By midday, Cadarn was fairly certain he was dying.
The wound had gone from painful to agonizing. Fever was setting in—he could feel it in the flush of his skin, the chills that wracked his body despite the mild weather. His vision kept blurring at the edges.
Infection. The cauterization and vinegar hadn't been enough. Something was festering in the wound.
Need to stop. Check it. Clean it again.
But the dogs were still out there. And he could hear them periodically—distant baying that echoed through the forest, sometimes ahead of him, sometimes behind. The hunters were ranging back and forth, trying to pick up his trail.
Only Stumper's instinctive knowledge of hiding spots had kept them ahead.
The stone markers were getting farther apart now. Twice Cadarn thought he'd lost the path entirely, but Stumper seemed to know where he was going, plodding forward with mechanical certainty.
They crested a small rise, and through the trees ahead, Cadarn saw it.
The Stonewood Forest.
It rose like a dark wall on the horizon—ancient pines so tall and thick they seemed to block out the sky itself. Even from a distance, Cadarn could feel the oppressive weight of it.
The kind of forest where people went in and didn't come out.
Also, according to Garrett's original plan, the route to safety.
Two days through the Stonewood. Follow the stream north. Reach the border.
Assuming he survived that long.
The quarry Jens mentioned appeared below—a massive gouge in the hillside, long-abandoned, half-filled with dark water. The timber road skirted its edge before descending toward the Stonewood.
Cadarn guided Stumper down the slope. The mule picked his way carefully around loose scree and—
Stumper stopped abruptly.
His ears went flat. His whole body tensed.
"What?" Cadarn whispered. "What is it?"
Then he saw her.
A woman stood on the path ahead, maybe thirty yards away. She'd materialized so quietly Cadarn hadn't heard her approach.
Mid-thirties, lean and hard-muscled, dressed in hunter's leathers that had seen serious use. Dark hair pulled back in a practical braid. A longbow in her left hand, arrow already nocked but not drawn.
Not a soldier. Something else.
Tracker.
Professional tracker.
"Doctor Cadarn Vex," she said. Her voice was calm. Conversational. Like they were discussing weather. "You're harder to find than I expected. Respect."
Cadarn's hand went to the knife under his coat. "Who are you?"
"Kael Thyssen. Independent contractor. Currently employed by some people who'd very much like to have a conversation with you." She shifted her weight slightly—not threatening, but ready. "Nothing personal, Doctor. Just business."
"The poisoned arrow was personal."
"Wasn't my arrow. I don't use poison—too unreliable. That was the military idiots." Kael tilted her head, studying him. "Speaking of which, you should be dead or delirious by now. The fact that you're upright and coherent means someone treated that wound. Village, probably. Which one?"
Cadarn said nothing.
"Smart. Loyal. I appreciate that." She took a step forward. Stumper took a step back. "Here's the situation, Doctor. You're fevered, wounded, and lost. I'm healthy, armed, and know every inch of this forest. You can't outrun me. Can't hide from me—you're leaving a blood trail a child could follow. And you definitely can't fight me."
"So you're going to kill me?"
"Kill you?" Kael looked genuinely offended. "I'm being paid to bring you in alive. Killing you would be leaving money on the table. I'm going to capture you. Humanely if possible. Otherwise if necessary."
"And then turn me over to people who'll torture me for information."
"That's between you and them. I just handle the delivery." She drew the bowstring back slightly—not aimed at him, but ready. "Last chance, Doctor. Come quietly. I'll treat your wound, get you water and food, make the trip as comfortable as possible. Or run, and I put an arrow in your leg and drag you. Your choice."
Cadarn looked at her. At the bow. At the forest around them.
She was right. He couldn't outrun her. Couldn't fight her.
But—
His eyes flicked to the quarry behind her. To the dark water far below.
That's suicide.
Maybe. But it was his choice of suicide.
"I appreciate the offer," Cadarn said. "But I'm going to have to decline."
Then he kicked Stumper hard.
The mule—shocked into action for the first time ever—bolted forward.
Kael swore and drew her bow fully, but Stumper was already past her, heading straight for the quarry edge.
"Don't—!" Kael shouted.
Cadarn didn't listen.
At the last possible second, he threw himself off the mule, hit the ground rolling, and—
Fell.
The quarry edge gave way beneath him and suddenly he was tumbling through open air, the dark water rushing up to meet him.
He hit the surface with an impact that drove every bit of air from his lungs.
Cold. The water was so cold it felt like being stabbed with a thousand frozen knives.
Down he went, pulled by the weight of his coat and boots. Down into black water that tasted of minerals and rot.
His shoulder screamed. His lungs screamed. Everything screamed.
Swim. Up. Now.
