Nora watched Amon stalk along the rocky causeway a few yards ahead of her. He had his bow in hand, arrow nocked to the string. His sodden cloak hung heavy from his shoulders, water still dripping from the hem. He had tugged his hood back in place, but Nora had already seen what lay beneath. She would have liked nothing else but to turn and run the other way, but she knew what was back there. She had no choice but to follow.

  She kept her eyes fixed on his back. She had seen what he kept hidden under that hood. She had seen. Her mind kept going back to the moment in the swamp when everything dissolved into chaos.

  The bare, twisted trees had pressed in on all sides. Nora had been nervous as they rode slowly out onto the causeway. Flint had been a frayed bundle of nerves beneath her. She had tried to reach out to the horse, but his mind had been a jumble of fear and anger.

  It had all gone to hell when Flint reared. It might have been Nora’s doing; she tried to think if she had jerked the reins or kicked him on accident, but whatever the cause, he had reared. She remembered the sickening feeling of the horse rising up beneath her, remembered throwing her arms around his neck in desperation to hold on. Then Flint had slipped, the gravel beneath one rear hoof right at the edge of the causeway had crumbled, and they had gone over backward together. Somehow, she had managed to throw herself free. If the horse had fallen on top of her, she might have been crushed or drowned. She had sputtered back to the surface in time to see Flax, her good, steady mare, bolt with Galan still in the saddle. The mare careened straight into Amon and his black. Caught by surprise, the ranger hadn’t had time to react. Shade had slipped a foot off the edge of the causeway. Both horse and rider had gone down into the water.

  Flint thrashed and regained his feet. Reins dragging, he bolted, following in Flax’s wake. Shade heaved himself up without his rider and galloped off, gravel flying beneath his hooves.

  Nora had pulled herself up, soaked and dripping. It was the motion of Amon picking himself up out of the water that made her turn to look at him. In that moment, all she could do was stare.

  It was not the line of bright red blood, shocking against his pale skin, that gave her pause, though. No, it was the wild mop of pure white hair plastered to his head, and the short black horns that rose from his scalp that rendered her unable to look away. His eyes blazed yellow in a gaunt, pale face.

  It was not until he saw her staring that he had realized his hood had fallen back in the fall. He hastily jerked it back into place, turning away as he did so.

  “I-I’m sorry you had to see that,” Amon said haltingly, as though he’d had trouble finding the words.

  A demon. He was a demon. She had taken a step back then, and another one. She started to run, heedless of direction. The water was up to her knees. Unseen roots and Light knew what else grabbed at her ankles. Then the bottom vanished beneath her feet and she went down with a splash.

  The water was over her head. She tried to swim; she was a good swimmer, having spent most summers swimming in the mill pond and the Amber River, but her heavy cloak and coat weighed her down. She fumbled for the knot of her cloak, dark water in her eyes.

  A hand seized her. Nora grabbed for it, clinging for her life, as it pulled her from the water. Her head broke the surface and she scrambled for the edge of the hole she had fallen into. Only after she felt solid mud under her knees did she look at her rescuer.

  It had been the ranger. The demon. He was so close, yellow eyes blazing in the shadow of his hood. She tried to twist away. He held her wrist in an iron grip.

  “Don’t do that again,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Let me go!”

  “Only if you won’t run.” Amon’s voice had lost its hard edge. He spoke quietly. “Listen to me. I gave Liddy my word that I would see you both safe to Hardcoast. That hasn’t changed. I need to find Galan before he gets hurt, and I can’t do that if I have to chase after you. Will you stay?”

  Nora nodded. Amon let go of her wrist. She pulled away, but not far. There were holes and sinks under that brown water, she knew now. “You’re a demon!”

  Amon nodded. He was kneeling in water that came up to his waist where he had fished her out of the sinkhole. Like that, with his head bowed, shrouded in that dark, ragged cloak, he didn’t look quite so terrible. He made no move in her direction.

