Thorn woke before the light.
That alone was unusual.
He had always been a man who slept deeply when the opportunity presented itself, trusting his instincts to wake him when danger approached. But this time, it wasn’t a sound that disturbed him.
It was his arm.
Beneath the leather binding his forearm, a deep cold throbbed through the wound. The Sword of Truth lay within reach, its familiar warmth still present, but weaker than yesterday.
Thorn carefully loosened the leather.
The bite marks had closed under Kit’s healing, but the surrounding skin had turned the pale gray of old bone. A thin black line extended from the wound toward his shoulder, no wider than a hair.
It wasn’t spreading.
Nor was it healing.
It was waiting.
A few paces away, Kit crouched near the edge of their resting place, dark hair falling over one shoulder. The violet mark beneath her skin glowed faintly.
She did not turn when she spoke.
“You feel it too.”
Thorn flexed his fingers.
They responded a fraction too slowly.
“It’s not trying to spread,” he said.
Kit turned.
“Then what?”
“It’s trying to settle.”
Her expression tightened.
“That’s worse.”
She crossed to him and pressed two fingers above the wound.
Her mark flared sharply.
She recoiled.
“I can hold part of it back,” she said. “But I’m already dividing my strength between you and whatever’s spreading through the north. I can’t keep that up forever.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
It was not an answer Kit liked giving.
“The wound is closed enough for you to ride. But whatever’s beneath it is beyond my healing for now.”
Beyond the clearing, the black pines leaned toward the north. There was no wind.
Thorn pulled the leather back into place.
“Then we ride,” he said. “Before it learns my name.”
Kit’s expression suggested she was not entirely convinced it hadn’t already.
While gathering their belongings, Thorn found himself studying the strange sensation in his arm.
“Kit, I’m worried.”
She stopped and turned toward him.
“I don’t feel particularly good,” he admitted. “But there’s something else. The cold is pulling me somewhere. Almost like a compass.”
“Toward the north?”
He nodded.
“And I think the salt might be able to hold it.”
Kit went still.
“The salt?”
“From the sea road. Been carrying it around for ages.”
“Where is it?”
Thorn retrieved a small cloth bundle from his saddlebag and unwrapped it.
Inside lay fine white salt, ordinary to look at, despite the peculiar circumstances of its acquisition.
Kit took a pinch and studied it.
“Salt preserves. Resists decay.” She glanced toward his arm. “If it truly is enchanted, it might help us contain whatever’s inside you.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Perhaps we could eventually draw it into something prepared to hold it. A vessel.”
Thorn considered the crystals.
“Not particularly keen on being the vessel myself.”
“No,” Kit agreed. “Neither am I.”
She carefully folded the cloth.
“We’ll need to keep this close. And dry.”
Thorn stared at the bundle.
“All very well, but how exactly am I supposed to manage that? Ride around all day with a fistful of salt?”
For the first time that morning, Kit laughed.
“Logistics. We’re facing an ancient force capable of swallowing the north, and you’re worrying about logistics.”
“Someone has to.”
She held out her hand.
“Give me half.”
Thorn raised an eyebrow.
“Planning to season breakfast?”
“Planning to make sure our only possible cure doesn’t disappear if something happens to you.”
That silenced him.
Kit took half and secured it in an oilskin pouch beside her flint.
“The rest stays with you.”
Thorn found a small leather pouch, poured the remaining salt into it, and tied it around his neck.
It settled against his chest, close to his heartbeat.
For a moment, it felt surprisingly warm.
Kit noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just felt something.”
“Good something?”
“Ask me again later.”
She gave him a look, then mounted her black mare.
“Come on, muscle. The north isn’t getting any quieter.”
The horses moved cautiously along the narrow trail.
The black pines crowded around them, their upper branches almost meeting overhead. The earth was soft beneath their hooves, and Thorn’s bay snorted repeatedly, unhappy with the unfamiliar terrain.
Ahead, the trail divided.
The main road curved east along the ridge. A narrow deer trail continued directly north, climbing between the trees.
Thorn halted his horse and turned toward the eastern road.