But he didn't know which way was up.
The cold and the pain and the fever all mixed together into a confusion of sensation. His limbs wouldn't cooperate. His vision was going dark.
This is it. This is how it ends.
Not with a confession or a testimony or redemption.
Just drowning in a quarry, alone, taking his secrets down into the dark.
Poetic, maybe.
Pathetic, certainly.
His fingers touched something—stone, rough and slimy. The quarry wall. He pushed against it, tried to orient himself, tried to—
Hands grabbed him.
Strong hands, hauling him upward through the water.
He broke the surface gasping, choking, half-dead.
Kael Thyssen treaded water beside him, one arm around his chest, keeping his head above water.
"You goddamn idiot," she snarled. "I said I needed you alive!"
She dragged him toward the quarry wall where a series of old climbing rungs had been driven into the stone—probably by quarry workers decades ago. She shoved him toward them.
"Climb!"
Cadarn's hands found the rungs. Pulled. His shoulder tore with fresh agony but he climbed anyway because the alternative was drowning.
Up. One rung. Another.
Kael climbed behind him, close enough to catch him if he fell.
They reached the top and collapsed on solid ground, both gasping.
Cadarn tried to stand, to run, but his legs wouldn't hold him. He managed three steps before falling flat.
Kael was on him in seconds, knee in his back, hands pulling his arms behind him—
She stopped.
"Your shoulder," she said quietly. "The bandages are gone. The wound's open. You're bleeding out."
Cadarn could feel it now. The cold water had numbed him, but now sensation was returning. Warm blood, lots of it, pouring from the reopened wound.
"Good," he managed. "Let me bleed. Better than torture."
"Shut up."
Kael flipped him over—surprisingly gently—and tore open his soaked coat. The bandages had washed away in the quarry, leaving the cauterized wound completely exposed.
It looked worse than it had. The edges were inflamed and weeping. The flesh around it was starting to turn grayish again.
"Infected," Kael muttered. "Badly. Who treated this?"
"Village woman. Not a professional."
"She probably saved your life. But it needs better care." Kael pulled a pack off her belt and started removing supplies—actual medical supplies. Dried herbs, clean linen, a small vial of something that smelled sharply medicinal. "I'm going to pack this again. It'll hurt."
"Everything hurts."
"It'll hurt more."
She wasn't lying.
The herbs she packed into the wound felt like fire and acid mixed together. Cadarn bit down on his sleeve to keep from screaming. She worked quickly, efficiently—the movements of someone who'd done field medicine before.
"You're a tracker and a medic?" Cadarn gasped.
"I'm a professional. Professionals have skills." She bound the wound with clean linen, tight enough to control bleeding without cutting off circulation. "There. That'll hold for a few hours. But you need real treatment. Proper surgeon, clean room, antibiotics if I can find them."
"Antibiotics don't exist yet."
"Then whatever the medieval equivalent is. Moldy bread. Honey. Whatever." She sat back, studying him. "You're running a fever. Probably have been all day. How are you even conscious?"
"Practice."
Despite everything, Kael smiled. It transformed her face from hard to almost human. "You're tougher than you look, Doctor."
"I'm really not. I'm just too stubborn to die properly."
"Well, you're going to have to be more stubborn." She stood, offering him her hand. "Come on. There's a hunting shelter about two miles east. We'll hole up there, let you rest, get some food in you. Then tomorrow we move."
Cadarn stared at her hand. "You're still taking me in."
"I'm still taking you in. But alive and relatively healthy, not as a corpse." She kept her hand extended. "I keep my contracts, Doctor. But I'm not a monster. You don't have to suffer more than necessary."
"How comforting."
"It should be. Most of the people hunting you would've let you bleed out and taken your corpse for half the bounty." She wiggled her fingers impatiently. "Take my hand or freeze to death. Your choice."
Slowly, Cadarn took her hand.
She pulled him up with surprising strength. He swayed on his feet, but she steadied him.
"Can you walk?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really. But I was trying to be polite."
They walked east, Kael supporting most of his weight. Behind them, Stumper appeared from wherever he'd hidden, plodding after them with that same expression of profound disgust.
"The mule's following us," Cadarn observed.
"That's Bram's old mule. Stumper." Kael glanced back. "Stubborn bastard probably saved your life today."
"You know Bram?"
"Know of him. Professional respect." She adjusted her grip on Cadarn as he stumbled. "The old soldier's good at what he does. If he helped you get this far, he's probably dead now. Or will be soon."
The words hit Cadarn like a punch.
"You don't know that."
"I know soldiers. I know how this works." Her voice was matter-of-fact. Not cruel, just honest. "He chose to help you knowing the cost. Respect the choice by not wasting it."
They walked in silence after that.