his head further out of the blanket on Garbi’s lap, looking for all the world like a grumpy little doll, and said, “But I’m not all the way warm yet!”

“I know, but this is important.”

“Can it be important in a little while instead?”

“I… Well, I suppose it can wait for a bit. I’ll count out two hundred paces, and then you have to go. Sound fair?”

“How many is two hundred?”

“Two hundred is two hundred.”

“I mean how long?”

“As long as you’re getting. Snuggle in close. I’m starting now.” True to his word. Androkles counted off his steps, moving at the slowish pace of the ox. He really needed to make Wolfscar another tunic, or if he felt up to it, a shirt and pants that properly fit his tiny limbs. The fairy had complained about fur being too heavy and rubbing against his wings, but perhaps two layers of linen? Or maybe he’d find someone selling rat pelts. Not likely.

“That’s two hundred. Come out.”

Wolfscar made a big show of dragging himself out of the blanket, but Garbi patted him on the head and lifted him up for a kiss, and he decided it wasn’t so bad after all.

When the fairy flew over, Androkles said, “You remember where we stopped for lunch?”

“I think so. The ox made droppings, and there was… I think I remember.”

“Good. I want to you fly all the way back there, and look all along the road for several men riding together, or even walking together. If you find any, I want you to get close enough to see if they have weapons. Then come back and tell me how many, and what weapons they had. Got it?”

Wolfscar put his fingertip in his mouth, thought about it briefly, then nodded and flew down the road, in the other direction this time.

Androkles had the boys feed and water the ox while everyone waited. Dyana paced back and forth, still hanging back a bit, glancing at Seff and Androkles every so often. It almost looked like she was trying to make up her mind about something. Hopefully it wasn’t whether to warn him about the trap she was about to help spring.

The fairy came back quicker than Androkles was expecting, and not for the first time, he wondered just how fast Wolfscar could fly. Instead of slamming into someone to stop, this time he slowed down by flying in a couple circles around the ox. When he finally stopped, he asked, “Are we all eating, or just the ox?”

“Just the ox. We’ll eat when we stop for the night. What did you see?”

“There were some men like you said. They all had swords except one didn’t. They weren’t riding anywhere, though. They were just sitting on their horses drinking water. I think it was water. It was in a thing like you put water in.”

Androkles got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, even though he had expected this. “How many men?”

Wolfscar thought about it for a moment and counted on his fingers. “More than ten, but not a lot more, I think.”

“Very well. Go ahead and get warmed back up.” Androkles’ mind raced as he considered his options. He was almost, but not quite, certain that someone was after him, probably the rider from the evening before. How the man had assembled something like this so quickly, he had no idea, but the haste probably limited the total number of men available.

The ox could only pull that cart twelve to sixteen miles in a short winter day, depending on its mood. A team of a dozen horsemen could cover that distance in two hours at a trot. If the locals had the ability to call up fifty men or more overnight, then setting up an ambush like this was simple. They could’ve been doing it in pieces, right under his nose--men had been riding up and down the road all day. They’d likely set up the ambush close to where they expect him to stop for the night, exhausted after a day of travel, and follow up behind with all the men who’d been keeping an eye on his progress.

“Well, ogre?” said Agurne. “Someone following us?”

“I’m not sure yet, but we’ll know soon enough.”

“After it’s too late?”

“Hopefully not. Let’s get moving. Wolfscar, remember to watch for that man ahead of us.”

The children stayed somber and nervous when travel resumed. The boys walked closer to him than they had been before, and Garbi looked almost as pale as Flower as she petted Wolfscar’s head like a kitten.

Dyana, however, looked a different kind of upset. Angry, perhaps, or annoyed. He couldn’t tell, but she was scowling and just about stomping as she walked along. She stayed behind the cart just like before, and Androkles decided he wasn’t interested in keeping an eye on her.

