Anger chased me down the street. It nipped my heels, clawed at the nape of my neck. Whispered for me to stop, throw my head back, and scream.

  He left. He actually left. He abandoned Teela.

  He threatened me.

  The memory was too sharp, too intense. It followed me along the cobblestones as I fled towards the slowly spinning mill wheel and the rancid house behind it.

  Renner, trapping me against the wall. Looking down at me with brutal dispassion. Promising, in no uncertain terms, that he would physically drag me out of this horrible place.

  I swallowed the scream. It was one borne of frustration. Fury. And, for once, not fear.

  I was ready to be done with fear. Fear wouldn’t save Teela.

  I’m better off without him.

  Something in the back of my mind murmured that that just wasn’t true. That I was in danger, and that Renner was dangerous, but dangerous was what I needed if I was going to make it out of all this.

  I can be dangerous, too. I have magic. Salt, I can summon up fire! And I know how to swing a sword. I… I don’t have a sword. Maybe I can find one.

  The scent of earthy, sweet flour hit my nostrils as I hurried down the street. Only a few townsfolk were out, all of them huddled beneath clutched shawls and thick cloaks. I rushed past them, getting a few odd looks as I went; probably at both my frantic pace and my damp clothes.

  Gil’s house was dark and silent. I sucked in air before I went to the door, pushing at it… closed. I shoved but it didn’t budge. I ran to the back, trying that side, but it was either locked or braced from the inside.

  I pressed my lips against the cracked wood. “Gil? Sir? Can you get to the door?” No answer.

  Renner must have locked the doors before he left. But if he locked them from the inside… he must have climbed out a window. Did he shove me through a window?

  The image was so ludicrous that I shook my head. Surely I would have had bumps and bruises to show, if that had been what happened.

  Okay. Okay, I’m Renner. I’m awful and cruel and heartless and… that’s not helping. How did he get out? That would be the way to get back in.

  I hurried around the side of the house, looking for a clue. The building only had three windows, and each was shut. They were so fogged and mud-smeared that I could barely see past the glass. Pushing against the cold surfaces accomplished nothing. One around the side of the house inched inwards just a bit, bringing me a swell of triumph… and then it stuck. I could fit my hands up to the wrist through the crack, but beyond that it didn’t budge. I growled and went around to the back.

  I’m Renner. I’m in a house with an unconscious Brin. I take her out the door, then I go back in and lock everything. Then… how do I get out?

  I looked up. There was a narrow chimney poking out from the slatted roof. I didn’t believe for a moment he had shimmied his way up that, so there had to be another explanation.

  I swept my gaze around the base of the house. My eyes settled on a small pile of rocks.

  Dangerous. Right.

  A quick glance around showed that no one was nearby. I grabbed a fist-sized stone, took a deep breath, and slammed it against the back window with all my might.

  The glass cracked, and a few more hits sent it clattering inwards. I pulled a spare tunic from my pack, wrapped it around my arm, and swept away the sharp shards still poking out of the frame.

  Can’t say I don’t learn. Although the last time I climbed through a window, I didn’t exactly have time to clear the path.

  I heaved myself through and landed in a heap on the moldy floorboards. Sour, rotten odors hit me full in the face as I moved towards the kitchen.

  “Sir? Are you… oh.”

  I froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide, and then surged forwards. Gil was lying on his kitchen floor. His hands and feet were bound with what looked like twine from a hunting snare, and there was a strip of black cloth wrapped across his mouth.

  Renner had removed the dagger. There was a small pool of blood beneath Gil’s side.

  His eyes fluttered open as I tore the gag off. I started on his hands next.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll help you.” I babbled apologies and reassurances as the bindings were painstakingly unwound. As soon as his hands were free I grabbed more of my spare clothes and pressed them over the wound.

  Gil moaned. His blue eyes were open, but bloodshot and glazed. He didn’t seem to be fully aware of my presence.

  My hands trembled but I forced myself to look at the torn skin and the puddle of crimson beneath us.

  It’s not fatal. Given time…. Gods, he’s a monster. It would have been fatal without help. But not yet. He’ll need a poultice and something to keep away a fever and I’ll need to clean the wound, but I got here in time. He’ll be alright.

  The final thought made me pause. Something ached in my chest as I looked around at the broken bottles, the rotting furniture, and then finally the man’s mutilated hand.

  I wasn’t sure if Gil would ever be alright.

  “You… came back,” he slurred, blinking up at me. I forced a smile onto my face and sniffled.

  “Y-yes. Of course I did.”

  His eyes closed. “Shouldn’t… have…”

  My chest tightened. I wasn’t sure if he meant that because he’d wanted me to run, or because he wanted… something much darker. I chased the thought away.

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  “Do you have any herbs here, sir? Or… or clean water…?” I trailed off, looking around hopelessly. All I saw were bottles of liquor, half-molded fruit, and stale bread.

  He groaned and gave his head a little shake.