  “Were you ever going to tell us what you are?” Nora scrambled to her feet, but she did not run.

  Amon remained where he was, on his knees in the muddy water. “Not unless I had to,” he said. He rose to his feet slowly, his cloak dripping. “We need to go find Galan. Believe me, girl, there are worse things than demons in this place.”

  He had turned and stalked back onto the causeway. Nora had followed, keeping her distance. Amon strung his bow. It was getting dark, she realized.

  Loud splashing and crashing echoed through the swamp. Amon spun to face it, snatching an arrow from his quiver, nicking and drawing the fletching to his cheek in one swift motion. A soaked wolf came bursting out of the undergrowth, leaping through water up to his neck. It was Ferron.

  Amon lowered his bow and slipped the arrow back into his quiver as the wolf bounded up, tail wagging madly, tongue lolling. Ferron nearly bowled his master over in the frenzy of his greeting, leaping up to lick his face and tugging playfully at his arm. They roughhoused like that for a few moments, and Nora thought that under his hood, the ranger might have been smiling. Then Ferron broke off and bounded over to her. The wolf leapt on her, planting one huge paw on either shoulder, and proceeded to lick every inch of her face. By the time she pushed the animal off of her, she was laughing. Amon stood a few yards away. He was indeed smiling, Nora saw.

  “He likes you,” he said. “Ferron, leave her be, you beast!” The wolf gave Nora’s hand a final lick before he trotted back over to the ranger. The wolf did not care that Amon was a demon, Nora realized with some shock. Somehow, that gave her a bit of comfort.

  “We need to go,” Amon said.

  He’s right, Nora thought. He’s a demon, but he’s my only option. I couldn’t get back to Ambermill on my own; I probably couldn’t even find the next town on my own. She looked at Ferron, now busy forcing his head under Amon’s hand until the ranger gave in and scratched him behind the ears. The wolf doesn’t care that he’s a demon. We’ve been on the road with him for days. He could have hurt us at any time. Still...he’s a demon. “Lead the way,” she said at last.

  Amon had looked relieved. “Stay close.” Then he had turned and started off down the causeway, Ferron at his side.

  And now Nora was stuck following after him, her belt knife gripped tight in one hand. He had not spoken to her since, only stalked doggedly down the crumbling causeway. They were following the trail of their three runaway horses. Poor Galan. Nora was quite surprised that her mare had bolted. Flax was a quiet, good-natured horse. She had ridden the mare since she was a child. Yet, any horse had their breaking point, she supposed. The feel of this place, the leaning, leering trees with their drapes of moss, was terrible. It must have been worse for the horses. Horses were so much more sensitive than men. Galan was a strong rider, better than anyone in Ambermill, though he lacked confidence. She hoped he hadn’t fallen and gotten hurt.

  It was growing dark, she noticed, though it should have only been midafternoon at the latest. She trudged along behind Amon, watching the shadows grow darker.

  The sun was sinking behind the clouds toward the western peaks when they came upon the spot where Galan had fallen from Flax. Neither Galan nor the mare were in sight. Only a smear of blood amid the disturbed gravel marked the spot.

  Amon studied the ground. What signs the ranger saw amid the gravel and short weeds, Nora did not know. She was not willing to ask.

  Finally, the ranger spoke. “He fell here.” He stepped to the edge of the causeway and searched the swamp beyond. There was a narrow path snaking away into the skeletal trees. “He went this way. Come.”

  Without glancing back to see if she would follow, Amon started off along the path. Nora hesitated only for a moment. She could swear the shadows were watching her. She shivered, tugged her soaked cloak tighter about her, and hurried to catch up to Amon.

  The ranger went slowly, bending to inspect the ground every so often, warily scanning the swamp around them. Nora kept close behind him. A demon he might be, but whatever it was watching from the shadows was worse, she was sure of it.

