Fern squawked and hugged the elf’s neck tight as Astryx hooked her forearms under the smaller woman’s legs and set off again at a silent trot.
“You can let up on my throat,” Astryx rasped. “You won’t fall.”
“Oh.” Fern tried her best not to throttle her mount. “Sorry.”
“Mmm.”
Astryx didn’t appear to mind theweightat all though, gliding with incredible agility through the dark woods without disturbing so much as a leaf.
Light slowly filtered through the canopy as daylight took the sky. Despite that, Fern quickly became disoriented as they passed in and out of glens, leapt over streamlets, and wove between crowded bastion oak. She had the sense that there was a method to Astryx’s navigation. Fern just didn’t understand it in the slightest.
Jouncing against Astryx’s back wasn’t comfortable as conveyances went and called to mind the horse cart traveling over the wrong sort of road. The elf didn’t come with any built-in cushions, either.
Still, it beat stinging thorns and flesh-eating chickens.
At last, at some signal Fern couldn’t detect, Astryx abruptly stopped and crouched. Her unspoken request was obvious, so Fern unlatched her bloodless paws and slithered off the elf’s back.
Straightening, the Oathmaiden leaned on her sheathed sword, point down in the earth. She scrabbled a hand through her short, silver hair in an annoyed way.
“This isn’t working,” she said, at a normal speaking volume.
Fern opened her mouth to say something, and realized she didn’t have anything to offer that wouldn’t probably diminish her even further in the eyes of a thousand-year-old legend. She closed her mouth again.
Astryx quirked an amused smile and nodded once. Approval?
Fern experienced a tiny bloom of pride at maybe having put a foot right. Even if it was for choosing to do nothing at all.
“I followed her trail until it vanished. I crisscrossed the area, picked it up once more, and again it disappeared right here.” The elf gestured at the glade they stood in. “No blood. No sign of a struggle, but still, there’s a chance something got her. Or she’s an unparalleled master of forest lore. But since she doesn’t have the use of her hands . . .” Astryx frowned. “The former seems more likely.”
An image of the trussed little goblin halfway down the beak of some malicious poultry flashed through Fern’s mind. The goblin girl had an air of innocence about her, no matter what tales she’d given rise to.
“And that would be . . . bad, right?”
“Yes. That would be bad.”
“Because she’d be hurt, or because of the bounty?” asked Fern carefully. She winced after she said it, but at the same time, she didn’t wish the wordsunsaid. It felt increasingly urgent to find out what sort of person Astryx was, and while alone in the middle of a dark wood a dozen leagues from civilizationmightnot have been the wisest place to discover the answer, Fern didn’t figure it would get any safer in the future.
Astryx’s eyes narrowed in speculation. “Neither would be ideal.”
That was sort of an answer.
The elf continued, “If she’s in dire enough circumstances towantmy help, we’ll try something else. It’s convenient that you speak her language. That makes this a lot more straightforward.”
“Oh. Um. Really?” asked Fern in a strangled voice.
“We’ll spiral out from here, and you can call out to her, asking her to shout for help if she needs it. That shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”
“Er.”
An uncomfortable silence stretched.
Astryx sighed. “You don’t speak goblin at all, do you?”
“Just the swears?” replied Fern in a tiny voice. “But to be fair, I neveractuallysaid I spoke the language.”
The elf looked up and to the right as she appeared to review their previous conversation. “Hm. That’s vexing. I can’t believe I didn’t notice at the time.”
“Although,” said Fern quickly, “I don’t imagine she cares what language we’re speaking if she hears us calling and needs help. Right?”
