"What are they like?" she asked as they continued examining the wound. "I've heard of Northern dogs, but never seen one."
"Your hound would make a good one," he said. Then he looked at Tova. "No offense. I know the legend, that he is a warrior in beast form. I meant only that his size and thick fur would serve him well. Our dogs do not grow quite so large."
The fox whimpered, and Tarquin resumed scratching it while he bent beside Ashyn.
"We should clean the wound," Ashyn said. "Would it let you carry it back up to the caves?"
"I can try, my lady. It's small. Likely a young one and a vixen. Here, move your hand under the leg while I lift."
When she didn't do it the way he meant, he took her hand, blushing madly and stammering as he showed her how to brace the injured leg.
Tova growled.
"Yes," Ashyn said. "We're taking the fox with us. I might even make you share your food."
Tova's growl sharpened, and she laughed.
"That growl might be for me," Tarquin said. "Warning me I ought not to touch his Seeker. He--"
Something leaped at Tarquin. A shadow come to life seemed to jump from the forest in a single bound. Tarquin spun and it pounced, and he fell back with a scream. He dropped the fox and Ashyn grabbed for him, but Tova lunged between them and she stumbled into the torch, planted in the ground, extinguishing it as Tarquin let out a scream more horrible than the fox's and then--
And then blood. Blood sprayed and Ashyn screamed and something hit her and she looked down to see Tarquin's hand lying at her foot. She could see other . . . other pieces of him, and she staggered back, still screaming, until Tova grabbed her cloak in his teeth, and she saw something else in the forest, running toward her, a black shadow with red eyes.
TWELVE
Don't look!
Moria's voice seemed to scream the words in her ear, and Ashyn couldn't process what she was seeing, only knew that she should not look, that she could not look. The fox was long gone. She glanced back at Tarquin. At what remained of Tarquin. The darkness covered some but not enough, certainly not enough to leave any doubt that he was dead. That the boy she'd just been speaking to, the sweet Northern boy who'd helped her free a fox, now lay in pieces--
Run, my lady.
The words whispered all around her, as if from every side. Tarquin's voice. His spirit's.
Run, my lady. Please run.
Ashyn saw the shadows forming again, taking the shapes of beasts with red eyes, and she did not spare a moment to consider what she was seeing. She heard Tarquin's voice, his urgent whispers, and she ran, and even as she did, she didn't think of what she'd seen, but sent up prayers for Tarquin's spirit, to ease his passing and guide him to the second world.
She continued to run, uphill now, toward the caves, Tova behind her.
What are you doing? Don't run!
That was Moria's voice again, from deep in her mind.
Don't look. Don't run. Black shadows. Red eyes.
Not shadow stalkers. That's what she'd thought at first, remembering another forest, another attack, another shower of blood, when the shadow stalkers had killed Ronan's uncle. These were not shadow stalkers.
Don't look. Don't run. Black shadows. Red eyes.
Fiend dogs.
Ashyn exhaled a ragged breath as panic filled her. Fiend dogs. Another spirit-driven creature of legend, like shadow stalkers. Yet not like them at all. Fiend dogs were the spirits of warriors who'd been damned for cowardice, forced to spend their afterlife in the form of shadowy hounds. To look at them meant death. To run from them meant death.
There was nothing to be done now, no way to avoid her fate, if Moria's old stories were true.
All of Moria's old stories were true. Why would this be any different?
She thought of Tarquin. Ripped apart by shadow dogs. There was no question. If they caught her, they would kill her.