Laying with his head on a pillow of dry moss, warm beneath a soft fur, Arden’s comfort quickly became his torture. Pretending to sleep, he was forced to fight with every fiber of his being to keep it from becoming the reality. He could feel it bubbling up in him. Beckoning to him. Pulling him down. Intrusive thoughts assuring him that there was no price too high. That whatever troubles he had were troubles for the morning.

For what seemed like an eternity, the camp stirred. Eventually, all but Iana grew quite drunk. They talked loudly, speculating about Sola’s return and suggesting that one another go out and look for her. None did, however. Instead, one by one, they headed off to their lean-to’s, leaving only Bogen behind to guard the camp. Soon he too was snoring quietly, his chin handing against his chest as he sat by the remnants of the fire. Now was time for Arden to make his move.

As quietly as he could, Arden sat up and looked around. Once he had convinced himself that the coast was clear, he pulled back the fur and crept silently from his bed. Making his way by Bogen, his hairs stood on end, knowing that at any second the man could come awake.

Reaching the far side of the fire, he paused, acutely aware of how clearly he would be outlined, even in the dim light. Should Sola return, or Iana or any of the other brigands be awake in their lean-to’s, he would certainly be seen. Feeling around in the darkness, he found what he was looking for. Two small sacs of dried food, laying on the cool earth. Earlier in the night, when dinner had been cooked, he had paid close attention to where they had been left. Now, by the last light of the dying embers, he took hold of the bags and slunk out into the night.

Leaving the camp, Arden tried his best to head in the direction he thought Torun had gone earlier. The night was clear and the moon shone bright, casting long beams of pale light down through the canopy and along the forest floor. Making his way through the underbrush, over roots and patches of thick moss, Arden felt almost immediately as though he had lost his way. Born and raised in a village, he was by no means a woodsman. He could not find tracks nor a trail, and very soon was unsure he was even headed in the same direction. Fear gripped him then. Once more on his own, now without even an army to follow, and he began to feel as though he had made a terrible mistake.

Just as he was beginning to lose hope, and honestly considering simply finding some hollow in which to sleep till morning, Arden heard the unmistakable sound of running water. His ears perked up. Turning toward the sound, he walked for several more uncertain minutes before clearing a low rise and finding himself at the top of a high bank leading down to a wide river. Relief washed over him. The river would act as a guide. It would keep him from wandering in circles, and almost certainly lead to a settlement eventually. Also, assuming that Torun had come this way, the river would have blocked his path, forcing him to go one of two ways.

Walking to the waters edge, Arden thought hard about whether to go with the current or against it. Thinking back to his time with the column, he could remember the guards talking about the ferry-camp from which the prisoners were to be shipped downriver. Even if the camp had been destroyed, he doubted Torun would have followed the river south into the heart of the Abaddon Empire. Upriver it was then.

Putting the river to his right, a bag in each hand, Arden began to trudge up the bank. Much of the terror of being lost having left him, his exhaustion began to return. So much had happened since he had last been asleep. It was hard even to remember it all. Thinking of it, his eyes began to grow heavy. His steps clumsy. He began to stumble over the uneven ground, walking in crooked zig-zags, unable to keep himself steady.

Up ahead the bank grew steeper. Looking up, he could see its stony ridgeline looming beneath the moonlight. Blinking his tired eyes, he dropped his gaze down to the ground beneath his feet. There, in the soft muddy earth, were two sets of footprints, clear as day. Arden’s heart skipped a beat. Stopping to look around, he followed them back with his eyes to where they cut from the treeline, made their way to the waters edge, and continued on up the river. Now Arden was sure of it. Though he had come by another route, Torun had indeed passed this way, his hand forced by the river. But he had not been alone. Sola must have followed his tracks, stalking him through the night.