  I licked my lips. I knew how to clean and dress a wound, but not with what I had on hand. “Okay. That’s okay. You’ll be alright.”

  Master Lewen mentioned the temple… in the town square, I think. Surely they’ll have supplies. I braced the cloth against his side with one knee and began to unbind his ankles.

  “Sir, I’m going to leave you for a little while. But I promise I’ll come back.”

  He shifted one elbow and tried to push himself up. His face was the color of ash. “No. You should leave.”

  My mouth twisted into the shadow of a grin. “People keep telling me that. I don’t always listen.”

  He coughed. His body heaved with the motion, spittle spraying onto the floorboards, and then he sank back down.

  I swallowed tightly. “You’ll be alright. I just… I’m going to go get help. I’ll get your town cleric and come right back.” I lifted his hands and placed them over the bloody cloth. “You just stay here, okay? Keep your hands just like this. Don’t let go.”

  He looked at me with empty, glazed eyes. For a wild moment I was afraid he would refuse, would start insisting I run again… but then he gave a jerky little nod. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  Gil’s front door was set in a corner of the kitchen. There was a wooden chair propped beneath the knob, wedging it shut from the inside. The sight of it made my blood boil. I was fairly certain that if I went to the back I would find the same thing. I tore the chair away, opened the door, and ran.

  We had seen the town square the previous evening, when I’d been chatting with townsfolk. I reached it in a matter of minutes. There were a few more Snowmelt residents out and about, but the streets still seemed too quiet as I hurried along.

  Still no birds. Still no animals.

  I recognized the temple easily enough. It was a small wooden building that had been painted a sunny shade of yellow. There were cheerful blue shutters and a dull brass sun, the symbol of Anduin, affixed to its roof.

  I burst in, panting and flushed, and was greeted by two very surprised faces. They were both older faces, creased by laughter lines and mottled with age spots. The man had wispy black hair and was thin, with angular features and sharp brown eyes. The woman was tall and broad, with eyes the color of fresh grass and ivory hair tied back into a messy knot. They were sitting at a small wooden table and drinking tea.

  The woman’s face bloomed into a pleasant, though startled, smile. “Visitors! What a nice-”

  “A man’s been stabbed!” I slumped against the door, trying to catch my breath, and both figures shot to their feet.

  They wasted no time. The man’s cup hit the floor, amber liquid pooling out across stone tile, and he bolted into a small side room. I heard the clatter of potted jars and glass bottles against wood.

  The woman strode towards me, arms stretched out. For a moment I thought she was about to embrace me and I stepped back. But then she gently nudged me aside and reached past, grabbing two wool cloaks from a thick coatrack beside the door.

  “How bad is it?” Her voice was bright and clipped. Not unkind, but with a clinical manner that somehow felt reassuring.

  I straightened. “In his side; here.” I pressed one hand against my abdomen. “He’s awake, and there’s a binding over the wound, but that’s all I could manage.”

  She flashed me a tight smile. “Doesn’t sound dire just yet, then! We’ll see to it. Trouble on the road?”

  I winced, glancing away. “Ah, no. It’s… your stablemaster.”

  Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “Old Gil? Stabbed? Merciful stars, what in the realms happened?”

  I wracked my brain for an answer. My mouth was suddenly very dry. Fortunately the man reappeared after a few heartbeats and bustled towards us. He was holding several large leather satchels. With practiced efficiency he turned so the woman could affix his cloak, then handed the smallest pack to her.

  She hoisted the strap over one shoulder. “Right, tell me when we get there. Where are we going, dear?”

  I led them at a run back towards Gil’s house. More townsfolk stopped and stared. The sight of their clerics sprinting down the streets brought wide, worried eyes and hushed voices.

  The pair followed me without question into the kitchen. I twisted at my damp tunic as we entered, cold with fear at the thought of what state we might find Gil in… and then I sagged against the table in breathless relief.

  He was propped against the fallen chair, dazed but awake. His hands were white and knotted around my tunic, which was balled against his side. The pool of blood had not grown.

  The man swept to his side, all business. He began opening packs and setting things out, many of which I had seen or used with Clem; clean cloths, bundles of herbs, glass bottles that held cloudy tonics, and jars that smelled like linseed, honey, and flour.

  “Can I help?” I sank to the ground beside them. A moment later there was a warm hand on my shoulder.

  “You have helped, dear. We’ll set him right.” I nodded, feeling suddenly exhausted, and slumped back against one of the cupboards. “What’s your name?”

  “Brin.”

  “Brin? Well, Miss Brin, I’m Embra, and this is my husband, Pel. And we’re going to tend to Gil, here, but we’re also going to tend to you.”

  I blinked up, baffled. She stooped down and brushed damp hair back from my forehead, then pressed the back of her hand against my temples.

  “Me? I’m alright.”

  “Hm, you don’t feel feverish. Were you injured at all?” I shook my head. “Good, that’s good. Can you tell me what happened?”