A dull pressure stirred in his forearm.
He turned north.
The sensation sharpened.
He tested both directions again.
Kit watched him.
“Well?”
“Both feel wrong.”
“Wonderful.”
“But that one...” He pointed toward the deer trail. “That feels much worse.”
Kit looked into the tunnel of black pines.
“Then perhaps we should avoid it.”
Thorn shook his head.
“No. I think we need to go with the most wrong.”
She studied him.
Then sighed.
“You know what I hate about that?”
“What?”
“It makes sense.”
She gathered her reins and guided her mare toward the darker trail.
“Lead on, muscle.”
They began climbing.
The air cooled as the pines closed overhead, reducing the sky to a narrow gray seam.
They had traveled barely thirty paces when Thorn felt something pull.
It seemed to come from deep inside the wound, drawing his arm toward the ridge ahead.
The pouch of salt against his chest turned cold.
Kit saw him stiffen.
“Thorn?”
He started to answer.
Then his wounded arm moved.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Without his permission.
His elbow straightened. His fingers opened, reaching toward the ridge.
Thorn stared at his own hand.
Kit was off her horse before he could speak.
She caught his wrist.
“Talk to me.”
“Arm,” he managed.
“Not your chest?”
He shook his head.
“My arm.”
Kit pressed her free hand over the bite.
Her mark flared violet.
The pressure intensified.
Thorn gritted his teeth.
“Kit...”
“I know.”
The pouch around his neck suddenly grew hot.
“Take the salt,” she said. “Hold the pouch against your arm.”
He caught the pouch with his other hand and pressed it against the leather.
Heat flashed beneath his skin.
The reaching hand trembled.
“Thorn, listen to me.”
He looked at her.
“Pull it back.”
He tried.
Nothing.
“Thorn.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Pull. It. Back.”
A muscle jumped in his shoulder.
Slowly, agonizingly, his elbow began to bend. Every inch required effort.
At last he drew his arm against his chest and closed his hand into a fist.
The pressure broke.
Kit exhaled.
“Good.”
Thorn’s breathing was ragged.
“Good?”
“Yes. You made it answer you.”
He stared at his trembling fingers.
“Didn’t feel much like winning.”
“It was.”
She loosened her grip reluctantly.
“The salt reacted. And something in you fought back. That’s more than we knew a minute ago.”
She looked toward the ridge.
“But we need to keep moving.”
Thorn nodded.
“Understood.”
“And next time, tell me before your arm decides to take a walk without you.”
He managed a tired smile.
“I’ll try to keep it on a shorter leash.”
They rode in silence for a while.
Thorn kept the pouch close and tested his wounded fingers now and then. They obeyed, though he no longer trusted them entirely.
He glanced toward Kit.
“Game’s changed, hasn’t it?”
She met his eyes.
“Yes.”
“We’re under a tight deadline.”
“The game changed when that creature bit you,” she said. “We just didn’t want to admit it.”
He looked ahead.
“And if we don’t reach whatever’s out there in time?”
Kit was quiet for several moments.
“We’ll find a way to contain it. But I need you to tell me if you start losing control.”
“And if you can’t stop it?”
Her gaze dropped briefly toward the Sword of Truth.
She said nothing.
Thorn understood.
He pushed the thought away.
“Well,” he said, attempting a lighter tone, “something you said earlier has been bothering me.”
Kit glanced over.
“Only one thing?”
“You said the silence thinks in straight lines. But we chose the straightest path north because it felt the most wrong. Meanwhile, its armies are apparently taking the roads around the ridge.”
Kit considered this.
“Armies follow roads because they’re easy. The silence doesn’t need to control every step. It only needs to exploit what creatures already do.”
She gestured toward the trail beneath them.
“This path wasn’t built. Deer made it over generations. No design, no purpose, just one animal following another.”
“And that makes it safer?”
“Not necessarily. But less predictable.”
Thorn considered her explanation.
“So we’re taking the dangerous route because it’s the one the enemy might not expect.”
“Precisely.”
“That sounds suspiciously like something I’d suggest.”
“Which should worry both of us.”
He laughed.