Adrenaline once more pulsing through his veins, Arden quickened his pace. He was not sure how long he had lain in the camp waiting for his chance to slip away, but he prayed he was not far behind the others. For a moment the thought struck him that he had no plan. That if he ran into Sola, he would not know what to say to explain his presence here. Nor do, should she choose to attack him. He was certain that he could not fight the woman. She was armed, experienced and ruthless. And he was tired, so tired. Pushing the thought from his mind, he pressed on. Whatever happened, he could not stand the thought of being alone once more. Left to wander through the wilderness with nothing but the clothes on his back, and what little provisions he had been able to steal.

It was then, rounding a bend at the foot of the high bank, that Arden heard the voice. Weak, pained and desperate, it called to him from beyond the waters edge.

“Help.”

Arden jumped, dropping the bags and spinning towards the sound of the voice. There, laying submerged all the way to her neck, was Sola, pinned beneath the weight of a large stone. Across her back was the broken shaft of her bow, and the large knife that usually hung from her belt lay on the bank, just beyond her reach.

“Help me… please…”

Swallowing hard, Arden walked slowly towards her. The rock was laying close to Sola’s hip, pinning her legs and one of her arms. When it had hit her, she had evidently been knocked into the river. And now she was left straining her neck, desperately struggling to keep her mouth and nose above water, her eyes wide with fear and pain. A quarter of an inch deeper and it would have been impossible. She would have drowned, and he might very well have walked by without even noticing her.

Using her free arm, Sola propped herself up slightly higher in the water. Arden wasn’t sure how long she had lain like this, but it was clear that she was exhausted, and would not be able to keep her head up much longer. Gone were her swagger and machismo. “Please,” she said again in a terrified voice, shivering in the cold water. “Please, don’t leave me like this.”

Coming a step closer, Arden bent and picked up the large knife. Looking into her face, Arden watched as the fear grew in the woman’s eyes. She was totally helpless. Suddenly, he felt overwhelmed by a strange sensation. By the desire to do wrong. To vent his miseries onto someone weaker than himself. Someone, who in all probability had done much to deserve her fate. The desire to indulge in cruelty. What would she have done if the rolls had been reversed? Arden had not known her long, but still, he felt he had a good idea.

It seemed as though Sola could read these thoughts on his face. The fear in her eyes growing even more pronounced as they looked him up and down. “Ple-” she stopped, spluttering as the water came up over her mouth, choking her.

From the far bank, motion caught Arden’s eye. Breaking his gaze away from Sola, he looked to see a large form standing on a rock at the waters edge. A raccoon. Sitting back on its hind legs, it sniffed the air, its eyes glinting in the moonlight. Slowly, it turned, fixing on them before making its way down to the water.

Sola saw it too. She fixed Arden with a look of absolute desperation. “Don’t do this to me,” she said, struggling to sit up and floundering beneath the stone. “Please, don’t leave me like this.”

Arden looked from Sola to the raccoon. Passing through the shallows, the creature was making its way across the river, headed straight for them. It still wasn’t too late for him, he thought. Still not too late to take the knife and one of the bags of food. Run up the bank and into the woods. Continue on after Torun. He knew which way the man was headed. He could not be too far ahead. Arden could find him. Travel with him. Follow him all the way back to Quarryhold, safety and a new life.

He looked back at Sola. The woman’s head bobbed in the current, her face pale, terrified eyes searching for some means of salvation. He shook his head, cursing his kind heart as he drove the knife into the dirt and stepped into the water.

“Alright,” he said, “On three. One. Two. Three.”

Taking hold of the stone, Arden strained against it with all his strength. It was heavy, almost more than he could lift. Taking a deep breath, Sola pushed hard with her free hand, driving her head underwater. With all the determination of a drowning woman, she pushed until the stone budged ever so slightly. Wriggling free, she broke the surface, gasping for breath. Immediately she made to stand, but collapsed back into the water, wincing in pain.

Letting go of the stone, Arden glanced back in the direction of the raccoon. It was terrifyingly close, approaching the bank only a dozen feet away. Reaching down, he gripped Sola by her soaking tunic and pulled her roughly to her feet. Taking much of her weight, he paused only to pull the knife from the ground, holding it in one hand as the two hobbled up the bank.

