On the first day, they followed the road until a few hours past noon. Janus had then ordered them off the road, insisting that they could not risk staying on it for much longer in the light.

“Whatever’s happening back in Eichen’s over by now,” he explained as he prepared to break a trail for the two humans through the trees. “If they haven’t noticed the boy’s gone yet, they will soon. They’ll be looking for us.”

Martin Bauer grew visibly pale and looked back down the road. His father Kurt put a comforting hand on his shoulder before returning his attention back to Janus. The runner, as the wolfmen were otherwise known, was a former witch hunter. Without his help, father and son would never have been reunited.

“Who do you think won?” Kurt had asked.

“Volkard,” answered Janus immediately, in a tone that brooked no disagreement. “The gods would not want it any other way.”

“What kind of gods do you worship?” asked Martin, arching an eyebrow.

“They don’t deserve worship, pup!” Janus snarled back. The wolfman gestured towards the shrubs and trees lining the road. “Come along now, off the road!”

They spent another hour weaving through the trees and shrubs. There was an eerie lack of birdsong that Kurt hoped would pass soon. Janus acknowledged it, but would not rest until they were far away from the road. They stopped at last, swaying on worn and weary feet, only to immediately begin arguing. Kurt and Martin wanted a fire. The notion terrified Janus.

“The ones who will be after us could spot it,” he said warily.

“What was the point of taking us so far away from the road if we can’t even light a fire?” the boy asked.

Janus only relented after a long discussion persuaded him that, if the smoke was noticed, there was no reason to assume it belonged to them specifically. The woods were rich with game, and besides, didn’t some of his people roam here at times? Despite allowing the fire, the runner refused to be anywhere it, or help with its construction. Kurt dug the pit for it while Martin fetched the kindling, and then helped his father gather larger logs to stoke it for the night. After a generous, hearty dinner made from the food they had stolen from Eichen’s lone inn, the grey furred runner vanished into the shadows of the trees. He intended to lay traps and keep watch for at least part of the night. Kurt found himself alone with his boy for the first time since his rescue.

His son had said little. Conversation over the fire had been dominated by Janus, and the terrible fates his gods had in store for good people like the witch hunters. The two now sat quietly by the fire. Kurt put his arm over his only son’s shoulder.

“Are you all right, Martin?”

The boy didn’t reply. Kurt followed his gaze to the flickering flames of the fire. A log split from the heat, sending up a small puff of sparks that rose into the night air and winked out one by one. Martin seemed content to let the fire make all the noise, and Kurt didn’t force the issue. His son would speak when he was ready, of that the elder Bauer had no doubt. They went to sleep leaning with their backs to a tree, and awoke with the most irritable pains for their carelessness.

“Is it me he’s afraid of?” Martin asked after they worked the kinks out of their backs. Janus had not appeared yet, but Kurt was not worried.

“I don’t think so,” said Bauer the elder.

“He should be,” sighed his boy.

The second day, they kept within sight of the road, as if it were a river upon which they were trying to find a crossing. It slowed them down: their backpacks, laden with food, seemed to be lodestones for every dangling branch in the forest. Despite the irritation and delay, Janus would not hear of any dissent on this point.

“What if they’re all dead?” Martin had asked, innocently enough at one point. When neither his father, nor their guide would answer, the boy fell silent again.

It was a trait Kurt would never have thought to see in his son. The Martin that had been stolen away from him had been proud of his intellect, and stubborn when trying to force a point, or make someone answer a question he had. This new silence was strange, and it bothered Bauer greatly. He thought of asking his son then what he had seen while in the hands of that horrible monster, but something in him that sounded a lot like his late wife cautioned him on that idea. The boy would want to talk about it, but it might be better if he started that conversation. It was not like Kurt could have figured out what to ask anyway.

As the hours dragged by during their journey, with no signs of pursuit coming from Eichen, Janus finally seemed to relax a little. They still could not walk anywhere near the road, but some of the tightness along the runner’s bare shoulders seemed to ease, and his ears had ceased their constant twitching to detect any sound that might indicate pursuit.

That evening, as they were making ready to light a campfire, they saw lights. They were not coming from the road, as Janus expected, but from deeper within the woods.

“Stay here,” the runner whispered to the pair of humans as he drew his hatchet. “Stay low. No noise. No fire. I’ll be back. Bauer, keep your pup under control.”

The pair obeyed, sitting close together in the dark as Janus left them. Kurt took the woodcutter’s axe he’d liberated from the inn at Eichen and laid it across his lap.

“Do you trust him?” Martin asked after enough time had passed by. Even then, the boy spoke in whispers.

