fall back, then reeled to his feet. Dante stepped forward and swung his weapon with both hands. The man deflected it, but his motion threw off an already poor balance and Blays' stroke broke his ribs like the staves of a barrel. He fell to his knees, propping himself up with his bleeding stump. He opened his mouth and spit hung in strands. His elbow quivered as he raised the point of his blade at the two boys. Dante's backhand strike knocked it from his hand. Blays aimed a final blow at the soft stretch of his neck. It didn't fall cleanly, but when he pulled back his sword the body dropped and didn't move.
Blays laughed, a hollow thing. Dante didn't join him.
"The others can't be far," Blays said.
"We can hide his body." Dante slid his sword into its sheath. The man's wide wounds steamed in the chill air.
"Not the horse ."
"Then we'll run," Dante said. He found a small coinpurse and added it to his pocket. The horse was thrashing on the earth, legs shaking each time it tried to rise and the bones wouldn't hold. Its great glassy eyes rolled in its skull. Dante looked to Blays.
"I can't," Blays stated.
"There's a bow," Dante said, pointing. "Take it."
"What if it kicks me?"
"It couldn't kick through a broken board," he said, and when he went for more words he found half-digested carrots instead. He leaned over and spat them into the grass.
"He was looking for us to have gone south," Blays said, turning away from Dante's gurgles. He shouldered the bow and a half-full quiver. "There must be a town that way."
"Whetton," Dante said, the sour taste of his stomach on his tongue. He spat again. "We can go faster on the bank."
"Can't risk it." Blays headed back up the bank. "Let's stick to the forest's edge."
Dante disagreed but found himself light on the guts to speak up. They broke back into the trill of birdsong and the rattle of wind-shaken leaves and made a brisk trot south. Within seconds Dante was shivering without stop.
"That wasn't how I'd imagined it would be," he said once his blood had calmed.
"You think about killing people a lot?" Blays said, smiling faintly.
"Sometimes," he smiled back. It didn't last. "On his knees like that."
"Don't feel sorry for him. He was all set to trample us into the grass."
"But it was so...savage," Dante said, and Blays shrugged. It was worse than the other times. It felt like a regression, like an act of a man he didn't know. He had no illusions fights were supposed to be fair. If the one with the tracker had been even, he without his horse and them without surprise, he expected it would have ended with a few pounds of steel through his heart. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling what they'd done had been unnatural, that somewhere the gods were watching them and their judgment would be harsh.
"We'd be dead except that spell," Blays said softly a moment later.
"Yeah."
"Were you scared?"
"No," he said, running faster. "A little. When I tripped."
"I just about dropped a pile in my breeches," Blays said, chortling so hard he had to sputter out the words. "Then the look on his face when you blinded his horse! Gods!"
Dante chuckled weakly. It had looked otherworldly, the black ball where there should have been a head, the rider throwing his hands over his head like a man falling through the false floor of a wildcat trap.
"You have a strange sense of humor."
"He'd have laughed too if he could see it." Blays giggled. Dante joined him, feeling outside himself. Their nervous energy gave out after a mile or so and they slowed to a stroll to catch their breath. Dante clasped his hands behind his head to ward off the stitch in his side.
"They're not going to miss our tracks after that," he said, gazing into the woods. "Not even with their woodsman dead."
"I figured that's why we were running away," Blays said.
"The nearest town could be twenty miles from here. They're on horseback."
"So what?"
"So what? So they'll find us and kill us!"
Blays rolled his eyes. "So what do you want
Blays laughed, a hollow thing. Dante didn't join him.
"The others can't be far," Blays said.
"We can hide his body." Dante slid his sword into its sheath. The man's wide wounds steamed in the chill air.
"Not the horse ."
"Then we'll run," Dante said. He found a small coinpurse and added it to his pocket. The horse was thrashing on the earth, legs shaking each time it tried to rise and the bones wouldn't hold. Its great glassy eyes rolled in its skull. Dante looked to Blays.
"I can't," Blays stated.
"There's a bow," Dante said, pointing. "Take it."
"What if it kicks me?"
"It couldn't kick through a broken board," he said, and when he went for more words he found half-digested carrots instead. He leaned over and spat them into the grass.
"He was looking for us to have gone south," Blays said, turning away from Dante's gurgles. He shouldered the bow and a half-full quiver. "There must be a town that way."
"Whetton," Dante said, the sour taste of his stomach on his tongue. He spat again. "We can go faster on the bank."
"Can't risk it." Blays headed back up the bank. "Let's stick to the forest's edge."
Dante disagreed but found himself light on the guts to speak up. They broke back into the trill of birdsong and the rattle of wind-shaken leaves and made a brisk trot south. Within seconds Dante was shivering without stop.
"That wasn't how I'd imagined it would be," he said once his blood had calmed.
"You think about killing people a lot?" Blays said, smiling faintly.
"Sometimes," he smiled back. It didn't last. "On his knees like that."
"Don't feel sorry for him. He was all set to trample us into the grass."
"But it was so...savage," Dante said, and Blays shrugged. It was worse than the other times. It felt like a regression, like an act of a man he didn't know. He had no illusions fights were supposed to be fair. If the one with the tracker had been even, he without his horse and them without surprise, he expected it would have ended with a few pounds of steel through his heart. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling what they'd done had been unnatural, that somewhere the gods were watching them and their judgment would be harsh.
"We'd be dead except that spell," Blays said softly a moment later.
"Yeah."
"Were you scared?"
"No," he said, running faster. "A little. When I tripped."
"I just about dropped a pile in my breeches," Blays said, chortling so hard he had to sputter out the words. "Then the look on his face when you blinded his horse! Gods!"
Dante chuckled weakly. It had looked otherworldly, the black ball where there should have been a head, the rider throwing his hands over his head like a man falling through the false floor of a wildcat trap.
"You have a strange sense of humor."
"He'd have laughed too if he could see it." Blays giggled. Dante joined him, feeling outside himself. Their nervous energy gave out after a mile or so and they slowed to a stroll to catch their breath. Dante clasped his hands behind his head to ward off the stitch in his side.
"They're not going to miss our tracks after that," he said, gazing into the woods. "Not even with their woodsman dead."
"I figured that's why we were running away," Blays said.
"The nearest town could be twenty miles from here. They're on horseback."
"So what?"
"So what? So they'll find us and kill us!"
Blays rolled his eyes. "So what do you want
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