It felt good.
Normal.
“See? That’s why we work well together. You’re the brains, I’m the muscle.”
Kit smiled.
“And occasionally the trouble.”
“Frequently the trouble.”
“At least you’re self-aware.”
Thorn glanced at the narrow trail ahead.
“Why don’t you ride in front for a while? Give me something else to concentrate on.”
Kit immediately frowned.
“No.”
He blinked.
“No?”
“You’re not riding behind me where I can’t see your arm.”
“Kit...”
“Not with that thing pulling on you.”
She halted her mare, dismounted, and crossed to his horse.
“You’re not sending me ahead so you can pretend everything’s fine while you fight this alone.”
Thorn looked down at her.
“I wasn’t planning to fight it alone.”
“Then what?”
A slow grin spread across his face.
“Well, I was rather hoping to enjoy the view.”
Kit stared.
“What view?”
He let his gaze drift meaningfully toward her saddle.
Her eyes narrowed.
Then she understood.
A faint color rose in her cheeks.
“Thorn!”
“What?”
“Watching my backside is not a medical strategy.”
“No, but it might be an excellent distraction.”
She swatted his shoulder.
He laughed.
For a few precious seconds, the woods seemed almost normal again.
Kit shook her head, failing to hide a smile.
“You’re impossible.”
“Been told.”
She returned to her mare.
“Fine. I’ll ride ahead. Ten paces. No more.”
“Generous.”
“And you keep the pouch where it is and your eyes on my back, not my...”
She stopped herself.
Thorn’s grin widened.
“You were saying?”
“Don’t push it, muscle.”
She nudged her mare forward.
After several steps, she called back over her shoulder.
“Now. Tell me about the sea road.”
Thorn raised an eyebrow.
“What about it?”
“The salt. Someone gave it to you. You didn’t just find magical salt lying around.”
He considered how much of the story to tell.
Or, more accurately, how much to embellish.
Kit seemed to sense the hesitation.
“And don’t dress it up for me. I’d rather hear the truth.”
Thorn chuckled.
“Nothing ugly about this one. Actually, it’s rather funny.”
“Go on.”
“It was a few years back,” Thorn began. “I was in a port city, heading through the market district. Busy place. Traders everywhere, sailors arguing over prices, people trying to sell things nobody needed.”
“Sounds charming.”
“It was, in its own way.”
He adjusted his reins.
“Anyway, I ran into this little bald monk.”
Kit glanced back.
“A monk?”
“Yes. Small fellow. Bald as an egg. Looked like a strong breeze might carry him off.”
“And?”
“He needed help moving some goods across the city. From one side of the port to the other. Nothing particularly exciting.”
“Naturally, you agreed.”
“Not immediately. He offered payment.”
Kit smiled knowingly.
“Of course he did.”
“Said he’d pay me with something worth more than gold.”
She turned slightly in the saddle.
“That got your attention.”
“Wouldn’t it get yours?”
“Probably.”
“Well, I figured it was worth an afternoon’s work. Besides, I was heading in roughly the same direction.”
Thorn looked ahead as he remembered.
“We loaded his things and set off. There were a few questionable characters following us for part of the journey.”
“Bandits?”
“Could’ve been thieves. Could’ve been someone he owed money to. Never found out.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“They saw me walking beside him, took one look, and decided they had somewhere else to be.”
Kit laughed.
“Very heroic.”
“I thought so.”
“And the monk?”
“Grateful. Very grateful.”
Thorn patted the small pouch against his chest.
“Then he paid me.”
“With the salt.”
“With the salt.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“That was it?”
“That was it.”
“No coin?”
“Not a copper.”
She stared at him.
“And you accepted it?”
“Well, he said it was magical. Said I’d need it someday.”
“And you believed him?”
Thorn shrugged.
“Didn’t see much reason not to. He was a monk. Seemed harmless enough.”
Kit shook her head in disbelief.
“So you spent an afternoon escorting a stranger across a city, frightened off the people following him, and accepted a bag of salt as payment?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you’ve carried it ever since?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Thorn thought about that.
“Because.”
Kit blinked.