  Ahead through the trees, Nora spied a crumpled form lying on the roots of a huge, pale tree. One pale hand trailed in the water. Nora bolted past Amon, heedless of any danger. Amon tried to catch her, but she slipped out of his grasp. She fell to her knees beside her friend.

  Galan’s face was ashen, his eyes closed. Blood soaked the shoulder of his coat. Amon was beside her then. He gently turned Galan onto his back. He pulled off his gloves and carefully felt for a heartbeat.

  “He’s still alive,” Amon said quietly. He moved Galan’s coat and shirt aside to expose the wound. Dark blood leaked from the ragged punctures.

  “What did that?” Nora asked. It seemed to her that the shadows around them deepened and shifted.

  A howl echoed through the swamp. It was answered by another, and another.

  “Wolves?” Nora asked. She looked to Ferron, who was cringing at his master’s side.

  Amon shook his head. “Not wolves.” His yellow eyes were shining in the fading light. “We have to get out of here.” With surprising gentleness, he lifted Galan onto his shoulder and rose. It was growing dark. Nora could only follow Amon back toward the causeway.

  Full dark fell before they reached the causeway. It came on suddenly, as though a heavy cloak had settled around them, blocking off the last light of the day.

  Amon halted in his tracks. Nora nearly crashed into him. In the stillness that followed, she could hear the sound of something moving through the swamp. Amon carefully laid Galan on the wet ground.

  “Why have we stopped?” Nora demanded.

  “Be quiet,” Amon said, his voice urgent.

  Around them, the shadows moved. Nora moved closer to Amon. He was kneeling over Galan. He took something from his belt and held his hand out to her.

  Nora blinked in surprise. There was a long, wicked hunting knife in Amon’s hand.

  “You’ll need this,” he said. Wordlessly, Nora took it. The curved blade was as long as her forearm. She gripped the handle tight.

  There was a smell in the swamp, different than those of the fetid water and rotting plants. It was a stench of rotting flesh, of old graves, of death. It was growing stronger. Something moved in the darkness, something big.

  Nora took a step back and found Amon behind her. He laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What’s out there?”

  “Leshy,” Amon said softly.

  Leshy. A monster of myth, of story books and campfire tales. It wasn’t possible that something like that lurked so close to home, yet there had always been stories of the things that were said to lurk in the Fen Marshes.

  “We need fire,” Amon said. “Watch over your friend.” With that, he stepped away, seeming to vanish into the pressing black. Nora crouched over Galan, knife in hand. To her horror, she couldn’t even hear the sound of the ranger in the swamp. Had he left her and Galan to fend for themselves with the thing in the swamp? Something to her left moved. Nora drew back, then realized it was simply Ferron. The wolf crouched beside her, panting nervously. She laid one hand on Galan and one hand on Ferron. Amon wouldn’t have left his wolf behind, Nora told herself.

  Footsteps squelched on the wet ground nearby. Nora gripped her knife and turned toward the sound.

  “Don’t stab me,” Amon said in warning as he came nearer. He knelt down nearby. In the gloom, Nora could only see his rough outline. She heard the sounds of rummaging, then the darkness blazed with the sudden, shocking light of sparks as he struck his dagger to flintstone. The sparks rained down on the pile of wood and kindling he crouched over, but did not catch.

  Nora watched, one hand on Galan, feeling him breathe, as the demon ranger struck knife to flint again and again, to no effect. Amon cursed under his breath as the sparks refused to catch. All Nora could do was stare. A howl sounded through the swamp, closer this time.

  Amon threw down flint and dagger in frustration. “Fucking hell!” He looked Nora’s way. “Do you think you might help here?”

  “What?”

  “You’re a fire conjurer. Help light the fucking fire.”

  Nora was taken aback by the vitriol in Amon’s voice. She was suddenly very aware that he was a demon. “I can’t do anything like that,” she said.