Instead, he kept a careful eye on the terrain, hoping to spot the best place for an ambush before he walked into it. He wished the oxcart wasn’t so noisy, with its loud squeaking wheels and creaking boards, because he’d rather be listening for the approach of horse hooves in relative silence.

They travelled over a rocky section of road where autumn rains had washed too much dirt away, then around a slow curve where the road avoided a frozen meadow that was probably too swampy to bother with in the summer. After entering a large, flat expanse that looked like snowed-over farmland, they saw a rider coming in their direction at a good trot.

“Wolfscar, is that the man?”

“Oh! Um… I think so.”

“Was he going this fast before?”

“No, he was going slow.”

“Good,” said Androkles. He turned back to Dyana and said, “Grab his horse. Got it?”

“I’m sorry, what?” she replied, still upset. Frustrated? It didn’t matter.

But there was no time to explain. The rider, a man with thick, short brown hair and sharp features, was almost here. He arrived without much more than a slight glance in their direction, which meant he never saw Androkles’ strike.

Fast as lighting, Androkles swung the butt of the spear into the man’s chest and swatted him right off his saddle, shattering bones and collapsing his rib cage. He tumbled backward and fell head-first onto the solid road, where he hit with a crack and lay still.

Seff and all three of Androkles’ children shrieked in startled terror. The boys jumped backward so fast that Flower fell down and Pepper almost tripped over him, but he managed to pull his brother back up and they ran around to hide behind the cart.

The horse kept on going, mostly startled. “Grab it!” shouted Androkles.

Dyana hesitated and nearly missed her chance, but she stepped backward at the last second and barely caught the reins. The horse neighed at her and snorted, but she kept her grip and it calmed down quickly, thank the gods. He wasn’t sure who’d win if it tried to trample her, but it would’ve left a mess either way.

The man on the road gasped shallowly, his eyes rolling wildly in horror. His mouth worked furiously like he was trying to talk or scream, but he couldn’t get enough of a breath into his collapsed lungs to make a sound. No other part of him moved—his neck was broken.

Androkles smiled darkly to himself. This could not have gone better. No blood, horse caught, no sign of any struggle on the hard, earthen road. He hefted the man roughly and threw him over his shoulder like a fat sack of grain and turned to see his horrified, ashen-faced family looking everywhere but at him. “Be right back. Dyana, hold on to that horse.”

He walked off the road to the left, heading for a large bush about thirty paces away. Once he got there, the shallow gasping had grown desperate and the man’s face was turning purple, which meant he’d suffocate any minute now. Androkles braced himself and tossed the dying man right over the bush. He landed in the snow on the other side with a brutal thud and sank low enough into it that he probably wouldn’t have been seen even without the bush.

Androkles undid his pants and made water, smirking to himself about his cleverness all the while, and made his way back to his family. Let them come investigate that trail. They’d never find their man.

Dyana was the first to speak. She stepped right in front of him and blocked his path. “We’re done with you, Master Androkles,” she said, quiet venom in her voice.

“Right now?”

“I’ve been thinking about this all day. It’s time we parted ways.”

“What, here? Right after you find out we’re being chased? And right here in the middle of the road? Do you realize how this looks?”

Dyana gave him a vicious glare and said, “Don’t you dare imply something like that, not after how much I’ve helped you.”

Agurne had hopped down off the bench by this time and made her way over, frowning and clearing away a few loose strands of her brown hair. “Dyana, girl, what’s all this about?”

“I simply want to part ways! Why is that such a big deal?” Dyana almost yelled.

Agurne replied, just as hotly, “Why is it such a big deal you think you can survive the winter alone with a child and no clothing, you stupid fool? Where do you think you’ll go? What will you eat?”

“We’ve done just fine on our own up til now, you fat harpy! You think we need you?”

Androkles darkly insisted, “Give me an explanation. A convincing one.”

Dyana gave visible effort to schooling her emotions, which seemed to be getting out of control. After taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, she said, “Master Androkles, my Seffy and I are a danger to your family. I also don’t want him to spend much time around you. You’re a murderer at heart and I don’t want him to turn into that.”