Behind them, the raccoon had climbed from the river, and paused to shake the water from its fur. Catching sight of its prey, it started off after them in great lumbering strides. Gaining quickly, it bared its sharp white teeth in anticipation of an easy meal.

Reaching the treeline, Arden spotted a shallow hollow beneath the roots of a nearby tree. He made for it, dragging Sola along as fast as he could. Reaching it, he tossed her inside. Taking one painful half-step on her injured leg, the woman tumbled headlong into the hollow, crying out in pain and surprise.

Following her inside, Arden spun on his heels, raising the knife just as the raccoon made to stick a greedy paw in after them. He brought the knife down hard, slicing deep into the webbing between its first and second finger. Letting out a screech of pain, the raccoon scurried several steps away. Pausing there, it sat back on its haunches licking its bleeding paw.

Inside the hollow, Arden held his breath, peering nervously out. Behind him, Sola struggled to sit up. “You bastard,” she said. “If my leg wasn’t destroyed before, it sure as hell is now.”

“Quiet,” snapped Arden. “If there was any justice, you’d still be in the river. Or eaten, more like it.”

Outside the raccoon was limping back and forth, evidently trying to decide whether it was worth making another attempt to stick its hand into the hollow.

“You ungrateful little worm,” said Sola. “Both you and the old man. We rescue you and this is how you repay me? First the old man rolls a stone on me and leaves me to die, and then you-”

“Yeah?” said Arden. “And what are you doing out here anyway? What would you have done if you had been the one to catch Torun off guard? What would you have done if it’d been me under that rock?”

Sola looked as though she were about to speak, but evidently thought better of it.

The raccoon had disappeared from view, waddling down toward the river and out of sight. With a sigh of relief, Arden turned back to Sola, squinting at the woman in the shadows. She had struggled to sit up, her one arm hanging limply on her injured leg. In the dim light he could see the pain and fear still deeply etched on her face.

“Well, now what?” she asked cautiously. “You gunna to help me back to camp?”

Arden looked down at the long, straight knife in his hand then back to the woman. And again, that feeling. The strange intoxication of having power over another living being. To have the strength, and perhaps even the right, to do evil.

“Your money. Give it to me.”

“What?” said Sola.

“Your money. I know you have a pouch hidden somewhere. I want it. And don’t try handing me stones either.”

“You’re robbing me? You little-”

“Call it a trade. Your money for your life. It’s a bargain. You’re not the only one who can pick the pockets of a corpse.”

Sola shook her head. “And what then? You’re gunna leave me here?”

“I should’ve left you in the river. I’ll probably never catch Torun now. Not if I have to move cautiously. Not with that raccoon around. If your friends care they will come looking for you. If not…” He shrugged. Then he took a half-step forward. “I’m serious though. The money, now.”

Sola cursed. Reaching painfully into her tunic with her good arm she fished around, eventually pulling out a large coin purse and tossing it on the ground by his feet. Cautiously, Arden opened it, checking to be sure it was indeed full of coins.

“Alright, the dice too.”

“Come on, they were a gift to me from my-”

“I don’t care. I want them.”

With a deep sigh, Sola reached back into her tunic, tossing the dice towards him. Arden stooped to pick them up, slipping them into the coin purse. For a second, he thought about asking for her belt as well, so that he could hang the knife in its scabbard and wouldn’t have to carry it in hand. But he wasn’t sure she would be able to take it off in her injured state, and didn’t want to approach her. The woman could easily have another small blade hidden somewhere, and he didn’t want to give her an opportunity to use it. Closing the purse, he turned, glancing around to be sure the coast was clear.

“So that’s it then?” said Sola. “You’re just going to rob a girl, ‘n leave her here to die?”

“If we ever meet again,” said Arden coldly, “I hope you’ll show me as much sympathy.”

With that, he ducked quickly out of the hollow, and back out into the night.