  Something large and heavy stepped from the water onto the path. Amon shoved the flintstone into Nora’s hand and rose. She heard the whisper of steel on leather as he drew his swords. He was going to meet whatever it was that was stalking them.

  Nora’s hands shook on the flint and dagger as she tried to strike sparks. Her heart was pounding in her ears, louder than the sounds of that thing as it moved toward them.

  “Stay back!” Amon yelled. The thing growled in response. Nora heard the sound of steel parting the air, then a bestial roar. Amon stepped back, nearly stepping on her as he retreated from a counterattack.

  “Get that fire going!”

  “It won’t catch!”

  “Get that fucking fire going or we all die.” That last was not yelled but spoken with quiet evenness. Somehow, that tone in Amon’s voice scared Nora more than his yelling had.

  She tried to concentrate. Burn, she thought as she struck flint to steel. Catch, damn it, burn!

  The thing roared, the sound shattering the night. A single tongue of flamed licked up from the damp kindling. Nora held her breath as she fed small sticks to the fire, praying it wouldn’t go out.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  The flames leapt up, blazing bright in the darkness. The wood caught. The fire blazed.

  In the sudden light, Nora beheld the ranger Amon, hood thrown back, standing over Galan, a sword in each hand, facing down a horror out of nightmare.

  It stood taller by half than the tallest man Nora had ever seen. The head was like the skull of a deer, sallow hide stretched tight over the bone. Broken antlers rose from its head above eyes that glowed red in the firelight. It had a man’s shape, if only vaguely. The arms hung down past its knees, the fingers unnaturally long and tipped with long, wicked claws. The legs bent the wrong way, it seemed, and the feet were not feet, but cloven hooves, like those of a deer, but massive. It wore no clothes but a ragged skin about its loins and a flap of deerhide as a cloak. Its skin was gray and mottled, like a corpse. In places, ragged patches of pelt still clung, but in other places the skin seemed to slough off of the dark muscle beneath.

  One sword clattered to the ground. Amon seized a burning brand from the fire with his free hand, not taking his eyes from the thing before him. Nora couldn’t take her eyes from it, nor from the demon facing it down, as brave as any knight in any song or story she had ever heard. Wasn’t he afraid? She wondered. Wasn’t he terrified of this thing of nightmares and cold winter nights? Nora could scarcely breathe from fear and from the stench rolling off the leshy. For a leshy it was. There was nothing else it could be, nothing that Nora knew of in all the world.

  The leshy’s red eyes were focused on the burning torch in Amon’s hand. He came on with steel and fire, slashing at the thing, waving the torch before him. The leshy wielded no weapons; it needed none but the wicked claws that tipped each long, bony finger. It lashed out at Amon. He ducked away and came back up swinging. The blade connected, a deep slash opening on the leshy’s arm. Thick black blood dripped sluggishly from the wound. The stench of rotting flesh grew thicker in the air.

  The leshy had size and reach on its side, but it was slow, Nora saw. Amon had speed. All she could do was crouch over Galan, feed sticks to the fire, and clutch her knife to her chest. Beside her, Ferron crouched, frozen with fear, his head turned away from the terrible tableau.

  The leshy lunged for Amon. He shoved the burning brand full in its face. With a horrible howl, the leshy lurched back. Amon came on, waving the torch before him. The leshy gave him one more baleful look, then faded into the darkness, its path marked by wet, retreating footsteps.

  Amon stood guard, watching it go, torch and sword held ready. Nora stared up at him. His cloak still hung heavy and sodden from his shoulders, but his white hair nearly glowed in the flickering light of the fire. He was a demon, a monster of stories, but he had faced down something far worse. Finally, he turned back to Nora and Galan.

  Amon sheathed his sword, bent pick up the fallen one, and knelt beside Nora. She tried not to shift away from him. He had not thought to replace his hood and she couldn’t help but stare at those horns. Amon plunged several longer, thicker branches into the fire, letting the ends catch.