“I haven’t murdered anyone!” he hissed hotly. “If you’re leaving, then fine. Go ahead. Just don’t head up the road in either direction or you’ll ruin my advantage. And take him south or west. That’ll get you out of Allobrogian lands. Although not too far south, because any man in the Glories will feel the same way about Seff that I did. It’d be a shame if someone strangled him. I was starting to like the little runt.” He felt himself turn a bit red after such an unmanly admission, but there it was.

Agurne was starting to lose her patience with the young woman, and it crept into her voice. She said, “Night’s falling and you’ve got nowhere to go, girl. Why so hasty? Why not wait until morning, at least?”

“Because he’s murdered two men in horrific ways in less than a day. I think Master Androkles here just loves bloodshed and he’s looking forward to more of it. His vitality channels didn’t get that twisted on their own, and I don’t want my Seffy to spend too much time around that. I want his little spirit to stay pure,” said Dyana. Her words were directed at Agurne, but she faced him, shoulders back and chin up to show her pride.

Agurne stepped into her while wagging an angry finger. “If Seff got all this man’s vices and only a tenth of his virtues, you’d be lucky! You think you can raise a boy all on your own, with no money, food, or home? You think he’s gonna turn out okay like that?”

“As long as he doesn’t kill everyone he gets into an argument with, then yes, I do!” said Dyana, not backing down an inch. She turned to him. “You really are naïve, Master Androkles. I’ve been thinking about it all day. You really are foolish, thinking you can just tell them ‘no’ and kill a guard and they’ll just let you through. They’ve been hunting me forever and all I did was steal one runty little slave. Now they’re hunting you and you’re just making it worse by giving them more reasons to kill you. You’re going to get everyone killed and I don’t want to be here to see it. Me and Seffy are leaving. I don’t even want to think about what’ll happen after you catch an arrow in the throat you didn’t see coming.” As she spoke, her voice slowly edged upward in intensity until she was close to shouting.

“I’m sure being in the middle of a slow trap has nothing to do with it,” said Androkles, glaring down over his crossed arms.

“You’re not worried. You’re looking forward to it because you have a heart full of nothing but bloodshed and fire. All that nonsense about your big house? You’ll be bored after half a day and go find someone to kill. You don’t fool me, Androkles. They’re all so terrified of you and what’d happen if you abandoned them that they think it’s love. But I see you for what you are.”

Androkles just about lost his temper at the insult. Only having the little ones nearby kept him from trying to burn her on the spot with his killing intent.

Agurne stomped her foot and hollered, “Dyana, what by the stinking piss of the gods is your problem?” But instead of sounding angry, she sounded disappointed and sad. “What is this about, girl? What’s going on in that bald head of yours?” She tried to put her hand on Dyana’s shoulder, but the young woman just pulled away.

“How much clearer do I have to make it? I don’t want him—!” she said, pointing at Seff, “to see this--!” pointing at Androkles, “and think it’s normal!”

Androkles gazed down at her contemptuously for a moment, then said, “Go get him, then. I’ll grab you a blanket.”

Dyana nodded and went to retrieve Seff. As soon as she touched him, he squirmed and tried to get away from her. He didn’t have anywhere to go, however, and Dyana pulled him from his spot next to Garbi, who had a look on her face like she was remembering the tartalo. Dyana whispered something into the boy’s ear, but it didn’t keep him from anxiously trying to get out of her grasp.

Androkles handed her two good blankets and a half-full sack of flour, not sure how much more she would want. “Will those blankets do, or do you want another one to bury him in?”

Agurne punched him in the kidney, hard. It hurt.

Seff plaintively asked, “Dana, what’s going on? Do we hafta leave?”

Dyana ignored him and said, “Thank you, Master Androkles. Two blankets will do, and this should be enough flour for a while.”