“Absolutely,” Kurt answered at once.

“There were runners with Volkard,” Martin said, looking about them. “He left them behind the day…after he took me.”

“You mean at that house in the forest?”

“You were there?” his boy asked, incredulous.

Kurt nodded. “We got there after the witch hunters. They cleared the whole place out.”

“They found us near a river,” Martin said. He looked down at the open space in the ground where a fire should be blazing by now. “They hit Volkard’s camp in the morning, and they barely got away with me. There was this minotaur, and he seemed to know who I was. He tried to grab me, but Rahm shot him.”

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“That’d be Theo,” Kurt explained, cautiously glancing around them. “He’s another hunter. He’s a good fellow.”

“Did he survive that?”

Kurt nodded. Martin’s look brightened ever so slightly.

“How’d you get to know so many hunters, papa?”

Kurt shrugged.

“Is everyone at the farm dead?” Martin asked him.

Kurt had been dreading this question, yet now that it had come it surprised him how easily he answered.

“Yes, Martin. Volkard killed them all.”

“He said I could do that, papa. He said I had that same kind of power in me. He said I was just like him.”

Kurt’s arm found its way across Martin’s shoulders. He gave his boy a loving squeeze.

“You are nothing like those people, son.”

“Is that what your hunters friends think?”

“I don’t know really what they think,” Kurt lied.

“What would they have done to me, if they had caught me that time in the woods? Volkard said they would have killed me.”

“Theo would never do that,” Kurt replied, growing nervous. The rest of them, though…

It was a shorter wait than they had anticipated. Janus was back within an hour or so, thank God. The silence that between father and son by then had become a wall unto itself. Kurt was cold and afraid in ways he had long forgotten. Sitting here together forced the man to remember how little he and his son had spoken as the years after Sabine’s death had passed inexorably by. There was so much to make up for, so much to mend. How on earth does one begin to mend an estrangement twelve years in the making?

“What is it?” they both asked the runner at once, far too quickly, and clearly louder than the Janus liked.

“It’s a town,” explained the wolf man, giving them both an odd look before he hunched down before them. “Or it’s trying to be. They’ve got a wooden wall that they’re still building. Looks like they’re digging a road. There’s tents and houses inside. Didn’t see any pinks like you two, but I did see some scaled.”

“Is there a town around here?” Kurt asked.

Janus shrugged. “Beats me, Bauer. Among my tribe, the lead hunters and the elders had to know all about the land. We didn’t use your stupid paper to mark things because the world keeps on changing. Maybe there’s paper somewhere that says there’s a town here. Maybe there isn’t. Doesn’t matter to what’s out there, does it?”

“Don’t speak to my papa like that.”

There was silence for a second. Kurt felt Martin stirring in his grip. He wanted to say something to soothe the boy, but Janus spoke first.

“Don’t tell me how to speak, pup! You think I wanted to go into that hell in Eichen after you? You think I want to be here, and not on my way home to my people?”

“Then why aren’t you with them?” Martin growled back. He began to fidget, but Kurt tightened his grip on the boy, who was making a terrible fuss. Kurt felt himself break out into a sweat, despite the mild temperature.

“Both of you stop it!” he snapped, the father suddenly. Martin stopped his struggles at once. Janus leaned back a little, blinking in surprise.

“Sorry, papa.”

“Sorry, Bauer.”

Kurt hugged his boy a little, because he had no idea what else to do. He reached out then, and patted his friend on the shoulder. What did their guide think was out there?

The runner shrugged. “Well...they could be bandits. it’s not very likely, though,” he answered “Bandits don’t dig roads. Makes them easy to find. Looks like they’re chopping down a lot of trees. I heard horses. Pups, too. I hear a river somewhere not too far away. Not sure of the size. Maybe they’re here to start logging? Don’t know any other reason why a bunch of scaled would be out here in the woods.”

“What should we do?” asked Kurt.

“We need to get to the port fast, Bauer. Those horses are too well locked up for me to steal. If they’re logging, maybe they’ll be taking goods to the sea soon? We could hitch a ride. It’d be faster, maybe safer too, at least for a little while. I think it’s going to rain later tonight. I could ask for shelter for us. Worst they can do is tell me to fuck off.”

“We should all go,” Martin suggested. He was still tense in his father’s grip, but he seemed to have his anger under control again. “It’ll save time, and maybe they’ll take pity on a group with a child.”

Janus nodded, rubbing his grubby chin slyly. “Yes. Pups are good for guilt. What do you think, Bauer? Should we all go?”