  “We have to get out of here,” he said, looking at Galan. The boy was still breathing but had not woken since they had found him. “That thing will be back.” He handed the burning torches to Nora and hefted the unconscious Galan onto his shoulder once again.

  It was slow going to reach the causeway. Night-blind from the torch, Nora could only follow closely behind the ranger, keeping her feet to the narrow path. The water on either side was dark, the dangers hidden. If she fell, if the torch went out... She could hear, over the sound of her heart thundering in her ears, the footsteps of something large moving through the water.

  If Amon heard it as well, he gave no sign. Burdened as he was, he seemed to be concentrating on the path before him.

  They reached the causeway as the rain began. Nora’s torch sputtered in the drizzle. She tried to concentrate, to urge the flame to hold, but to no effect. Cold and numb from shock and fear, she couldn’t even touch the power that lurked within her.

  The drizzle turned into a downpour not long after. The torch went out. The ranger paused and laid Galan on the ground beneath a spreading fir tree. He knelt over Galan, checking for a heartbeat and inspecting the wound again. They were out of the swamp, Nora realized. There was a road beneath their feet, not a narrow, crumbling causeway. In the darkness, she had not even noticed the transition. She hung back a bit from the ranger, afraid that he would round on her again for letting the torch go out.

  Instead, he seemed to be scanning the darkness. He whistled sharply. Nora felt the presence of a horse nearby. A moment later, the ranger’s horse, near as black as the night around him, trotted over to his master, saddle dripping, reins hanging from his neck. He must have been waiting for them, Nora realized.

  Amon looked between the boy, the horse, and Nora. “I can’t take both of you,” he said at last. “Shade can’t carry three and Galan needs help now. He doesn’t have much time.”

  It took a moment for Nora to realize what he was saying. “You mean to leave me behind.”

  “I’ll come back for you. I wouldn’t do it if I had another choice. Your friend will die without help. Wait here. I’ll leave Ferron with you.”

  “What about that...that thing?”

  “It won’t leave the swamp,” Amon said. He checked the saddle girth and stirrups.

  “Are you sure about that?” Nora demanded, any fear of the ranger forgotten. She would rather deal with him than the leshy or anything else that might have followed them out of the swamp.

  “Not entirely,” Amon admitted. He did not wait for further argument. Setting Galan in the saddle before him, he took up the reins and turned the black horse, vanishing almost at once into the darkness. The sound of wet hoofbeats was soon drowned out by the rain.

  Nora could only stare into the darkness where the ranger had been. Beside her, Ferron gave a mighty shake, spraying water from his coat. Nora was already soaked to the bone, so it made no matter. She moved off the road to find a sheltered spot under a tall fir. The wolf followed and settled down at her side.

  She tried to watch the road through the gloom. She hoped the ranger would keep his word and come back for her. She hated sitting here, so close to the swamp, knowing what lurked there.

  She worried about Flax and Flint. She hoped both horses were unharmed. There were wolves and catamounts aplenty in the mountains north of Ambermill. Would any of them be bold enough to take down a horse?

  Nora tried to reach out with her mind, seeking the horses. There was nothing. Perhaps they were too far away, or perhaps her ability was failing her again. Ferron cocked his head to the side and regarded her with warm, yellow eyes. Tentatively, she reached out to the wolf.

  To her surprise, the wolf’s mind blossomed before her. He was not quite like a dog, but close enough to be familiar. There was something far more independent, far wilder than any dog she had touched before. He was here because he wanted to be, not because he was a thrall to his master.

  A twig snapped nearby. Ferron turned, a warning growl rumbling in his throat. Had Amon actually commanded the wolf to protect her? She wished she could ask. Nora’s heart was in her throat, but whatever it was out there moved on quickly.

  She couldn’t stay here. It was too close to the swamp, too close to the domain of the leshy and whatever else might lurk in that evil place. She rose from her damp shelter. The rain was letting up.