Agurne spluttered, “That’ll last you about three days, you stupid girl. You’re taking more than that. Here, let me bundle some up for you.” Then, pointing an angry finger at Androkles, she added, “And you keep your mouth shut!” He shrugged and didn’t argue.

Agurne wrapped up a good deal more of their provisions than Androkles was strictly comfortable with, then tied it a bundle and put it in front of the horse’s saddle.

“Dana? What’s happening?” asked Seff again as he was placed onto the stolen horse. He tried to slide back off, but Dyana caught his arm and gave him a look.

She put the blankets on the little demon’s lap and grabbed the reins. Her preparations finally complete, she turned and said, “Thank you for your hospitality. Good luck.” Then she led the horse off the road and into the pasture toward some low hills, far off in the distance.

Flower had the presence of mind to give a sad and unsure “Goodbye”, which was quickly repeated by the others. Seff said goodbye as well, his voice weak and confused.

After Dyana had led the horse a half-dozen paces, Seff began to cry, loudly. He hugged the blankets and wailed and wailed, and it could be heard for several minutes afterward. The miserable, forlorn, hopeless tone of it tugged sharply at Androkles’ heart. Strangely, Seff didn’t fight much or argue—just accepted it, and mourned. What a strange child he had been.

Androkles tried to ignore the lump forming in his throat and instead did his best to stop caring about the little boy and his crazy demon entirely. He couldn’t banish the tightness in his chest, but it would not be enough to make him lose any dignity.

He knew it was for the best, even if her departure could have been less hostile and sudden. For one, he didn’t have to worry about Seff taking in an evil spirit and killing someone in their sleep. For two, now he didn’t have to worry about feeding or clothing them from his limited supplies. That aspect of it, at least, was certainly pleasing. He could have used Dyana in the upcoming ambush, though. He’d miss her for that.

He helped Agurne back up onto the bench and they got moving again. His children were tense and miserable, as anyone could have predict ed. Garbi’s head was bowed and she held Wolfscar tightly in her lap as if she was afraid he’d leave too. She wore a stony expression, which was never a good sign with her. The boys kept glancing over to see if Dyana would decide to turn around, perhaps unwilling to believe it was really happening.

And the more he thought about it, the more justified Dyana’s actions seemed. The things she said could be explained by her youthful passion, stupidity, and poor judgment. She deserved to be whipped for that. But not wanting Seff to see bloodshed might be wise. Who knew what made the little ones turn out like the big ones? If there was any chance that keeping him away from killing would keep him sane, then it was worth it. She was a foolish, stupid girl, and the only question was whether her horse or her demon would die first, but she probably just wanted to protect the boy and that, at least, he could understand.

Not that he’d ever forgive her, of course. He had no reason to forget she’d insulted him after all his help and then abandoned him to his enemies.

They trudged on in silence after that for at least a half an hour. Each of them kept his or her own watch on the road for incoming disaster. The quiet became so unnerving that Androkles started thinking whether he should try and say something to cheer them up, or at least bolster their courage.

Before he thought of anything, Pepper said, “This morning I thought we could make lots of friends. Now I just have to think…” He paused, some conflict on his face that he couldn’t quite put into words. He continued, “I can only think of Seff and Dyana’s skeletons. With birds on them.”

“Don’t say that!” shouted Garbi, raising her hand to hit the black-eared kit, even though she was five paces away and sitting on the cart. But then her eyes took on a somber depth and she shut her mouth, no doubt imagining the same picture. She buried her face in the blanket, her golden hair spreading out in every direction.

Pepper continued, his voice pained, “I can’t think of anything else. Just his little skeleton, with a bird on it picking at his bones. I can’t get it out of my mind now.”

If his children had been somber before, now they were as subdued as the grave. Androkles sighed, knowing it was about to get awfully weepy around here. “Pepper, listen. Dyana’s tough. She fought a demon and lived to tell us about it. And weren’t she and Seff both orphans? Palthos will watch out for them. He’s done well for us.”

