Dawn came too early and too cold.
Cadarn woke to Jens shaking his good shoulder, the older man's weathered face barely visible in the pre-dawn darkness.
"Time to move," Jens whispered. "Mara's got food packed. I've saddled a mule for you—your horse is too recognizable, and you're in no shape to ride anyway."
Every muscle in Cadarn's body screamed protest as he sat up. The wound in his shoulder had stiffened overnight into a solid mass of pain that radiated down his arm and across his chest. His left hand was swollen, the fingers barely responsive.
Not good. But not dead.
He'd take it.
Mara appeared with a pack and the oilcloth bundle from last night. "Bread, hard cheese, dried apples. Waterskin's filled. I put the knife and coin in a belt pouch—wear it under your shirt so it doesn't show."
"You've done this before," Cadarn observed, accepting her help to stand. The room tilted violently before stabilizing.
"More times than I'd like." She helped him into a rough wool coat—too large, probably her son's—that covered the bandages and bloodstains. "The mule's name is Stumper. He's old, mean, and doesn't like anyone. But he knows the timber road and he's surefooted. Don't fight him on the path—he knows it better than you."
"Comforting."
"It should be. Stumper's kept three deserters and a rebel priest alive when soldiers were breathing down their necks. Trust the mule."
Outside, the village was still dark and silent. The mule waiting by Mara's door was possibly the most unimpressive animal Cadarn had ever seen—gray, shaggy, with one ear that pointed sideways and an expression of profound disgust with the world.
The mule looked at Cadarn.
Cadarn looked at the mule.
"I don't like you either," Cadarn muttered.
Stumper snorted, which might have been agreement.
Jens helped him mount—more like lifted him into the saddle while Cadarn bit back screams. The movement tore at his shoulder wound, fresh blood seeping through the bandages. He could feel it, warm and wet against his skin.
"The timber road's a quarter mile north," Jens said quietly, handing him the reins. "Follow the stone markers—they're carved with an 'X' on the north-facing side. Road runs for about thirty miles before it hits the old quarry. From there, you'll see the Stonewood Forest. That's as far as I can guide you."
"Thank you. Both of you." Cadarn looked down at Mara and Jens—two strangers who'd risked everything for him. "If anyone asks—"
"We never saw you," Mara said firmly. "Now go. Before the light comes and someone sees."
Stumper, requiring no encouragement, began walking north with a plodding determination that suggested he'd done this route many times before.
Cadarn looked back once.
Mara and Jens stood in their doorway, silhouetted against the faint glow of their hearth fire. Two ordinary people in an ordinary village, doing extraordinary things because it was right.
Then the darkness swallowed them, and Cadarn was alone again.
The timber road was less a road and more a suggestion of where a road used to be.
Overgrown with brambles and saplings, marked only by the occasional stone cairn with its carved 'X', it wound through dense forest that pressed close on both sides. The canopy overhead was thick enough to block most of the growing dawn light.
Perfect for hiding.
Perfect for ambush.
Stumper plodded on with mechanical certainty, his hooves finding purchase on roots and rocks that Cadarn couldn't even see in the gloom. The mule's ears swiveled constantly, listening for threats.
Cadarn tried to do the same, but the pain and exhaustion made everything seem like a threat. Every branch crack was a soldier. Every bird call was a signal. Every shadow held a crossbow.
His shoulder throbbed in time with Stumper's gait. Each step sent fresh jolts of pain radiating through his chest. The bandages were definitely soaked through now—he could feel blood running down his ribs.
Should stop. Re-dress the wound. You're leaving a blood trail.
But stopping meant dying. So he pressed on.
An hour passed. Maybe two. The forest began to lighten as true dawn approached. Through gaps in the canopy, Cadarn could see sky turning from black to gray to pale blue.
Morning. The search would resume.
As if summoning it with the thought, he heard something behind him.
Distant. Faint. But unmistakable.
Dogs.
Hunting dogs.
No. No no no—
They'd brought trackers. Of course they'd brought trackers. He was bleeding, leaving a scent trail a blind dog could follow.
Stumper's ears flattened. The mule knew that sound too.
"Go," Cadarn urged, trying to kick the mule into something faster than a plod. "Come on, move!"
Stumper ignored him and continued at exactly the same pace as before.
The baying got louder.
"Please," Cadarn begged. "I know you don't like me, but I really need you to move faster—"
Stumper stopped walking entirely.
For one horrible moment, Cadarn thought the mule had decided this was a good place to give up and die. Then he realized Stumper was staring at something off the path—a narrow gap between two ancient oak trees, barely wide enough for the mule.
The mule turned and walked into the gap without waiting for permission.
"What are you—"
Stumper kept going, pushing through underbrush that scraped against Cadarn's legs. Twenty feet. Thirty. The main path disappeared behind them.
Then Cadarn saw it: a small hollow carved into the hillside, half-hidden by fallen logs and thick ferns. Just large enough for a mule and rider to squeeze into.
Stumper walked straight into it and stopped, standing perfectly still.
The hollow was invisible from the path. Natural camouflage, probably used by smugglers and deserters for decades.
The mule knows. Trust the mule.
Cadarn held his breath.
The baying got closer. Closer.
Then he heard voices—men's voices, calling to each other.
"—lost the scent at the river—"
"—double back, check the timber road—"
"—dogs are going mad, he's close—"
Footsteps on the path. Heavy boots. Multiple soldiers.
The dogs were frenzied now, baying and snarling. One of them must have caught his scent.
"Here! Blood on the rocks! Fresh!"
"Which way?"
"North. Still heading north. Can't be more than an hour ahead."
"Mount up. If we push hard, we'll have him by midday."
The footsteps moved past the hollow. The dog sounds grew fainter.
Cadarn waited.
Counted to one hundred.
Then two hundred.
Stumper's ear twitched but the mule didn't move.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably ten minutes, the forest went quiet again.
Stumper walked out of the hollow and back to the timber road like nothing had happened.
Cadarn patted the mule's neck with his good hand. "I take it back. I like you very much."
Stumper snorted—definitely agreement this time.
They continued north.