  Amon had gone north, up the road with Galan. She would go that way. She thought she might meet him on the road. She would have liked a staff or a walking stick, anything bigger than the hunting knife she had shoved through her belt, but there was little she could do to help that now. At least she had Ferron.

  She tried to push away the stories of leshy, fades and shadowmen that stalked the dark in a hundred hearthside tales. No moon or stars shone above; the clouds still thick upon the mountains. Nora could barely see the road in front of her. She took comfort from Ferron walking sedately at her side, occasionally leaning into her leg as though to let her know he was still there. She let her hand drift down to touch that broad, thickly-furred back. Despite the rain and the damp, only the long, outer guard hairs of the wolf’s coat were wet. Underneath, the thick fluff was quite dry. Lucky, Nora thought as she shivered in her soaked woolens. The chill had settled deep into her bones.

  She must have been walking at least an hour when she at last heard the sound of hooves in the mud. From behind her.

  Nora spun, the hunting knife in her hand. It couldn’t be the ranger. He had gone off the way she was walking, unless he had somehow circled around behind her. Or unless she had gotten turned around in the darkness.

  Ferron gave a whine and wagged his thick tail. The tall black horse emerged from the darkness. The wolf ran over, tail wagging madly, tongue lolling from his red mouth. Beside the horse, he reared up and planted his big front paws on Amon’s leg. The wolf looked as though he might have tried to jump right in the ranger’s lap if Amon had not pushed him back while ruffling the thick fur with a gloved hand. In her mind, Nora caught a fleeting image of a coal black wolf pup perched on the pommel, watching the world pass from on high. She wondered if it was a real sending.

  “I told you to wait for me to come back,” Amon said irritably. He wore his hood again, his face a pool of shadow in the darkness. “I nearly didn’t find you. Come along, I need to get back.”

  Nora warily approached the ranger on his horse. She didn’t like that she couldn’t see his face. “Where did you take Galan?”

  “To a friend,” Amon said, not at all comfortingly. “To a woods witch with knowledge of healing.”

  It was starting to rain again. Fat drops splashed down in the wet mud of the road.

  Amon leaned down and held out a gloved hand to Nora. “Come along, I’d like to get out of this weather before it gets any worse.”

  Nora stared at that hand as though it was a serpent. She made no move to take his hand. She did not like that she couldn’t see his face.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Amon growled. “Do you want to see your friend again, or not?”

  Nora made herself take that hand. Amon lifted her up and set her behind his saddle. He set off almost at once. Nora yelped and instinctively threw her arms around him to keep from sliding off. Amon set the black horse to a gallop, headlong down the muddy, black road as the rain fell heavier and heavier. How could he see where they were going in this? The road was potholed and uneven; in the darkness, there was no way the ranger could see the hazards. The black horse was like to stumble in a hole and fall, with them both on his back. She clung tightly to Amon.

  Not long after and without a word, Amon slowed his horse and turned off the road. Nora realized her mistake, then. In the dark, she had walked right past the spot where he had left the road. No wonder he had been irritated at her. She never would have found him if he had not come back for her.

  The black horse plunged through the darkened trees, up a steep hillside well forested in pine and fir and cedars that reached finger-like branches to rip at Nora’s cloak in passing. Dark trees and falling rain flashed by on either side. Was he mad? Nora wondered, not for the first time tonight. The forest was too dense and the hillside too steep for a headlong gallop. Was he trying to get them killed?

  It took Nora some time to realize that they had stopped. She’d had her face buried in the thick fur of the pelt Amon wore as a mantle. Slowly, she looked up. Through the rain, she saw that they were in the yard of a small cottage, little more than a shack, really, but yellow light peeked from beneath the closed shutters and around the edge of the door. The roof was thatch, the walls logs, the foundation stone. It had the look of a place that had been here a very long time. A lean-to stable with room for two horses stood to one side, but both stalls were empty now. There seemed to be a two-wheeled horse cart beneath a canvas tarp just outside, between the stable and a chicken coop. A single shaggy cow stood in a small pen.