Pepper didn’t respond, but Agurne said, “I hope so. They were both his. I know they were. Hold on. Wait.” She stopped the cart. “By the Child, Androkles, did you just express both piety and concern for another living person? Someone grab me a stone; I need to carve a monument.”

He chuckled at that, and the children smiled faintly. “You must have misheard me. Is it time to water the ox?”

“Yep. Boys, give the poor creature a drink,” said Agurne. She pulled Garbi into a one-armed hug and kissed her hair, but the girl still seemed tense.

They only gave the ox a short rest, perhaps a quarter of an hour. The sun would be setting in no more than another hour, which meant that he likely didn’t have a lot of road left before he walked into the trap, or before the riders came to catch up from behind. He still wasn’t sure there was a standard ambush ahead—it could simply be a roadblock close to a good campsite, and they’d try and sneak in at night.

When the man he’d killed didn’t report, the pursuers would think Androkles had turned off the trail earlier than he had and probably ride up and start looking for him. He’d bought some time—time they’d spend waiting for him to come and investigating when he didn’t—but he had to use it well.

Although, come to think of it, why not simply spring their trap and kill them all? For an ambush to work, they had to be right there on top of him, close enough to keep him from getting away. Once they felt his killing intent, they’d reconsider their efforts. The ones far enough away not to be struck senseless, anyway. He could kill all the ones it overcame and shout a threat after the rest, and chances were good that the King would simply decide it wasn’t worth it and let him leave unmolested.

Now, if they had slingers or archers, it would be a different story, but Androkles had seen soldiers, slave-takers, and bandits, and not one of them had a bow or sling. Not one. He’d heard discussions about this in the army and he hadn’t believed it--the northern barbarians were rumored not to have ever heard of bows, let alone use them. Not even for hunting--they hunted with nets and spears and dogs, and nothing else. Androkles had never fought them, but he knew their methods of war from the men who had. And the simple fact was that he hadn’t seen any bows even though he should have. None hung across woodsmen’s shoulders, none slung on the backs of outriders. None carried by fighting men of any kind.

Another mile later, Androkles caught sight of the first of them. The man was fifty paces off to the side of the road; he’d been waiting near a tree and started walking forward when the cart got close. Off on the other side, Androkles spotted another man. Then another. Then another and soon there were a dozen.

Instead of waiting and all jumping out at once to get him, the men were distributed all along the road and their numbers grew the further Androkles got. Instead of a proper ambush, they began to form a circle around him, which grew more defined as more and more men stepped from their hiding places. They were leading him, making sure he didn’t try and sneak off in the dark.

“Agurne, get ready to make a shield. Boys, get on the cart. Move it!” he hissed quietly. Flower and Pepper scrambled as quick as they could up over the side and tumbled in, where they hunkered down with just the tops of their heads and ears peeking over so they could see. Garbi clung to Agurne, and the plump woman kept a stoic glare on the road. She kept a hand on the bag of tricks on her lap.

A dozen, two dozen, and still they came. All on foot, but most led horses. All staying out of range of his killing intent, although they couldn’t possibly know about it. Everyone who’d seen him use it was either on the cart or dead.

As their numbers grew, the circle began to close in from fifty paces away to only twenty. Men continued to appear and fill the gaps one by one. He quit counting after fifty, and still they kept coming.

The sky darkened quickly, the sun hiding himself from the shame of winter as soon as he could. When the men began to stumble in the hastening twilight, one of them brought out a lantern and lit it with a sparker. Many more followed his lead, perhaps every fourth or fifth man. No sooner were the lanterns lit than Androkles had a full realization just how many of them there were.

He was completely encircled by no fewer than two hundred armed men. Some carried long, ungainly two-hander swords; others, swords and shields; but most carried spears. The spears they carried were short, not even their height, and most had more than one.

It dawned on him that those were throwing spears. They didn’t need arrows or slings when they had two or three hundred spears they could toss at him. Androkles doubted that he, himself, would survive a single volley without ducking under the cart at the last instant. Not with so many spears, and certainly not two or three volleys. Agurne and the children would be skewered like lame pigs before a feast.

