Free Willow by Wayland Drew

Frightened, hot, pestered by flies, the baby had begun to fret. Willow had trouble keeping her quiet. Several times Burglekutt had cursed at him, and once he even threatened to strike the child. “Don’t you dare!” Willow said, clenching his fist.
    Now, Burglekutt ordered silence again.
    “There’s no point shouting at her,” Willow sighed, lifting the baby out of her basket. “Besides, she’s sick.”
    “She’s not sick,” Burglekutt said. “Give her to me!” He grabbed her roughly and began to shake her, holding her at eye level, saying, “Now see here, young lady . . .”
    The child threw up violently.
    A splat of thick vomit hit Burglekutt between the eyes.
    “I told you,” Willow said, taking her back. “She’s really sick.”
    “Is she going to die ?” Meegosh asked.
    “No.” Willow cleaned the child with moss and sweet water. “She’s just hot and tired and upset by all of this. She’ll be fine when she gets some proper rest and food.”
    Burglekutt washed, sputtering, while the warriors sat cross-legged, smiling at him. “Those horsemen,” he said, “they were Daikinis. We should light a fire so they can see us. We should give her to them.”
    Vohnkar shook his head, eyes narrowed. “Daikini, yes. But also Nockmaar.”
    “Nockmaar?” Meegosh’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”
    “My friend tells me.” Vohnkar smiled slightly, stroking his sword, “She is whispering the news. Nockmaar blood has made her happy, other times.”
    “Do you think they’re looking for us?” Willow asked.
    “Yes.”
    “W-will they have th-those d-d-dogs?”
    “Yes, Burglekutt. But if you keep shaking like that you’ll get so thin they won’t want you.”
    The three warriors laughed quietly. Vohnkar checked on the horsemen’s progress. They were headed east, away from the blighted area, off on some false scent. Later, in the still dusk, the Nelwyns heard the Death Dogs howling far away. All of them shuddered, even Vohnkar. “Only a fool is not afraid,” he said when he saw Willow looking at him. “How is the little one?”
    “Better, Vohnkar.”
    “Let me carry her across this place. We shall have a quiet journey tonight, and you have enough to bear.”
    They did have a quiet passage. They moved through that stunted region in a cool night, by the light of stars. Vohnkar cradled the child in one arm, smiling at her often. Several times, secretly, he touched the enigmatic birthmark on her arm. Several times he whispered strange words that none of the other Nelwyns would have understood, even if they had heard.
    For a time, a brown bear traveled with them. He had crossed to meet them from the other side. He regarded the little procession solemnly as they passed, then turned and ambled beside them, a few paces off. Burglekutt began to hiss and fling his arms to shoo the bear away, but Vohnkar silenced him. “Fool! Do you not see what he is doing. Do you not see that he is our friend?”
    And he showed them how the bear was keeping downwind between them and the dogs, so that the scent of his body would cover theirs.
    At dawn the bear was gone. They were among hills again, and traveling on a track wider than any they had seen for several days. Not only that, but it showed signs of recent use—heavy use—so much, in fact, that Vohnkar motioned them off into the forest. The walking was much more difficult there, and Burglekutt whined so insistently that an exasperated Vohnkar finally booted him in the rump and sent him sprawling.
    Seconds later, they were all on their bellies. Willow pressed his hand on the child’s mouth and whispered frantically for silence.
    A troop of Nockmaar cavalry had rounded the bend ahead.
    Wide-eyed in the bushes, Willow knew for the first time what it meant to be paralyzed by terror. He could not even have reached the stirrup on one of those black horses! A blow from a hoof would have crushed him! He could have been skewered on any of those iron horns sticking out of