Again, it was too quiet. There was nary a sound but her own faint footsteps. A rustle far to her right called her attention. Raising her bow, she took aim. A wolf stood several feet away. It regarded her for a moment before moving on, its paws padding upon the earth. Aloisia puffed out a breath, honing back in on other sounds nearby.
“Tristan?” she hissed. “Where are you?”
He couldn’t have gone far. Yet she could hear no sign of him.
Creeping between the trees, she kept her bow at the ready. She had almost tracked back to where she had last seen him. Pausing, she tilted her head to further her reach. To the left, a muffled cry, hurried footfalls.
Tristan.
On silent feet, she hastened towards the sound. The rustle of stumbling steps grew louder as she approached. She spotted a figure in dark leathers and furs, a hand covering Tristan’s mouth as they dragged him across the forest floor.
As she passed the next tree, she lifted her bow and aimed.
“I would appreciate it if you pointed that away from me, little wolf.”
The man had turned, somehow hearing her advance on them. He held a dagger to Tristan’s throat. His accent was not of Teneria, too lilting and musical. He towered above Tristan, his shoulders broad beneath the furs he wore. His long, dark auburn hair was bound in braids, much like Aloisia’s, decorated with carved wooden beads.
Tristan stared at her, his eyes wide with fear.
“As hylän,” she murmured under her breath, her hearing reverting to normal.
“Lower your weapon,” the man demanded, shifting the palm covering Tristan’s mouth to hold him still, the blade pressing closer to his throat.
“Do as he says.” Tristan gulped.
“Don’t worry. I’m an excellent shot.” She aimed for the man’s shoulder.
“I can slit his throat quicker than you can loose that arrow.” The man gave a fiendish grin.
“I can make you drop that blade quicker than you can say knife.”
The man breathed a laugh.
“What do you want with him? Let him go. He’s not worth the bother.”
Tristan raised a brow.
“I want to kill him.”
Aloisia blinked. At least he was honest. “What do you hope to gain from killing him? What’s the point?” She repositioned her aim, directing the arrow to his right hand, the one holding the blade.
“Perhaps I hope to appease the cruel gods who rule this forest, to keep myself and my home safe a little while longer, until they need appeasing again.”
She stared at him. He seemed quite serious.
Panic flitted across Tristan’s face. She could only imagine his horror at the idea of being sacrificed to some gods that were not his own.
“Let him go,” she demanded.
“And if I don’t?”
Aloisia let loose the arrow. It sank deep into his wrist and he dropped the dagger, just as she’d promised he would. He growled, clutching his hand. She nocked another, aiming for his chest this time.
“Move away from him, Tristan.”
He didn’t need telling twice. Tristan skittered towards her and, once he reached her, didn’t stop running.
“You were right,” the man said. “You are an excellent shot.”