“Because?”
“Because he told me I’d need it. And I suppose part of me wanted to find out whether I’d been cheated.”
She laughed again.
“You are an extraordinary man.”
“Extraordinarily gullible, perhaps.”
“Perhaps.”
He gave her a sidelong look.
“Honestly, I always felt a little duped. He promised something worth more than gold, and I got salt. But I wasn’t about to shake down a little bald monk for coin. Besides, I was going that way anyway.”
Kit fell silent.
Thorn could almost hear her thinking.
After a while, she spoke.
“Did he say anything else?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Nothing about where the salt came from?”
“No.”
“Or how it worked?”
“Just that it was magical and I’d need it.”
She looked toward the pouch at his chest.
“And now you do.”
Thorn smiled faintly.
“Funny how that works.”
“Maybe not funny.”
He glanced toward her.
“What?”
Kit slowed her mare until they were riding nearly abreast.
“Think about it. If he’d paid you in gold, you’d have spent it years ago.”
“Likely.”
“But the salt remained with you.”
“Because I was too stubborn to throw it away.”
“Or because something about that encounter mattered more than you realized.”
Thorn considered that.
“Maybe the monk had a bit of foresight.”
“Maybe he did.”
Kit looked ahead.
“Or maybe he saw something in you.”
Thorn laughed softly.
“A large fellow useful for frightening thieves?”
“That too.”
She smiled.
“But you helped him without demanding more than he could offer. Even after you thought he’d cheated you.”
Thorn shrugged.
“Didn’t seem right to take anything else from him.”
“Exactly.”
Kit’s voice softened.
“Perhaps he knew precisely what sort of man you were.”
Thorn said nothing.
He wasn’t accustomed to being studied quite so carefully.
Or appreciated quite so openly.
Kit continued.
“You thought you were the one doing him a favor. Perhaps he knew he was doing you one.”
Thorn touched the pouch.
“Well, if this little bag keeps my arm attached to the rest of me, I’d say he paid rather well.”
“More than gold.”
“Quite a lot more.”
They shared a smile.
Then Kit’s expression changed.
She had noticed something ahead.
The deer trail divided again.
Two narrow paths curved between the black pines, so similar that Thorn might have ridden past the fork without noticing.
Kit drew her mare to a halt.
She studied the trees.
Then looked toward Thorn.
“Can you feel it?”
He closed his eyes.
The pressure beneath his forearm stirred.
He turned right.
Faint.
Then left.
Stronger.
He opened his eyes.
“Left.”
Kit nodded.
“That’s what I thought.”
The trees along the left fork leaned noticeably north. Their branches interlocked overhead, forming a dark tunnel.
The horses shifted uneasily.
Kit studied the path.
“Any movement in your arm?”
Thorn flexed his fingers.
“No.”
“Good.”
Her gaze settled briefly on the pouch at his chest.
“Keep that close.”
“Not going anywhere.”
She gathered her reins.
Then paused.
“Thorn?”
“Yes?”
“About the monk.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“What about him?”
“If he really did see this coming, perhaps he didn’t cheat you at all.”
“No?”
“No. Perhaps he invested in you.”
Thorn considered the little pouch resting against his chest.
“A strange investment.”
“Maybe. But investments become valuable when the moment they were meant for finally arrives.”
She nodded toward his arm.
“And I think yours just did.”
Thorn looked at the narrow trail disappearing into the trees.
He had the Sword of Truth.
A small pouch of salt given to him by a monk who might have known far more than he appeared to.
And Kit.
The city’s keeper, whose magic was keeping him in the saddle and whose presence he could sense even with his eyes closed.
He settled more firmly into the saddle.
“Well,” he said, “let’s hope the little fellow knew what he was doing.”
Kit smiled.
“For once, muscle, I think we’re going to have to trust someone else’s foresight.”
She turned her mare toward the left-hand trail.
Thorn followed.
Above them, the black pines leaned inward, swallowing the last pale light of morning.
Beneath his leather, the wound gave one slow, deliberate tug.
A summons.
And somewhere beyond the dark trees, something was waiting for him to answer.