  “You can let go,” Amon said, his words muffled by the rain and his deep hood. Nora realized that she had her arms locked around Amon’s middle, holding as tightly as she could. She felt her face flush with embarrassment as she let go, her fingers numb, her arms stiff.

  Amon swung his leg over and slipped easily from the saddle, then lifted Nora down. He started for the door, leaving his horse standing in the rain. Nora followed. It was either that, or keep getting rained on. She hoped it was as warm inside that cottage as it looked.

  Amon went to the door and held it open for Nora. She went inside.

  The warmth enveloped her so suddenly it was almost a shock. Nora blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the light of the hearth and a few lanterns. The cabin was small, just a single room cluttered with tables and an armchair and shelves stocked with baskets of herbs and jars of this and that. A sleeping loft overtopped it all. A small, narrow bed lay beneath a window on the left wall, piled with blankets and furs, and Galan lay atop them, a small, bent woman attending him. She wore a handsewn dress of faded blue and yellow wool, frayed at the hem, and an undyed shawl. Her hair was gray fading to white. When she straightened her bent back and turned, Nora saw that she was a demon. Her face was wrinkled and wizened, her eyes pale yellow and bright, and two small, curving gray horns rose from above her temples.

  Nora froze, her heart thumping. There was a demon to her front, and glancing quickly over her shoulder at Amon, still cloaked and shrouded, one to her back as well.

  “Now, now, come inside, shut the door, and get those wet cloaks off,” the old demon woman said. “Both of you. You are dripping on my floor.”

  Nora glanced down. Water puddled around her on the gray wooden planks. She reached up and undid the clasp of her cloak, glad to finally get the sodden garment off.

  “How is the boy?” Amon asked.

  “He lives,” the woman said.

  “I need to see to my horse,” Amon said. He turned and went back out into the rainy night, leaving Nora alone with the demon woman.

  The woman peered at Nora with those pale, yellow eyes. “Put the kettle on the fire, dear, then come over here and see your friend,” she said.

  Nora found a peg on the wall to hang up her dripping cloak. There was a tin kettle already full of water, so she hung it upon a hook over the hearth so that it would boil. Then she approached.

  The little demon woman came up only to Nora’s shoulder. “My name is Moira,” she said. “How are you called?”

  “Nora. My name is Nora.” She looked down at Galan. He was breathing shallowly, his chest rising and falling beneath a wool blanket, eyes closed. The wound leaked thin red blood, the skin around it dark purple, spreading red tendrils across his pale skin. He looked like he was dying.

  “He will live, I think,” Moira said, as though she had read Nora’s mind. She held a small clay jar in one wrinkled hand. She dipped her fingers in and spread the salve over the wound.

  The door opened, and Amon came in. He still wore his cloak and hood. He had started to raise a hand to the clasp of his cloak, but hesitated when he met Nora’s eyes. He seemed to consider her for some time, but made no move to take off his cloak.

  “Take that dripping cloak off,” Moira said without glancing back. “If you don’t, you’ll be on your hands and knees cleaning up the puddles you make, and don’t expect me to make you soup when you take a chill from all that wet. She has already seen, you told me that yourself, so there is no harm.”

  At that, Amon finally shrugged out of his heavy oilskin cloak and cowl and mantle, and hung it on a peg next to Nora’s. Without the cloak, he seemed to shrink. He was not a large man, slim and slight even with his long leather greatcoat that hid most of his form. That coat had been patched and re-patched half a hundred times. He left his swordbelt hanging on the wall as well, though he had his hunting knife still sheathed at his waist. Nora watched him as he crossed the small room. The cut above his eye had stopped bleeding, leaving dried blood on his forehead. His white hair was a wild mop about his short horns.