If the men had jumped out from behind a rock and tried to cut him open, he would have fought. Anyone could have guessed he would have, and probably killed a whole bunch of them. But that option had been closed to him. Submit or die--there would be no fight.

There was no use in any further walking. He signaled for Agurne to stop the cart, then stepped a couple paces forward and firmly planted his spear in the ground. Behind him, his children were deathly silent; not even Wolfscar’s light was visible. He could almost feel their terror radiating like heat from a fire. The silence crushed him beneath its weight.

A group of riders came up from behind and entered the circle. Androkles turned and recognized the first of them immediately--it was the soldier or guard in red from the day before, the one with the winged helmet who had wanted Dyana and Seff.

Androkles walked back to greet him before he had a chance to get closer to his family. The rider dismounted and stepped up to speak, unarmed, followed by another holding a lantern.

“Will you fight?” the man asked simply. His voice was flat and emotionless, just like yesterday.

“If I don’t, will they be harmed?” Androkles replied.

“They will be held against your good behavior.”

Androkles straightened his posture to accentuate the full breadth of his muscles and put on his best scowl, the one he used for the children when they started fighting each other. For a moment he was quiet, then he said, just loudly enough to be heard, “Allobrogian, for every one of mine that comes to harm by your hand, I will kill a hundred of yours. I swear it on my name, the name Androkles Giant-Slayer, son of Paramonos, and by my fathers the Agapatheids. I swear it beneath the eyes of the King of Gods, Arkos Oathfather, and so shall it be.”

As Androkles spoke, he released his killing intent, starting slowly and letting it build. Twenty paces away, the first ring of men went pale and shivered. Their torches danced in unison as the waves of his anger rolled past them. A fearful murmur rose among the gathered men, although they held their ground.

The man in front of him was unaffected and showed no sign at all that anything was amiss. His cold eyes and stony face continued to regard Androkles just as before, and the man utterly ignored the growing disquiet in his soldiers. His lantern bearer stepped back and stumbled, falling to the ground. The lantern didn’t go out, and the leader reached down and picked it up.

“I am Arthfael, Son of the King,” he said. He gazed at Androkles calmly, with all the unnerving stillness of a statue. The lantern he held lit his face from below and gave him a truly sinister appearance.

Androkles released just a bit more of his killing intent, just to see if the man would react. He said, “I can kill you before their spears hit me.”

Arthfael still showed no sign of being affected. He said, “I think you cannot. Submit, and I will break you. Fight, and you will die. Will you fight?”

Androkles looked up into the sky, but found it black. The lantern had ruined his night vision, and only a few weak points of light stood in the darkness above. He dropped his killing intent, and the light from the torches quit pulsing. He heard some of the men gasping in surprise and fear.

After a deep breath to gather his courage, Androkles let his hoplon slide from his arm. It fell to the icy ground with a heavy thud. It sounded like the slamming shut of Dikaia’s bright gates, which he might never see again. Something came over him, something old that he hadn’t felt in years: defeat.

It reminded him of dreams where he drowned—that helpless finality, that moment where he realized that death was inescapable and certain. He’d sunk too deep, he’d never get his armor off, and the water would not become air. It was too late.

He let go of his beautiful spear, but it fell without much sound. He looked at it laying on the ground, and it held no more meaning than a pot shard.

The prince said nothing as men with rope rushed Androkles to bind him. Androkles never looked at them, too ashamed to witness the scorn in their eyes. Instead he looked upward again, toward nothing.

After binding him thoroughly, both hand and feet, a team of men threw him crosswise onto a horse, which sped him toward the King. Over the sound of its hooves, he couldn’t hear how it went with Agurne and the children.

As he was shaken and jostled roughly down the road, he expected anger, or shame, or anxiety, or any other emotion that he could hold on to or fight against. Instead, he only found emptiness, deep and all-consuming. Failure. Finality.