“Aye,” nodded the man. He released Martin, and dragged himself awkwardly to his feet. He wanted to ask about the chances of these people knowing that they were fugitives, but he worried about looking foolish. “What could go wrong?”

*

The woods ended suddenly, the tall trees becoming rows of stumps that had yet to be dug up and destroyed. Torches burning in iron braziers placed at irregular intervals along the incomplete stockade illuminated the space between the new tree line and the edge of the equally new town with weak, flickering light. They approached the gates, or at least a wide enough hole in the wall that gates might be placed there one day, cautiously. A couple of exhausted looking male scaled in loose clothing sat on rough hewn stools playing cards. A third such stool served as their table. One of the pair had a longbow awkwardly hanging over one shoulder.

“Hello,” said Kurt.

The pair looked up. The one with the bow hiccuped, and went right back to staring at the hand he had just dealt himself. The other male, green scaled and far less obviously drunk, stood up from his chair and approached them. There was a woodcutter’s axe stuffed awkwardly into the belt around a middle that was barely visible under the cloak he wore.

“What do you want?” asked the scaled guard. His small, black eyes seemed to have difficulty focusing on the trio, but the expression of contempt on his sharp face was exact.

“Shelter,” answered Janus. He raised the stone he wore around his neck then, dangling it before the guard. “I’m a witch hunter. Order of Saint Heinrich. I work for the King. Who’s in charge?”

“Runners aren’t witch hunters,” said the guard. He seemed to be uncertain whether he should be angry or afraid, as he looked over the lithely built savage before him.

Janus let out an irritated growl, but he seemed able to stop himself from doing anything stupid just then.

“Of course I’m a witch hunter! You never see a star stone before?! I’m Janus the Blood Arrow! Apprentice to Klara the Shield!”

“Are they hunters, too?” asked the scaled with the longbow. He giggled as he watched from his chair, his cards abandoned, and a brown bottle now in his hand.

“Don’t be stupid, lizard!” The runner snarled, puffing his chest up as he spoke. “These are my friends!”

“They got names?”

“I’m Christoff,” Martin yelled out, before Janus could say anything else. “This is my father, Albrecht Rico. We’re just looking for shelter, sir.”

“Yes,” Kurt nodded without the need for prompting. “Call me Albert.”

“What are you all doing out here?” asked the guard.

“I can’t talk about that,” Janus snapped, quickly. “It’s business concerning the Order!” He waved the star stone at the guard again, growing visibly more irritated. From beyond the erstwhile gate, Kurt heard the creaking of hinges as a nearby door cracked open, releasing a slim shaft of light onto the muck of the interior of the town. They were attracting attention, and that was probably the last thing they needed.

“Now, take us to your leader!” Janus snapped then, baring the tips of his fangs in a snarl. “This is witch hunter business!”

The guard was scowling, as was his friend with the longbow. Kurt risked a glance around at the town in the growing darkness. He saw hints of people watching them from behind tent flaps or curtains, and could easily imagine how they were all scowling too. Janus had tried this same exact stunt back at Eichen. This was a mistake.

“Janus,” he said then, coming a step forward and taking a gentle hold of the runner’s shoulder. “Calm down, will you? There’s no reason to be angry, especially not with these fellows. They’re just doing their job, right lads?”

The two scaled nodded, clearly seeing the pleading look on the human’s face. The guard that was standing gestured soundlessly for them to follow. As he turned his back, Janus glared at Kurt, or tried to. The rage in the wolfman’s eyes began to fade, even as he looked like he wanted to do something violent.

“Sorry Bauer,” Janus said quietly. The three of them began to follow after the guard, as his companion returned to his cards. Kurt could feel the drunken scaled’s eyes staring daggers into their backs as they proceeded. “Klara just yelled when I couldn’t do things like she asked. She yelled at everyone that wasn’t a hunter. It always seemed to work for her.” As he said this, a look of shame came over his face. His ears dipped down, and something close to a whine escaped from his previously snarling lips. “Did I get us in trouble?”

“Not if you apologise to that lad before we get there,” Kurt advised quietly. He wondered briefly what Sabine would think of him now, giving social advice to a wolfman. “You caused a big fuss back there, Janus. I don’t think you should have used your real name.”

“If the gods want me to die, then I’ll die,” the runner said with a guilty shrug. He sighed then, before cursing viciously under his breath. “Klara was right. That old bull was, too. I’m not a hunter. Not like them.”

“That may be so, Janus, but you’re ours, and I’m grateful for it. Now catch up with that lad and eat some humble pie, would you?”

Janus let out an annoyed whine, but did as he was told. Kurt managed a smile, but it did not survive the look he saw on his son’s face.