  She gestured around us, to Gil and to the shattered glass and fallen chair. Brother Pel had removed the cloth and was dabbing Gil’s wound with a cloth soaked in currant-colored wine. The stablemaster’s face was drawn and pale, and he was hissing through his teeth.

  I swallowed, my mind beginning to race again. How in the realms would I explain all of this? ‘My friend stabbed him because we’re convinced he’s working with a monster and kidnapped someone’. Somehow, I don’t think that will go over well. At least they can’t see the window I smashed from in here.

  Renner’s warning came to mind, too. There are other people in this salted town who are gonna get violent the moment you start asking questions. I glanced furtively at the pleasant, crinkled face above me.

  They were clerics. Healers. It was impossible to think they might be involved in all of this. And yet… prudence held my tongue.

  Gil wheezed. “Fell,” he bit out, wincing as the soaked cloth touched his raw flesh again. “On… on that.” Gil’s good hand jerked towards the shattered bottle nearby. He coughed. “Glass cut me.”

  “This was deep,” Brother Pel commented. His voice was like a distant rockslide; low and rumbling.

  Gil groaned. “Yeah. Uh… I pulled it out.”

  Embra tutted. “Master Gil, you’re not supposed to do that. It makes the bleeding worse.”

  “…‘Kay.”

  She knelt nearby and uncorked one of the little bottles. She lifted it to the stablemaster’s cracked lips, cupping her other hand beneath his chin. “This will help with the pain, dear. Take it all at once, though; the taste lingers, and it’s quite foul.”

  He gagged the mixture down and she slid the bottle back into a pack. “Good man. Now, Miss Brin, no injuries?”

  I closed my eyes and rested my head against the cupboard. “No, Sister.”

  “I’m glad to hear it! Now, your skin is very cold and pale, dear. That’s worrying. You’ve a lovely complexion!” she added quickly when furrowed my brow. “But I can also see that your clothes are wet. I don’t need the details, but I think it’s very important that we get you warmed up.”

  I looked down at my hands. They were bright red, and the veins stood out cool blue beneath the flesh. Probably a result of my run through the bitter air. The skin of my arms was pallid and cold.

  “Blankets in there.” Gil jerked his head towards a dark, adjoining room.

  “I can change, too” I murmured, climbing to my feet. “That should help.”

  Embra stood, hands outstretched but not quite touching me. Just… there. Ready to help if I needed her. I offered a wan smile. She returned the look, her green eyes bright with concern.

  Once I gathered my things I made my way into what appeared to be the only other sizeable room in the house; Gil’s bedroom. His cot was straw-stuffed and smelled like the blankets hadn’t been washed in months. There was precious little in the way of furniture and no decorations to speak of, save for a palm-sized glass figurine set on top of a dresser.

  I brushed my fingers against the glass. It was a large hound with its head thrown back in a howl. The glass was frosted and cloudy and sprinkled with dust, but intact. A strange thing to find in this dingy, tattered home… I bit my lip and wondered.

  The tinkle of more glass bottles and the sound of Sister Embra’s rich voice beginning to hum made me turn. I closed the door quietly and peeled off my wet clothes, then began to scrounge through my knapsack.

  I only had one spare outfit left. It was one I had shied away from before; something about the blood-hued fabric and the intricate, gold-threaded bodice just seemed too bold. I had always favored earth tones, colors that made me feel like a natural feature of my surroundings rather than a point of interest. The vivid crimson tunic seemed like it would do quite the opposite.

  But I had little choice. The fabric was luxurious and warm, falling almost to my knees. Its sleeves were cuffed short, so without a cloak my arms would likely be quite chilly, but the immediate warmth over my breasts and stomach brought a sigh of relief. The trousers beneath were thick and wood-brown and draped comfortably to my ankles. A dark cloth belt around my hips completed the ensemble.

  I re-laced my boots. The damp leather felt wretched, but there was no help for that particular discomfort. Then I collected my things, opened the door… and paused. A silver gleam flickered beneath the bedroom’s window, just out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look.

  It was the window I’d managed to crack from the outside. It wasn’t latched. Not exactly. It had a little wooden handle affixed to the bottom of its frame. And around the handle there was a short length of twine that had been wound into a loose, knotted loop. The tail of it stretched downwards and was tied to the hilt of a very familiar dagger. It had been embedded diagonally, hilt-down, in the molding wood. There were crimson drops of blood spattered on the wall and floorboards beneath the knife.

  I stretched my fingers out and tried to tug the window open. Just as before, it slid up and inwards a bit… and then the cord went taut, and without better leverage on my end, it stuck.

  I stared.

  Part of me was vaguely impressed.

  And part of me wanted to scream.

  I heard movement from the kitchen and bit down on my fury. Before either cleric could notice, I quickly untied Renner’s crude lock. I cast the twine onto the floorboards, stomped on it once for good measure, and then carefully wound the dagger into my cloth belt.

  There. Now I have a weapon.

  It wasn’t made of witchwood. It was stained with blood.

  But it still made me feel a bit better.

  I can be dangerous, too.