  Moira saw the cut and the blood at once. “When we are done here, you will let me wash that out,” she said, her tone broaching no argument.

  Amon raised an eyebrow, but said nothing on the matter. Standing over Nora where she knelt beside the bed, he looked down at Galan. “How is he?”

  Moira laid a withered hand on Galan’s forehead. He stirred, but did not wake. “I have given him blackfern and arrliss root, and packed the wound with a salve of the night lily to counter the poison. He will live.”

  Amon nodded. The door of the cabin banged open. All three turned to see Ferron, water beading off his thick coat, shove his way in. He paused in the center of the small room and gave a great shake, spraying water on everyone, then flopped down before the hearth, panting happily.

  Moira sniffed, giving the wolf a stern look. “Amon, put the bar on the door before more strays follow you in out of the rain.”

  The ranger did as he was bid, then returned to the bedside, but Moira waved him away. “There is nothing more to do tonight,” she said. “We must let him rest for now. The worst danger is past now.”

  The kettle was boiling. Moira went to the hearth and removed it from the fire. She took down three pottery mugs, each glazed a different color, from a high shelf and tossed a handful of leaves into the kettle. She brought Nora a green-glazed mug. Steam rose off the tea, smelling of chamomile and sweetflower. Nora blew on the tea to cool it, then sipped at it, the warmth spreading welcome through her chest. She looked down at Galan, lying so pale amid the woolen blankets and worn furs. “Are you certain he will be alright?” she asked.

  Moira came back over and looked Galan over again. “The fever has broken, and now he needs rest. We will keep watch over him for tonight, and he will be weak when he wakes, but he will wake. It is late. You must be tired and cold. I can make you a place by the hearth if you like, though you may have to share the space with the wolf if he will not move.”

  Nora nodded. She was tired. She was more tired than she had ever been, she thought. The cabin was small, meant for one or maybe two, and was downright cramped with four people and one big wolf, who apparently had no intention of moving from his warm spot in front of the hearth, so the space between the wolf and the square table was the only place to lay out a pallet for her. Amon accepted a woolen blanket from Moira as well, and apparently intended to remain in the only armchair.

  Moira blew out most of the candles, reducing the light in the cabin as Nora settled under a coal-black bearskin. Ferron licked her face as she settled in beside him, but she didn’t mind. The wolf had dried quickly, and he was warm. She laid her head on a lumpy, straw-stuffed pillow and closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come easily. Too many thoughts raced through her mind. She was overwhelmed by the strangeness of it all, and by fear as well, that she barely kept under control. She could hear the two demons talking quietly. They thought her asleep, or else did not care.

  “This may yet be the oddest thing you’ve ever dragged into my cabin,” Moira was saying.

  “My apologies,” Amon replied. “I fear I may have involved you in something I had no intention to. You will need to be wary once we take our leave.”

  “Who are they, these children?” Moira asked. “I can’t imagine that you would take on an apprentice, let alone two.”

  “It’s nothing like that,” Amon said. “I can’t tell you exactly what’s going on, I don’t know fully myself.”

  “That woman down in Ambermill put you on this task, I take it? You still work for her?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “You could end that arrangement if you wanted,” Moira said. “What does she hold over you to keep you obeying her?” When Amon made no answer, she continued. “Whatever she has set you to, it must be important.”

  “I fear so,” Amon said. “You should know, we are pursued by Seekers from the Scarlet Brotherhood.”

  Moira gasped. “You are certain?”

  “Four Seekers,” Amon said. “Riders in black leather and red cloaks. They chased us from Ambermill. I’ve thrown them off the best I know, but I fear they are less than a day behind us. They may have chosen to ride ahead along the roads to cut us off, but some are still behind us. There is something...else out there as well. I found some of his handiwork earlier today. It’s what made me dare the marsh. Evil may follow us to your door.”

  “What have you gotten yourself into, Amon?”